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ylangelegy · 3 months ago

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every day is a sunday 💫 minghao x reader x vernon.

footnotes: when your biases release a song, you write the goddamn smut. ⓘ mdni. porn with no plot, mentions of female anatomy, pet names (v: 'babe', m: 'pretty', 'sweets', 'good girl'). v: riding, unprotected sex. m: exhibitionism, praise. not proofread. word count: 1.4k.

your thighs feel like they're on fire.

you've been riding vernon for the better half of the past hour, your knees pressed on either side of his thighs. between the three of you, vernon was usually the one who gave in first. there's no sign of that tonight.

your movements are getting erratic, desperate, and the two boys in the room can tell. vernon shoots you a lazy grin from underneath you, his gaze half-lidded as he merely rests his arms on the back of the couch.

"what's wrong, babe?" he practically coos. it's almost cruel, the way he's kept his hands away from you this entire time. "you're gettin' sloppy."

"vernon," you hiss, your tone edged with annoyance. your hands dart out to grasp his shoulders as you try to better control your thrusts. "can you just— please—"

vernon chuckles, the sound breathless and low. "please what?" he taunts.

"hansol."

vernon's gaze flicks past you.

you can't see him, but you can imagine how minghao looks from where he's seated across the room. one leg over the other; arms crossed over his chest. that clench of his jaw.

"what?" vernon huffs, the word practically whined out as you punish him with an intentional roll of your hips. "i was just asking."

"you're being mean," minghao accuses.

when you hear the sound of minghao's chair scratching backward, you could almost cry with relief. you're not sure, yet, what reprieve the other man might offer; the mere thought of it coming is victory in itself.

you keep your stuttering pace on vernon, your cunt fluttering around his dick in a way that usually has him finishing quick. but he's just a little bit distracted, caught between muffling his moans and watching minghao approach.

when you feel minghao's lithe fingers press into your ass, you let out a low whimper.

"need some help, pretty?" minghao asks, his voice deceptively soft and sweet for what he's offering. his words are barely above a murmur, spoken as he presses his chest to your back.

you give a jerky nod of your head, your body still moving mostly on its own volition in your pursuit of getting vernon to finish. all the while, the boy below you looks like he's holding his breath, his hands now clenching at the couch cushions.

"please," you breathe. "please, hao."

"so polite," minghao teases, but he's already maneuvering to get a better hold of you. you pause to hold yourself up by your shaky knees. vernon's cock slips out of you, the leaking head just barely pressed into your entrance.

once minghao's a little more certain with his hand placement, he wastes no time.

minghao practically pushes you down onto vernon. your greedy cunt swallows him right up, his tip sliding straight home into one of your sensitive spots.

you gasp. vernon lets out a keening whine.

minghao lifts you up then thrusts you back down until vernon's dick is spearing you once again. you try— you really, really do— to match minghao's pace, but he seems dead set on manhandling you like you're nothing more than a doll that's meant to get vernon off.

vernon's knuckles are white where they're against the cushions. his head is thrown back against the back of the couch as minghao works you down onto him with brutal efficiency.

"fuck," vernon gasps, his chest begin to heave. "that's so— fuck—"

minghao drops you back down onto vernon's lap with punishing sharpness. you feel vernon fill you up, the sensation of which draws a moan from you.

"you were taking your time," minghao grouses. "and i was feeling a little more impatient than usual."

despite your fucked out state, you vaguely register the feel of minghao's clothed hardness pressing behind you. you arch your back enough to give the other boy some friction.

minghao responds with a soft sigh. "always so considerate," he says, not once ceasing in the way he's guiding your bouncing on vernon. "but let's get hansol to finish first, hm?"

vernon's hips begin to twitch underneath you, his control slipping with every drag of his thick cock against your walls. he bucks up, a string of cusses falling from his lips.

"there it is," minghao says a little too smugly.

minghao shifts from behind you, just enough so that he can lean forward and have his lips right over your ears. you can feel his eyelashes fluttering against your skin as he whispers conspiratorially, the words still loud enough for vernon to hear.

"why don't you do that thing with your pretty little pussy, sweets?" minghao prompts. "milk him dry."

somehow, you manage to nod. your body complies unquestioningly— your warm heat clenching around vernon's hardness.

"christ!"

vernon lets go of the cushions and finally touches you, his hands landing on your hips. minghao lets out a tut of disapproval.

"come on, 'sol." there's just enough unquestionable authority in minghao's words that you know vernon will comply to whatever the man commands. "reward her for being a good girl."

another lift, another thrust. vernon's teeth sink into his lower lip as one of his shaking hands delves between your bodies, finding your clit. he begins to draw tight circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves, his own movements uncoordinated with the pace that minghao has set.

your breathing grows more ragged, the onslaught of sensations beginning to take its toll.

vernon's cock, twitching inside you with every buck of his hips. minghao's guidance, which has now gotten faster to meet vernon's impending climax.

"doing so well for us," minghao tells you, his fingers pressing just a little tighter against your skin. you can just imagine what he's seeing— the way your tits bounce, the way vernon's throbbing dick is completely sheathed, the way the pair of you look so, so gone.

"hao," you choke out.

vernon pinches your clit, drawing out a surprised moan from you.

"don't moan his name while you're fucking me," vernon chides, his voice hoarse. "you'll have time for that later."

the thought of that, of a later, makes you dizzy. you give a whimper at the warning before practically slumping against minghao, giving him more carte blanche to move you as he deems fit.

whether or not he cares to admit it, minghao is beginning to get a little desperate, too. his hold on you slips for a brief moment and he lets out an annoyed huff before grasping your ass even tighter.

he knows he has to get the two of you to finish soon if he wants to have any fun himself.

minghao presses you down again, leaning forward until his teeth have caught on your earlobe. your breath hitches in your throat and even vernon groans, knowing what's about to hit.

"need you to come for me, pretty. can you do that?" minghao murmurs. "he's not gonna finish 'till you do, and i really want some of that pussy for myself. i've been dreaming of fucking his cum right back into you, sweets. wanna make a mess of you—"

the absolute filth of minghao's words sends you careening over the edge, your orgasm temporarily blindsiding you. your walls flutter around vernon, so tight that it's almost like you're pushing him out.

minghao holds your body up as waves of pleasure wash over you. vernon has absolutely given up on all pretenses of being cool at this point, his hips ramming up against yours as he abuses the tightness of your cunt.

vernon climaxes with a drawn out whine of your name. his release spurts into you, overflowing enough that there's a rim of white at your entrance as his thrusts grow weaker.

you can feel the gentle press of minghao's lips against the top of your head.

"such a good girl," minghao says, his hands moving up and down your arms as he settles you just enough so that vernon is bottomed out, stemming his own cum.

you lean against vernon's heaving chest. he reaches up to shakily run his fingers through your hair. "what he said," vernon breathes, and you huff out a laugh.

you're still catching your breath when you hear the unmistakable sound of minghao's belt clinking off.

you finally deign to glance at him, and you're treated to the sight of his lips curling into a smirk around his next two words.

"my turn."

#vernon x reader #vernon smut #vernon imagines #minghao x reader #minghao smut #minghao imagines #vernhao #the8 x reader #the8 smut #the8 imagines #svt smut #seventeen smut #svt imagines #seventeen imagines #svt x reader #seventeen x reader #( couldn't move on from 54321 (Lift Off). please accept whatever the hell this is )#(💎) page: svt #(🥡) notebook

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fear-is-truth · 6 months ago

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dream a little, dream of me

── tate langdon x f!reader.

⟢ warnings— nsfw. mdni 18+ ⨟ dry hūmping ⋅ (sort of) somnō ⋅ cursing ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

The bedsheets rustle gently as tate shifts behind you, his body warm and heavy against yours. his arm is loosely wrapped around your waist, leg draped over yours, keeping you close in that clingy way only he can manage. you’re wearing your usual sleepwear—booty shorts and an oversized tee that hung off your shoulder—perfect for a warm night in L.A.

a content sigh escapes your lips as you settle deeper into the pillows—you feel safe like this, wrapped up in him. you move slightly, shifting your legs against his, feeling the smooth, cool skin of his leg as it tangles with yours. as you lay there, fast asleep, the feeling of something hard rubbing between your thighs awakens you. your eyes flutter open groggily, and the unmistakable hardness of tate’s erection is pressing into the curve of your thigh. his hips are rocking back and forth, humping against the thin barrier of fabric between you.

mortified and embarrassed, you bite your lip, torn between moving his leg to relieve the pressure and simply allowing the feeling to linger. after a moment’s deliberation, you decide to do nothing. sighing, you try your hardest to ignore how sloppy his grinding against you is becoming, how you can feel the warmth of his quickened breathing against your neck, and fuck, with his hips jerking forward of their own volition, it’s damn near impossible for you to hold still. there’s a stirring between your legs, warmth spreading through your loins that’s impossible to ignore.

he’s mumbling now, incoherent babble directed to the lucky subject of his dream, and you feel a pang of jealousy until,

“…mhmm–more, please,”

then you hear him say your name.

that’s it. you wiggle back, enough to fully press your ass against his rock-hard cock, and tate whimpers in his sleep. he reaches out and subconsciously grabs a handful of your right breast, squeezing it lightly. your bodies are now flush with each other, and his clothed length slots perfectly into the gap between your thighs, just below your aching pussy. you moan, squeezing your thighs together.

“w-wha-? oh shiiiit. ‘m so sorry,”

tate mumbles, half awake. obviously not sorry enough, for he starts sliding in and out of the small space, accidentally parting your labia and brushing up against your clit with each slow thrust. your wetness combined with his generous amount of precum creates the perfect lubrication, the obscene squelching noise breaking the silence of the night.

“ohmygod, f-fuck,” you whimper, “please keep doing that.”

“i don’t-” tate cuts himself off with a groan, wrapping squeezing your breast and letting his hips buck forward on their on accord,

“-don’t think i have a choice, oh, fuck… ’m close,” tate whines, more of a needy plea than an actual warning. he’s in a frenzy now, hips rutting like a dog in heat, prompting you to mewl when he unintentionally finds a specific spot that you’ve been aching. encouraged by your gasps and cries with the newfound angle, he begins aiming for it with purpose, hitting it with each thrust. you feel a warm wetness spread across your thighs, the sensation of it sticky against your skin. tate’s breathing slowed, a contented sigh. he kisses the nape of your neck, hands moving to your waist and lacing his fingers between yours.

“thank you.” he slurs, still drowsy but satisfied. you hum in response, raising your interlocked hands to your lips and pressing a kiss on his knuckles.

“you’re welcome, tate.”

#𝐅.𝐈.𝐓 #divider by v6que #american horror story #ahs #evan peters #tate langdon #ahs murder house #tate langdon smut #tate langdon x y/n #tate langdon x reader

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hvlcy0n · 8 months ago

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being in a relationship with chika takiishi would be interesting, because in my brain, he doesn't see it as an equal-footing relationship but more as an opportunity to possess you. all that matters in his mind is that you're his. he never really considered being yours, but truthfully, he is, since you're one of the only two people in existence that intrigues him and he would give the time of day to. now, that's not to say he treats you horribly. in fact, he treats you better than anyone else--although, that's not particularly difficult to do, considering how he treats everyone else like a chewed wad of bubblegum stuck to the sole of his shoe.

you're the only person who can get away with touching him without being pummeled into the ground or receiving a cruel backhand to the cheek. he doesn't flinch when you reach to hold his hand or glide your fingers through his fiery ombre. endo almost pities you when he first sees you wrap your arms around chika's waist or throw your arms over his shoulders, fully expecting for you to be shoved to the ground or have your arm twisted behind your back until your shoulder pops out of its socket. but, he's rightfully stunned when chika remains still and lets you cuddle up to him, the only acknowledgement of your presence being a mere glance at you or a hand briefly placed on whatever part of your body he can reach first.

he knows how much chika loathes being restrained, so how you're not only still upright but now pressing your cheek against the wiry muscle of his shoulder, endo doesn't know. but i'll tell you one thing. baby, when chika says let go, you LET GO😭 he may not strike you, but if you don't listen the first time, he'll resort to physically prying you off him or shaking you off so that he can do whatever it is that he wanted to do.

to touch on the possession thing i first mentioned, he'll do whatever he pleases with you. it isn't often that the desire for sexual gratification or even just physical affection strikes, but whenever it does, he doesn't think twice about indulging. if he wants you cage you against a filthy alley wall and kiss you stupid, he will. if he wants you to sit in his lap instead of standing behind him or sitting next to him, he'll beckon you over with a jerk of his chin. if you're moving too slowly for his taste and he doesn't feel like listening to you whine when he abandons you, so he has the idea to yank you up and toss you over his shoulder, he will. he'll be silent unless you ask questions, and even then, he might stay quiet, depending on whether or not he feels they're worth answering. don't think of trying to get down, either.

if he wants to do or say something, he'll do it. because who's gonna stop him? who's gonna whoop his ass? who's gonna be bold enough to see chika with his hand on you and think that trying to approach or kidnap you would bode well for them? exactly.

he's still not super talkative, but you're more likely to get a response or be approached of his own volition than the wide majority of people, so that counts for something, i suppose. he just kind of exists in your vicinity--or rather, you in his. if you were to tell endo that a day would arrive where someone is genuinely comfortable and unguarded when in chika's presence, he would've thought you were full of shit. but, here you are.

he doesn't get jealous, per se, but he does get possessive. you are his, and the wide majority of people are aware. however, that doesn't mean that you don't have the occasional guy who've either never heard of chika or don't know that you two are together.

chika has never been one to meddle in other people's affairs, often passing by conflicts or shady behavior without even batting an eye. and at first, when he hears the usual spiel of some guy trying to chat up some girl around the corner, he ignores it, uncaring. but, just as he's about to tune out the background noise, the man says something that piques his interest.

"that's a pretty necklace ya got there. what's it say? chika? lemme see."

"don't fucking touch me! that's my boyfriend's name!"

chika's footsteps pause, his attention drifting in the direction of the sound. it's you. that's all he needs to know before he's rerouting himself and making his way toward the source. his blank expression doesn't waver even as he rounds the corner and comes face to face with a broad, muscular back clad in a faux leather jacket. whatever guy is speaking to you hasn't noticed him, preoccupied with towering over you and trying to weasel his way into pawing at the sparkling pendant resting on your chest. you're shuffling backward, forehead creased apprehensively and hands drawn up to your chest protectively.

"hey."

it's only one word, yet it shatters the atmosphere like a whip crack, splitting apart your harasser's control at the seams. chika can see the goosebumps that prickle over the back of his neck as he whirls around to face him.

"the fuck do you want?" the stranger, still attempting to save face and scrape together his dignity despite having been rattled by chika's aura, brazenly steps up to him. "can't you see we're talkin' here?"

but, chika isn't even looking at him, his attention focused just past his shoulder at where you're standing. at the sight of your boyfriend, your eyes gleam with relief, and your muscles visibly relax. "chika!" you beam.

"ah, so you're chika." your harasser muses. "stupid move, lettin' your bitch wander off on--"

chika breezes forward without bothering to let him finish. in the process, his shoulder collides with the man's, knocking him off balance and leaving him teetering haphazardly on one foot before he quickly steadies himself.

"hey!"

his objection falls on deaf ears as chika clutches your wrist and tugs you toward him, his grip so tight that it's nearly bruising. you stumble, narrowly avoiding bumping into him.

"i'm fine--" your reassurance is cut off when chika abruptly seizes your face, fingers dimpling the skin of your cheeks and consequently puckering your lips as he angles your face this way and that. his eyes roam your face, dark with that same unreadable shadow you've grown accustomed to seeing. you whine in protest, hands lifting to rest on his forearm, but you don't push him off.

the strange man reaches for chika, eyes alight with flame. "what the hell do you--"

you don't even have time to process chika's arm being ripped away from you before there's a sickening, dull crack and a spatter of blood sailing through the air. all you can do is stand there in shock while your harasser slumps to the concrete in a pitiful heap, eyes fluttering as his consciousness slips and scarlet pouring from his smashed nose. chika casually lowers his hand back to his side as if nothing were amiss. he spares his handiwork a single glance before calmly stepping over it and heading back in the direction he came.

"let's go."

you don't hesitate to follow.

#windbreaker x reader #windbreaker x you #chika takiishi #chika takiishi x reader #wind breaker #satoru nii

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bushflannelsart · 2 months ago

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More self-indulgent DE bush pilot AU. Harry was volun-told to help the new pilot unload and move his belongings into his new residence.

Electrochemistry - You should go through his things. Maybe he's brought some good stuff from the *outside*.

Encyclopedia - Jamrock has drug and alcohol problems just like any remote northern town in Revachol. However, due to access points being limited to air and, water during the warmer months, illicit substances are harder to come by than in other, more connected communities.

Esprit De Corps - I highly doubt an ex-lieutenant of the Revachol Air Force is a drug mule.

Conceptualization - Yes, ex-lieutenant. He may look like he has a stick up his ass, but he might've been kicked out of the military.

Empathy [Easy: Success] - He's definitely too straight-laced for drug smuggling.

Logic [Trivial: Success] - He also wasn't kicked out of the military for misconduct. You were literally in the office when McLaine and Torson shared what they had dug up about him. They said he was released under service completed.

Electrochemistry - Still, when's the next chance we're going to have to see his stuff.

Logic - People's belongings say a lot about a person.

You - OK maybe just a quick peek.

Perception [Challenging: Success] - You quietly lift the lid of the sturdy box you're crouched beside. The shadow from the plane's wing makes it hard to see what's inside, but you can somewhat make out the shape of... a sewing machine?

Kim Kitsurag - "Khm, Officer."

Reaction Speed [Easy: Fail] - Shit!

Composure [Easy: Fail] - Shit!

Volition - Busted.

#disco elysium #kim kitsuragi #harry du bois #disco elysium fanart #disco elysium au #de bush pilot au #bushpilot!kimkitsuragi #my art #i know nothing about the military #i literally just google Canadian air force and canadian armed forces lol #also enjoy my mediocre interpretation of de writing style

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fanged-fanfics · 2 months ago

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Slides in with a very polite request of Dr Phosphorus/ Alex Tudyk x GN!Reader pretty please (๑╹ω╹๑ )

Story can be however you like heh.. 𝓘’𝓶 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓹𝓲𝓬��𝔂

☆ Melting Sounds Much Sweeter Than Burning — Dr. Phosphorus x GN Reader Fic☆

Genre: Fluff || they/them pronouns for reader || Warning for canon-typical violence + a lot of swearing

A/N: I don't think it came across clear in the writing but this is pre-canon for context-

──────.𖥔 ݁ ˖˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ──────

You were one of the humanoids caged up with the rest of the Commandos, locked up for your own big name crimes. There wasn't much the prison guards ever really let you do, and for quite a while you kept to yourself to try and avoid trouble. Sure, it was mundane to follow the guard's routines, but it kept you from getting shoved into solitary confinement or extra charges. But, in a flurry of green flames, trouble ended up quite literally landing in your lap during a mealtime brawl, and you found yourself fighting mutant assholess off of a radioactive green guy who was backing you up hit for hit.

From that day on, you couldn't seem to get rid of Dr. Phosphorus. You kept being in the same vicinity, or gravitating to each other subconsciously. Even if you tried to pick up conversations with someone else, he'd likely be the one to help you walk back to your cell. It was one of the better things to come from your time here. Phosphorus was one of the smarter criminals you interacted with on an average basis. He could at least hold a conversation without trying to gnaw his own leg off halfway through it like some other inmate (his name was apparently Weasel, but you didn't find that out till much later).

Unfortunately, despite your initial approach of being under the radar, Phosphorus was prone to trouble. You'd seen him melt a whole table enough to punch it in half, burn through walls, or sucker-punch people who pissed him off with a fist hot enough to literally kill them on impact. Suffice to say, you usually didn't offer him a handshake or give any pats on the back, for obvious reasons. Even though it was amusing to see him get himself out of alterations, you got into the habit of standing up to others by proxy.

Today, you'd gotten into a brawl. Not because of the great green doc, moreso of your own volition. You didn't get to see how it ended— swelling around one eye and dirt in the next prevented it. But due to the shouts you'd heard, it was easy to conclude the wardens broke it up. You were finally released back into your cell, seeing the familiar irradiated skeleton waiting for your arrival. The second the steps of the warden couldn't be heard, he walked up in front of you.

"The nurses didn't do a damn thing, did they?" He asked upon seeing your visible bruises and scrapes. You heaved a tired sigh as you sat on the edge of your stiff mattress "Hello to you too, Doc" you muttered. "Hey, I wasn't the one who jumped that guy" Phosphorus reminded, walking past the front of your vision "You had a hell of a stick up your ass today". "You heard him, he deserved every bit of it" you replied. Phosphorus kneeled down in front of you while saying, "Well all I see is you're the one with a fucked-up mug". You grumbled, keeping your gaze off to the side. He was right, of course, he usually was, it was just exceedingly annoying. He could never not be smug about it, even when he insisted he wasn't smiling.

"Guess you rubbed off on me" you commented back. "Better than you getting radiation poisoning like most around me do" Phosphorus countered lightly, reaching his hand up. You leaned back, scooting to the very back of your mattress as quick as possible. Phosphorus quickly retracted his hand "Still stings?". "No, dumbass, you're gonna melt my face off!" You said with pressing worry, almost in a yelp. For a brief moment of pause, silence and the soft hum of radiation was all you could hear before Phosphorus broke out in a loud laugh. It was always a little strange, watching his bony mouth open, blank eye sockets making the expression vacant even though he sounds happy. Speaking of, what the hell was there to laugh about-

"Ah, you may be smart, but you're sure as hell not observant" Phosphorus said, casually leaning his arm on your bedsheets "See?". You slowly leaned forwards, brow creasing in confusion "But- I've seen you- how the hell-" you stammered. He chuckled again, leaning his head into his palm "I can control when it burns anything. Right now, you're just fine. I don't plan to set another cell on fire". "Another?" You echoed, and he shrugged "There's a reason I got moved to being your cellmate. Now come on, you're just gonna look more fucked up if you don't let me see" he said.

You hesitated for just a second. There was a brief flicker of a thought that he could just be messing with you, but you pushed that aside. He didn't have reason to suddenly turn you into a walking molotov cocktail, right? And it's not like you ever did much to piss him off, intentionally anyways. You scooted up, and he leaned back to allow you the room. With a gentle hand, he touched your swollen black eye. You winced back at first, but thankfully his hand only felt warm rather than scalding. You sat up a little straighter, letting him look you over. "Do you even know what you're doing?" You asked. He pressed two fingers under your jaw, moving your head a bit to see the damage better while he spoke "I know more than anyone here would, unless you think leeches are still good for sore throats"

You nodded, still feeling a little uncertain. Even with his surprisingly gentle guidance, you saw the man break way too much 'invincible' shit to just forget. His touch eventually became a gentle hold on your jaw, guiding it back down "Jeez, way to go, pal. You're gonna be feeling this one for a few days". You nodded quickly, and he fell quiet. He pulled back his hand, holding it up in front of you instead "See? You're fine! Not even a little melting" he said, attempting to be reassuring. You nodded, looking at the hand he was holding up. With faltering motions, you very gently pressed your fingertips together. It definitely felt warm, but still bearable. Your palm slowly pressed to his.

You couldn't see his face change any, but his tone was warm with encouragement. "Not so bad when you get used to it, huh?". "Nah" you mumbled in agreement, slowly interlocking your fingers with his "Not bad at all". Phosphorus tilted his head down a bit to look fully, only waiting a moment before gently rubbing your hand a bit with his thumb. It had been quite a while since anyone felt comfortable enough to let him near, much less this. Not since... well, he didn't like to think about it too much. You both glanced up together, empty sockets meeting your eyes. Not wanting to overstep, you slowly pulled your hand back.

"Aaaanyways-" you began awkwardly, trying to transition back into casual conversation "You sure this didn't give me mercury poisoning or something?". The doctor chuckled, standing up "Who knows, you might wanna get checked". You gave him a small, non-serious glare in reply, and he laughed a little louder. He pointed to his face "Sarcastic smile". You huffed a small, exasperatedly fond sigh. You reached under your pillow, pulling out a stowed away deck of cards. "Wanna play blackjack?" Phosphorus asked as you began shuffling. "Sure, if you don't burn them when you lose" you replied. "I'm not promising anything" he said, hopping up to sit across from you on your bed.

As you prepped the game, a thought came to mind. "Hey, did the guards drag off that other guy?" You asked "I heard a lot of commotion". "Oh yeah, you know how they are" Phosphorus said casually "Can't handle a little third degree". You halted your motions all at once, squinting suspiciously at the man across from you, who had the nerve to innocently ask, "Something the matter?". You shook your head, smiling as you handed him his cards "Nothing, doc. Thanks"

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aritsukemo · 4 months ago

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I have a thing for.. | Furin First Year Six

Featuring: Sakura Haruka, Suo Hayato, Mitsuki Kiryu, Akihiko Nirei, Kyotaro Sugishita, and Taiga Tsugeura

Warnings: Sakura's being Sakura, Reader for Suo's part is heavily implied to be a female/fem-bodied ( they're on their period ), nicknames are thrown around in majority of these ( ex. love, pretty, babe, etc. ), author has only seen the anime as of right now so characters may be a bit ( or very ) ooc! That said, read at your own volition!

A/N: HAPPY HALLOWEEN EVERYONE!! 🎃 I've been obsessed with Windbreaker these past few days and I finally got the inspo to write about it! >.< Thank you @maruflix! Because of them and their amazing fics, I was able to motivate myself enough to get this done. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this little scenario thing I put together! 🙈

The Oblivious Type - Sakura Haruka

A sigh slips from your lips, briefly breaking the tranquil silence that was brought upon you and your boyfriend shortly after your walk home began.

Your half-in-half haired love of your life paid you no mind as it seems that he was in his own world and looking straight ahead without so much as a glance your way. And to that, you found yourself pouting.

You sigh again, this time much louder and much more exasperated, like a bad actor in a play. Alas, it seems the ears attached to that pretty little head of his was all for show.

Guess you have to be more direct.

"I'm kinda hungry," You commented, your head—which was comfortably resting on his shoulder as you walked—tilting upwards some more so that you can better gaze at him. Sakura, at last, looks you way, and as usual, he locks eyes with you only to immediately look away, his face suddenly flushed crimson. You found the corner of your lips beginning to lift at the sight..only for them to fall moments later when Sakura fixes his lips to say, "So what? Why are you tellin' me?"

You could feel a wave of fire building in your chest at his response, yet part of you still had hope for him. And so, you huffed out a small, "Nevermind," waited a bit, and tried again. This time saying, "It's kinda chilly out here, don't you think?"

From this angle, you were able to catch a clear sight of his mismatched-colored brows knit into a split line. His eyes avoid yours and you felt his arm began to move to sling off his jacket.

..Or at least, you thought he was going to give you his jacket. Instead, he moved his arm to scratch the back of his head as he grumbled in that growly voice of his, "If you're cold, you should've brought a jacket or something. It's not my problem."

And that officially set you ablaze beyond recovery. As swiftly as a snap of a finger, your entire demeanor flipped and a deep frown embedded itself on your supple skin.

"Agh! Forget this!" You snatched your arm away roughly, nearly yanking Sakura into you in the process, and began to stomp off while grumbling under your breath about the whole ordeal you created.

"What's your problem?" Sakura shouted after you, his pace speeding up to catch up to you.

"You! You dense dummy!" You yelled back to which the dense dummy in question responded, "Hey! Who you callin' a dummy?!"

A loud groan booms throughout the street, "Just shut up and go away! I'm walking myself home!"

And to this day, Sakura has no idea what happened that evening or why his friends laughed ( or gave him pitying looks ) the next day when he told them about it.

The Prince Charming Type - Suo Hayato

A drawled whine slips from the damsel in their bed as a wave of pain struck their gut. It was that time of the month yet again, and like always, the first day was kicking their ass—quite literally at times.

After waking up to a crime scene this morning and being forced to strip their bed of it's many sheets along with their pajamas, they had been just about immobilized by abdominal pains. You could imagine how much of a pain it was to force themselves into the shower and make their bed.

And to make a bad situation worse is that they're cravings were through the roof! They wanted everything, soba, chips, chocolate, omurice rice, dorayaki—everything!

Needless to say that you've spent the entire morning curled up in bed trying not to throw up from the sheer pain while dreading your entire existence..and that's when he appeared.

With that suave smile of his, the beauty you had the honor to call your boyfriend—and savior—waltzed in your room with a large bag in hand.

"Morning, love," He cooed in that ever so serene voice of his, "How are you feeling?"

"Like shit," You grumbled to which you earned the wonderful melody of his chuckle.

"I figured. I checked the calendar," He said, his implications becoming further clear as he sets the large bag at the edge of your bed and took out—

"My heating pad!" You cried out as your upper half shot up—an action you instantly regretted as your shout vibrated throughout your entire being, further enraging your body along with the sharp movement you just performed and ultimately causing you to keel over on your bed.

"You left it at my house," Suo replied—answering the silent question that started floating in the air after you let out a whiny groan—as he swiftly unraveled it and handed it to you to place on your stomach before plugging it up.

"I also noticed that you ran out of pain medicine so I got you some," He mentioned, before following up with, "Would you like to take some now or after you eat?"

"After I eat?" You parroted, confusion dripping off your words. And, with that gorgeous smile of his serving as your only hint, his hand disappeared into the bag. Returning to the surface shortly after with another smaller bag in tow.

"Is that—?" "Your favorite takeout? Yes, it is," He neared you once again, his free arm coming down to gently help you into a sitting position before swapping hands to place the takeout on your lap and adding, "No need to wonder what's inside, I got your usual."

Gods, what did you do to bag such a man? The thought popped into your head at the same time a smile popped onto your face and your hand began eagerly digging in the bag like a starved man.

"Where would I be without you..?" You mumbled before popping the first bite of your food in your mouth, your rough movements causing a bit of sauce to splatter across the corner of your mouth, making you look rather..unladylike. Not that you've been exactly the classiest person today.

Regardless of your appearance, Suo looked at you as if you were the one who created the word beautiful, gazing at you oh so lovingly as he took a napkin from your bag and used it to gently swipe the stain away. And, despite your rather rhetorical utterance, Suo answers your earlier question with a teasing, "Probably still curled up in pain and whining like some hurt little kitten."

You hum in agreement, mouth having already been stuffed with another large bite of food as relief began to surface at the heat that finally enveloped your stomach.

"I'll go and throw your bloody sheets and clothes in the washing machine," He said, leaving a chaste kiss atop your head before spinning on his heel.

"How did you know—" "Just had a feeling," He shushed, smoothly putting the topic to rest as he disappeared into your hallway..only to immediately poke his head back in the doorway.

"Oh, and when I get back, I'll be all yours," He said, "We can watch your favorite cartoons if you'd like."

And like a little kid, you beam, "Yes please!" Gods do you wish you could give a thank you kiss to whoever raised this glorious man!

The Romantic Type - Mitsuki Kiryu

As soon as you got home, Kiryu wrapped up the game he was playing rather quickly—despite having been so invested in it moments prior—and went to your side on you guys' favorite beanbag chair.

Like the cat he was, he curled up to you—who had immediately leaned against him upon him sitting down—and caged you with his arms, which was practically a blanket from how baggy the cloth that surrounded them were..

"How was your day, beautiful..?" He hummed lightly in your ear, his chin resting against your shoulder—which he noticed was quite stiff, but didn't comment on it.

A raspy sigh leaves your lips, one filled with nothing but frustration, "Rough," Was all you told him and his hand was already trailing over to rub at your side, the other entangling itself in the hand closest to it.

"Wanna talk about? Or, do you want to just skip to the part where I make you feel better?" He asks, his question coming off as a silent invitation as he started placing kisses along your shoulder blade, saying in between pecks, "Doing both is also an option. I'm really good at multi-tasking."

And in a matter of a minute, he already had you giggling like a some lovestruck schoolgirl. The burning irritation and headache from the earlier events that occurred was still there nonetheless.

"Whichever you want to do.. I don't really care I just..want to stay like this for as long as possible," You told him, and with a hum of confirmation from him, he begins to shift.

He moves you to one leg, his hand leaving yours and trailing up your arm, your shoulder, until it reaches your jawline where he stops to gently push it in his direction. Your head softly rolled, and the moment the two of you locked eyes, his lips were on your skin.

He started up high; his lips connecting with your temple where he could feel the vein angrily pulsating. He then kisses down your face..

"Sorry you had such a bad day, pretty.." He said in a hushed tone, his lashes tickling your skin as his lips took the time to cover the entirety of your cheek in little pecks before moving to plant a kiss to your nose.

"If I could, I'd take all this irritation and pain from your cute little head," He moves to your other cheek, leaving kisses as best he can from the angle he's at before moving over to your jaw, his hands rubbing firm circles into your lower back, firmly palming and messaging at the tensing muscle, "Since I can't though, I'll just make you feel better some other way."

"We could play a game," He suggests, his assault on your flustered face pausing so he can look you in the eye, "I can cook you a meal..or would you prefer it if I ordered aomething instead? That way, we can snuggle like this and you can take your anger out on something."

You hum. Truth be told, you had stopped processing his words as soon as he left the first kiss on your skin. That said, at the cool call of your name, you dumbly responded with a dreamy-sorta-sounding sigh..which went straight to his heart.

Honestly, if he was able to bring himself to move his hands away from you, he'd take out his phone, snap a picture, and add it to his collection of other saved pictures of you.

"Nevermind," He chuckled as he leaned in to kiss your lips at last, his lips trembling against yours from his attempt at trying to conceal his laughter, "Let's just make out, yeah? We can think later.."

The Idiot In Love Type - Akihiko Nirei

Joyous giggles burst from cherry-colored lips, it's buoyancy and airiness serving as a stark contrast to the dull, loud chatter that fills the background. It was like music to his ears. Like an angel singing or a siren's call.

Regardless of what it reminded him of, he'd be put under the same spell over and over nevertheless.

It was, at last, the end of the week which meant that it was finally time for you and Nirei's biweekly date night. This time around, you wanted to treat Nirei to something extra special..and what better way to treat your man than to take him out to a fancy restuarant?

It took a minute to walk all the way here in the outfit you were wearing, but it was worth every blister and every dime! The staff has given the two of you nothing but ten star quality service and the food is to die for!

..Alas, you couldn't help but think this was a mistake. Quickly into the night, your adorable boyfriend had been struck silent for reasons unknown and had simply been staring at you. To avoid awkward tension from arising, you've been rambling on about your week only to get a couple of hums and nods from him.

You knew a scene like this one wasn't exactly Nirei's cup of tea, but you didn't think he'd be this turned off by the atmosphere..

And so, after having your fork between your teeth for so long that you're sure you left a permenant dent in the shape of your teeth in it, you set it atop your plate and called Nirei's name. He hums as he's been doing for the past hour now and it makes your lips quirk down along with your brows.

"Hey, Nirei. Are you..enjoying yourself?" You asked, and as if he was snapped out of a spell by the sweet symphony of your voice, he blinks and his mouth falls open to let out a stammering, "H- Huh?"

"You don't have to lie," You reassure, but your tone sounds more and more defeated with every word you utter. And your face..it reminds Nirei of a sad kitten and it's causing his heart to ache, "I can call a waiter over and we can leave."

"What are you saying?" He asks, his face giving away the genuine bewilderment he feels towards your sudden exclamation, "Why would we leave? We only just got our food.. I- Is something wrong?"

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" And that furthers his growing panic as he stutters out, "Wh- What do you mean?" And thankfully, you notice his sudden distress to which you reach your hand across the table cloth—being careful to avoid his glass—as you offer your open palm to him.

And without hesitation, he latches his hand onto yours, allowing you to curl your fingers around the edge of his hand while your thumb strokes the supple skin.

"It's nothing you did, hun'," You reassured, "I just noticed that you seemed a little..distant this evening. You haven't talked much at all and you've just been staring and—" You sigh softly, pausing for a moment to collect yourself. Nirei waits, not saying a word the entire time.

"..I just.. I just assumed that you don't like it here..and that's completely okay by the way! There's always the next date, right?"

"What are you talking about?" He says, his brows frowning impossibly deeper into his freckled skin, "I love this, really! I'm having a great time!"

And this time, you're the one giving him confusing glances and making sounds, asking, "I'm serious Nirei, you don't have to lie to me It's okay if you're uncomfortable! I could tell.. You were really quiet and staring like you were.."

And without hesitation, Nirei blurts out, "Well that's because I think you're really pretty." And a curtain of silence as cast over your table.

Well, it did for a moment. Once Nirei actually processed what he said, he let out a small squeak and slapped his hand over his mouth, looking absolutely mortified at the face of your gentle, awestruck expression.

"I- I'm sorry I probably shouldn't have said that I mean it's true that you're really pretty but now probably wasn't the best time to say that and I'm so so sorry if I creeped you out or—" "Is that why you were acting like that?"

"Huh? ..Well, yeah..I- I guess you could say that.." He bumbles like an idiot as his eyes drink in your every micro expression. The slight twitch of the inner corners of your brows, your trembling lips, the growing stain of red beginning at the tip of your ears which is only noticeable after you pushed some strands of your hair back and scratched at your cheek..

You should be apart of a painting in a museum. It'd be an honor to be the painter of such a piece..though, he doesn't believe he'd be able to capture your radiance like other, far more skilled people probably could.

And before he knew it, he was mumbling nonsense, "I find you appealing in every way. From your smile to your laugh to your marks and blemishes.. Everything about you is so alluring that I just..get lost in thought about it, y'know?"

And you were struck silent once again. Before his regret causes him to shoot out a bazillion apologies per minute, however, you recover and slowly bring his hand up to your face. Nirei watches with flushed cheeks as you place a bashful kiss to his knuckles.

"My sweet prince..'had me worried for a second.." You mumbled against his skin, letting his hand go as you let out a breathy chuckle and your own hands come up to cover part of your face, "Now I feel silly.."

And just like that, he was under your spell once again, never to break out of it until your eyes reluctantly released him later that evening..

He's not complaining.

The Quiet Chivalric Type - Kyotaro Sugishita

A stuttering breath slips through your chattering teeth as a rather strong, chilling wind nicks at your skin and blows through your hair.

This was the last time you were ever going to listen to your tv.

You see, that morning you had a bit of a dilemma; you had no idea what you wanted to wear today. Usually you'd just throw something on, but since your boyfriend decided he wanted to spend the entire day out with you, you wanted to dress up for him.

It wasn't the best decision you've made, but you decided to consult in someone you thought would never lie to you; the weatherman. He said, and you quote, "It'll be warm throughout the day with low chances of showers!"

Turns out he was full of shit. As the day went on, the sky began to gray and cloud little by little, until, guess what, it. freaking. rained! Not a few droplets either, it was literally pouring buckets for, like, an hour!

And now, you walk alongside your boyfriend, your cute summer-theme outfit thoroughly drenched, your arms caged around your chest, and you shivering and shaking like a leaf.

If you get sick you swear to the gods above you'll—!

Dampened warmth suddenly spreads around your being. It was like the sun had given you a hug or more like you had been enveloped in blankets after a nice, long shower; complete heaven on earth. What's more is that this warmth has a scent to it. A rather pleasant aroma that reminds you of..

Your eyes drift, widening at the sight of Sugishita now stripped down to his gray tee, his Bofurin jacket—the symbol that stood for all that he idolizes—now draped over your shoulder.

"'What are you doing? You got soaked too. At this rate, you'll get sick.." Despite your protests, your grip on his jacket only tightened, your finger fiddling with one of the buttons. And like your body, it seemed that your boyfriend was just as unwilling to accept the jacket back, a semi-loud, gruff huff slipping through the thin opening his lips parted to create.

And at the face of such stubborn kindness, who are you to refuse?

With a smile beginning to form on your face, you lower your arms from your chest, one hand quickly coming up to cover your exposed body with the jacket while the other reached for his hand..

"You're a lifesaver, 'Taro. Thanks for this," You told him, stopping the two of you momentarily so that you can plant a quick kiss to his cheek before continuing your journey home once again.

..And as you predicted, your poor boyfriend had caught a real bad cold overnight and was bedridden with a fever by morning. You felt absolutely horrible as you tended to him with his freshly washed jacket hanging off your arms..

The Athletic Golden Retriever Type - Taiga Tsugeura

"Ninety six... Ninety seven..." Loud shouts resonate throughout the cozy little living room, it's volume shaking the liquid of all drinks in the vicinity. One is sure that if it wasn't for the furniture being as sturdy as it was, the boom of his voice would rattle them to the point of collapsing.

All that's to say that you didn't mind the noise. As you sat comfortably crisscross on your favorite seat—which so happened to be your boyfriend's back side—your eyes were trained on your phone, eyes following every movement the dancers on the tiny screen made as their voices were blasted along with a catchy tune throughout your bulky headphones.

Even with such deafening noise surrounding your earlobes, you still gave a part of your attention to the man, who was currently pushing you up and down as if you were a mere dumbbell, below you. That said, through the music, you were still able to hear the gruff yell of Tsugeura as he yells, "Ninety nine... One hundred!"

As he eased himself to the ground for the nth time that day, you released him of your weight by sliding off his back and onto your furry rug. You then immediately reached to flick your headphones off your ears—ignoring the fact that your music was so loud that you could still hear the music as clear as day despite the headphones no longer being on your ears—before your hand closest to him came up to ruffle his hair.

"Good job, baby," You praised, "Want your protein shake now?" And to that your boyfriend nods his head up and down like some excitable pup to which you gingerly awarded him with the banana-flavored protein shake.

As he sat up and began gulping down his already half-drunken drink, you watch in silence. Patiently waiting for him to finish his treat before speaking again.

"Is that all for your afternoon workout?" You asked him to which your boyfriend loudly responded, "Yeah! Thanks for the help, babe! The extra weight really did the trick!"

"Am I really that heavy?" You questioned, beginning to frown at the thought. You were never one to exactly care about your weight, but to be so heavy that your buff ass partner likes to use you as a giant weight is a little..

Tsugeura blinks, looking rather bemused as he replies, "Not at all! You're practically a feather!" And despite the sheer amount of confidence in his words, you found yourself skeptical.

"Then if I'm so light, why make me do all of this? I mean, you make me sit on you while you do push ups and I sit on your shoulders when you do your squats," You mentioned and without missing a beat, he says with a big grin plastering itself on his face, "Well, it gives me the excuse to spend time with you!"

You freeze, and as his words process in your head, you feel your face grow warmer and warmer. It seems your boyfriend noticed it, but didn't understand why you were suddenly so abash. That said, he tilts his head to the side as he stares at you.

You're sure that if he had ears, they'd be flopping to the side along with his head. It'd truly be an adorable sight.

"Hey, what's wrong? Why'd you suddenly go silent? You're turning all red too."

"It's nothing. I was just..thinking about some stuff."

Dividers were made by me, pictures used are from Pinterest, post formatting is inspired by @xxsabitoxx

#wind breaker #wind breaker nii satoru #wind breaker x reader #windbreaker fluff #sakura haruka x reader #sakura haruka #suo hayato x reader #suo hayato #kiryu mitsuki x reader #kiryu mitsuki #akihiko nirei x reader #nirei akihiko #sugishita kyotaro x reader #kyotaro sugishita #taiga tsugeura x reader #taiga tsugeura

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silence-burns · 1 year ago

Text

The Death of Me //part 1

Fandom: Aquaman

Summary: (very small spoilers for the movie) Finding Orm on your doorstep was not something you expected. Having him move in was even worse. But the effect he still had on every part of your life would be the death of you.

The sun was blinding, but unfortunately, not enough to make the man standing before you disappear.

“You're in surprisingly good shape for a dead person,” you said.

“And you look terrible for someone supposedly alive,” said Orm.

You shrugged and immediately regretted it. The tight bandages keeping your shoulder in place worked as a poor reminder it was out of commission for the next few weeks.

“How I've missed that princely charm. Piss me off some more and, half-dead or not, I'm gonna kick your ass back into that desert I got it from. It might be the last thing I do, but if I become a ghost, I'll brag about it for eternity.”

Your mood soured further with every minute you remained conscious. Surprises and resurrections, you could deal with, but your ability to be polite left long ago. There were a lot of impolite and certainly unprincely words bubbling in your chest, but they all disappeared when the most magical, impossible, and straight-out-of-fairy-tales thing happened.

Orm, of his own volition, smiled.

The sun was still doing its best to blind your already red and swollen eyes—it failed yet again. You examined the strange occurrence, with the furrowed brows and all the small wrinkles and tiny folds in the skin that usually accompanied a person’s smile looking perfectly normal on his face. It was a genuine smile. You could only blink at him for a moment

“I thought scowling was the only expression you had. Like a factory setting, you know.”

“I'm glad to hear you are as sharp as ever, despite your current shortcomings.”

“Excuse you, I'm in great shape.”

The man in front of you politely didn't argue. It was rather clear from his expression that he had some serious doubts about not only the state of your body, but also about your mental capacity of acknowledging said state, but he made the wise choice of keeping these thoughts to himself.

Wise was your middle name; therefore, you allowed the silence to confirm your words. At the same time, you shifted more of your weight against the doorframe, hoping your grimace came across as menacing rather than painful. Your leg needed a bit of rest, nothing serious. It totally wasn’t almost crushed to pieces a few weeks ago.

The smile on Orm’s face, an expression you could get used to seeing, started to shift into a look of concern as he watched your eyes. You looked away, afraid of how much he could see. Before you could react, he picked you up and carried you inside the house.

It was a pretty house, very spacious, just like old rich men tended to enjoy—which might explain why Batman bought it a long time ago as a safehouse far from any prying eyes, and why he allowed you to occasionally use it as such.

Yet, despite all the initial spaciousness, it was rather easy to clutter if the person living inside had a few cracked bones, general lack of energy to move, and never invited anyone around to see the mess.

Orm raised an eyebrow when he noticed a sofa dragged into the kitchen area and the amount of empty, crushed packaging laying around it. You hated how much could be expressed without saying a word.

“Put me down.”

Your words came out weaker than intended. Orm held you in a bridal carry which put immense pressure on your cracked ribs and sent flashes of pain every time you inhaled. But he was so warm and close that your anger sizzled and faded.

With your head on his shoulder, you had the perfect view of his perfect profile and the perfect frown deepening the wrinkles between his brows.

“So, this is how you live now?” was all he said, in a controlled tone.

“I know you're not deaf and heard me the first time. Put me down. Preferably on my beautiful and completely normal kitchen bed, thank you.”

You sighed with relief once he finally listened. Even though the pressure of his arms around you disappeared, somehow you still felt his warmth, as if it seeped into your battered, bruised flesh. You felt your face getting hot and decided against following that train of thought.

Your heart, for a reason you also chose to ignore, skipped a beat when Orm turned on his heel and walked back to the front door. It took him comparatively less time than when you had to drag your ass to open it a few minutes ago.

But rather than walking outside and disappearing from your life again, Orm only closed the door. And then turned the lock too.

“I don’t like where this is going,” you said, in vain hope that all of this was just a bad dream you'd soon wake up from.

“What a shame,” Orm said with no shame whatsoever in his voice.

“Why are you here? I might be a little late with that question, but I'd still love to know the answer.”

Orm took measured steps to the kitchen table, assessing the seat with the least amount of trash surrounding it, and sat down. He sat upright, posture uncompromised in the face of a backless stool, and folded his hands on the table. How he looked royal surrounded by trash and cold leftovers was beyond you.

“As you have witnessed, thanks to Arthur, after that final battle I got a way out of my old life. I enjoyed it for the most part, and even wandered the surface world for a while. And then I heard about your accident and came to settle my debts.”

“You don't have a debt to me.”

“When I was awaiting sentencing for my crimes, you were the one that took care of me. And not so long ago, you helped Artur break me out of that prison. That alone guarantees my utmost respect.”

“Your debt is paid, you owe me nothing.”

“That's not how it works.”

“I don't need a nurse, especially one who isn’t wearing a sexy costume.”

“I'm afraid that part is not negotiable.”

“Wait.” You squinted, doing your best to focus your thoughts despite a rising migraine. “This cottage is in the middle of nowhere, with the nearest town a few hours on foot and only if you already know the way. And the only people that knew I got… a little roughed up, were those in the Justice League. Did Artur give you a ride here because he felt guilty he didn’t stop that building in Venice from falling on me?”

“Every day I am thankful that I don't know the inner workings of my brother’s mind.”

“So he did.”

You let your head fall back onto the makeshift kitchen-bed. It was too much for you.

You grabbed the pills from your secret under-the-pillow stash of meds and swallowed some painkillers.

“I'm going to kill your brother.”

“May you have more luck than I did. Now, do you even own any clean clothes?”

#orm marius x reader #orm x reader #aquaman orm x reader #orm x you #orm marius #aquaman imagine #aquaman orm #the death of me #aquaman the lost kingdom

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rememberwren · 3 months ago

Note

I am CRAVING new ink 😮‍💨

What about Ghoap's reaction to reader getting a tiny skull and a soap tattoo on their ass cheeks without them knowing ? 💀🧼 Heh, surpriiiise

xoxo 🩷

I’ve been thinking about your thigh tattoo all day

I can’t tell what they would prefer more; for you to have it tattooed someplace private and sensual or to have their callsigns somewhere visible to the public 😮‍💨

Thinking about being pre-relationship with them, wearing items that reflect their names. Ghost staring holes through you and your tight little skull t-shirt (you genuinely can’t tell if he likes it or not (he’s hard btw)). Johnny can’t stop looking at the little rose gold soap bar charm dangling off your wrist or between your breasts.

Real talk though, I think Ghost would be upset at first if reader got any tattoo on his behalf, no matter how symbolic. He’s convinced that eventually the sight of it will cause you pain—whether because you fall out of love with him or because he dies young. It takes a lot of talking (his least favorite thing) for him to understand that even if a day came when the two of you were separated—whether it be by your own volition or otherwise—you would still want your body to pay homage to him. Then he is very reverent of it. Wants to put his hands and mouth on it, and on you.

#wren answers #lay-z #I need new ink too #badddd

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doctorbitchcrxft · 11 months ago

Text

Bugs | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Eventual)

Warnings: BUGS lol, canon violence, canon gore

Word Count: 7012

Mobile Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Playlist

You and Dean decided that after your last job, you deserved a break. You went to a bar to play that eight-ball game you’d talked about back in Ankeny. The two of you were pretty evenly matched; you had to admit. He would win a game, then you would win a game, and that pattern continued for quite a bit. Then you’d swapped to nine-ball. The two of you walked away from the pool tables and found a table when you’d grown tired of playing with each other.

“I’ll admit, you’re pretty good, Winchester,” you told him.

“You too, sweetheart,” he responded, chuckling.

“You’re never gonna stop calling me that, are you?” you asked.

“Nope.”

You pretended to be annoyed and rolled your eyes. “You suck.”

“You, too.”

You playfully glared at him.

“You hustle?” he asked you.

“Duh,” you responded, taking a swig of your beer.

He chuckled. “How ‘bout it? I’m low on cash after I paid off that morgue tech.”

“Hey, you did that on your own volition,” you joked back. “Nobody forced you to pay him off. And maybe you lost even more cash after you lost that poker game to me yesterday.”

He glared back at you. “I’ll get you next time.”

“Sure. So who’re you hustlin’?” you asked.

He scanned the room for a moment. “Them.” He subtly nodded in the direction of a group of guys who looked around your and Dean’s age. They seemed kind of douchey, and you’d love to watch Dean kick their asses if you were being honest.

“Eight or nine ball?” you asked him.

“Nine.”

“Ooh, good luck,” you told him.

“I won’t need it,” he answered arrogantly and began heading over to the group.

Your newfound friendship with Dean was slightly difficult for you due to your unbelievable attraction to him. The more you got to know him the more you began to like him for more than just his beautiful face. But you knew neither of you had the time for anything more than friendship, especially considering you knew you’d be hitting the road as soon as they found their dad. You chose not to focus on the finite amount of time you had with the Winchester boys and just enjoy it while it lasted.

As much as you tried to push the thought away, you couldn’t deny that watching him hustle pool made you even more attracted to him.

“Cute,” you told Dean sarcastically when he walked back over to your table waving a wad of cash in the air. “But I betcha I can get us double the money.” You snatched his money out of his hands.

“Hey!” he said. “I earned that.”

“And I’ll earn it back,” you smirked over your shoulder.

He quirked a brow at you as you “drunkenly” walked away, watching you head over to a pool table surrounded by another group of young guys.

You wore a black tank top that showed off your cleavage, and stuck Dean’s money in the top of your bra while you sauntered over to the pool table. A tall blonde guy holding a cue stick was surrounded by his frat-boy posse hollering about how good the blonde guy played.

“Fifty dollars to play!” One of the boys yelled.

“I’ll play,” you piped up, looking down at the table set for nine-ball.

You pulled some cash out of the top of your bra and placed it on the rim of the pool table.

“Uh, sweetheart,” the blond began, “That’s only twenty.”

“Oh, sorry,” you snorted out a laugh, putting thirty dollars on the table.

“She’s hammered, dude,” one of the blond’s friends told him.

The blond waved him off, still looking over you. He handed you a pool cue with a smirk.

“You break.”

You fumbled with the cue before lining up your shot. After you hit the cue ball, you allowed the wooden stick to slip clumsily out of your hands. The balls flew all over the table in different directions because you had struck them so hard. However, you had not managed to pocket a single one.

The blond lined up his shot. Managing to keep the dopey look on your face, you mentally smirked at his amateur hand bridge. This guy would be easy to beat. With his friends cheering him on, he pocketed the yellow one-ball but missed the shot he took at the nine-ball. The nine-ball was in the perfect position for you to win on your next two shots, but you were not going for the big bucks just yet.

“Your turn, baby,” the blond told you.

You resisted the urge to cringe at the nickname. You had never liked being called “baby.”

Instead, you gave him a wide smile, walking up to the cue ball. You went to aim for the four-ball, but the blond stopped you.

“What are you doing?”

“Aiming for the pretty purple ball,” you replied innocently. “Am I doing something wrong?”

“You have to aim for the two-ball. You ever even played before?” he asked jokingly.

“No,” you smiled.

He was not expecting that answer to his jest, his face dropping out of the smile. “Then why are you playing for money?”

“I thought you were cute and wanted to play with you.”

The blond smirked down at you.

Before he could respond, you said, “C’mon! I wanna keep playing. This is fun.” You lined up and hit the two ball, knocking it only a little bit closer to the pocket than the blond had gotten it.

He ended up sinking the two-ball and then the nine-ball after that, his friends cheering for him. He took the money off the table. “Maybe next time.”

“Ooh, can we play again? Please?” you whined.

He looked around at his friends. They all shrugged.

You took all of the money out of your bra, including fifty dollars of your own to compensate for the fifty you just lost. You did promise Dean you would double the amount he had earned, after all.

The blond laughed nervously. “Uh, that’s a lot more than fifty dollars.”

“Is it?” you pretended you were surprised. “Oh, well. We’ll just play for whatever this is, then.”

One of the blond’s friends, a brunet, was already counting the money. “This is three-hundred dollars, man.”

“Look, you’re really drunk. That’s a lot of money,” the blond said. “Let’s just stop.”

“No,” you begged, “please? It’ll be fine!”

He finally conceded, collecting a total of three hundred dollars between himself and his friends.

On the break, he hit the one-ball and the five-ball ended up falling into the left side pocket. However, on the shot he took at the nine-ball, he missed.

You hit the two-ball, sank it, and clapped excitedly. You aimed for the three-ball next, hitting it between the right side and back pockets. The ball hit the wall and stopped only two inches off of it, giving the blond no shot at sinking it on his next turn.

He ended up pushing the three-ball and the cue ball into the perfect position for you to hit the red ball into the hole. Once you sank the three-ball, you lined up the cue behind the cue ball and hit the nine-ball into one of the pockets. Blondie and his friends stood there slack-jawed.

“I won!” you cheered, giggling. You gave Blondie a kiss on the cheek when you took your money.

You walked back over to Dean with your hips swishing confidently. Smirking, you held up your winnings.

He took them from your hands, counting the money. “Damn. I’m impressed.”

You feigned shock. “Dean Winchester? Impressed by something I did?”

“Can it, (Y/N).”

You walked outside of the bar with Dean at your side. You waved the money in your hand back and forth triumphantly as you approached the Impala that Sam sat atop flipping through newspapers. He looked disapproving. “Y’know, we could get day jobs once in a while.”

"Hunting's our day job,” you countered.

“Yeah, and the pay is crap,” Dean added.

“Amen.”

“Yeah, but hustling pool? Credit card scams? It's not the most honest thing in the world, guys,” the younger brother argued.

“Well, let's see, honest—” Dean began, and you held out one hand palm-up for “honest,” “—Fun and easy,” he finished.

You held out the other hand, representing a scale, tipping it to the side of “fun and easy.”

“It's no contest,” you shrugged.

“Besides, we're good at it. It's what we were raised to do,” Dean added.

Sam was still not convinced. “Yeah, well, how we were raised was jacked.”

“Yeah, says you,” sassed Dean. “We got a new gig or what?”

“Maybe. Oasis Plains, Oklahoma— not far from here. A gas company employee, Dustin Burwash, supposedly died from Creutzfeldt-Jakob.”

“Gesundheit,” you commented.

“Human mad cow disease.” Sam shot you a playful glare.

“Mad cow. Wasn't that on Oprah?” Dean asked.

“You watch Oprah?” you responded.

The older brother looked embarrassed and couldn’t think of anything to say. He decided to change the subject. “So this guy eats a bad burger. Why is it our kind of thing?”

“Mad cow disease causes massive brain degeneration. It takes months, even years, for the damage to appear. But this guy, Dustin? Sounds like his brain disintegrated in about an hour. Maybe less,” Sam stated.

You nodded slowly. “Oh-kay, that is weird.”

“Yeah. Now, it could be a disease. Or it could be somethin' much nastier,” Sam told you.

“Alright. Oklahoma,” Dean said, beginning to get in the car. You and Sam followed suit. “Man. Work, work, work,” the older Winchester sighed. “No time to spend my money.”

“You mean our money,” you said, handing him three hundred. You kept the other three.

“Right.” He put the money in his wallet and began driving off.

***

Dean had driven you to the gas and power company the deceased had worked at. You approached a man with shaggy hair and a scruffy chin who you had learned from another employee was the man who discovered Dustin’s dead body.

“Travis Weaver?” Sam called.

“Yeah, that's right.” The man turned to you.

“Are you the Travis who worked with Uncle Dusty?” Dean asked.

“Dustin never mentioned nephews. Or a niece,” he responded.

“Really? Well, he sure mentioned you. He said you were the greatest.”

You nodded, affirming Dean’s lie.

Travis smiled sadly. “Oh, he did? Huh.”

“I hate to ask you, but… what exactly happened out there?” you asked.

“I'm not sure. He fell in a sinkhole, I went to the truck to get some rope, and, uh... by the time I got back…” he trailed off, face contorting in discomfort.

“What did you see?” Dean questioned.

Travis shook his head. “Nothin'. Just Dustin.”

“No wounds or anything?” Sam chimed in.

“Well, he was bleeding... from his eyes and his ears, his nose. But that's it.”

“So you think it could be this whole mad cow thing?” Dean asked.

“I don't know. That's what the doctors are sayin'.”

“I don’t know, it just doesn’t feel right to me,” you added. “Uncle Dusty just never acted like that to me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, if it was, he would’ve acted like he had dementia, a loss of motor control, you ever notice anything like that?” you asked.

“No. No way. But then again, if it wasn't some disease, what the hell was it?”

“That's a good question,” Dean responded.

“You know, can you tell us where this happened?” Sam asked.

Travis nodded. He instructed Dean the path to follow in order to find the scene of the incident. Surrounding the sinkhole he had fallen in was police tape, but the neighborhood it was in seemed mostly uninhabited except for a few construction workers milling about.

“Huh.” Dean looked down into the hole. “What do you think?”

“I don't know. But if that guy, Travis, was right, it happened pretty damn fast,” Sam responded.

You ducked under the tape and looked down into the hole with a flashlight.

“So, what? Some sort of creature chewed on his brain?” Dean’s face scrunched up in confusion.

You shook your head. “No, there'd be an entry wound. Sounds like this thing worked from the inside.”

“Looks like there's only room for one,” Dean commented. “Hate to say it, sweetheart, you’re gonna have to get down there.”

You flinched back. “What? No. We have no idea what’s down there.”

He picked up a nearby coil of rope. “Alright, I'll go if you're scared. You scared?”

“No. Dick.” Your stubbornness would not let you back down despite the genuine fear clawing at your throat. When you were younger, your father would often starve you to ensure you could fit into small spaces such as the hole you were about to journey down. You had no doubt you would’ve grown taller than 5’6” had he not done this. Even still, you mustered your courage. “I'm going.”

“I said I'd go,” Dean argued.

“I'm going,” you pressed, taking the end of the rope from him. You tied it around your waist. “Don’t drop me.”

“I won’t.”

“Sam, don’t let him drop me.”

Sam chuckled.

“What?” Dean sounded offended. “You don’t trust me?”

“Nope,” you smiled, clambering down into the hole. It took a moment for your eyes to adjust, but when they did, you were surprised by what you’d found.

Dean drove, and Sam was examining the dead beetle you’d found in the sinkhole. Some bugs you could handle, but beetles were not one you could spend prolonged periods of time looking at.

“So you found some beetles. In a hole, in the ground. That's shocking, (Y/N),” Dean quipped.

You shook your head. “Dude, no. There were no tunnels, no tracks, nothing. No evidence of any other creature down there.”

“You know,” Sam added, “some beetles do eat meat. Now, it's usually dead meat, but…”

“How many did you find down there?” Dean asked you.

“Ten.”

“It'd take a whole lot more than that to eat out some dude's brain, Sam.”

“Well, maybe there were more,” his brother argued.

“I don't know, it sounds like a stretch to me,” Dean responded.

“Well, we need more information on the area, the neighborhood. Whether something like this has ever happened before,” you added. A sign advertising an open house decorated with red balloons caught your eye.

Sam was looking back at you. “What?”

“There.” You pointed to the sign.

You passed another that read, “Models Open. New Buyers' BBQ Today!"

“I'm kinda hungry for a little barbeque, how 'bout you?” Dean remarked.

Sam gave him a look.

“What, we can't talk to the locals?”

You snickered. “And the free food's got nothin' to do with it?”

“Of course not. I'm a professional.”

His brother rolled his eyes. “Right.”

Dean pulled over and the three of you got out of the car to walk toward the open house.

“Growin' up in a place like this would freak me out,” Dean remarked.

“Ditto,” you said.

“Why?” Sam looked at the two of you like you were crazy.

“Manicured lawns, ‘How was your day, honey?’ I'd blow my brains out,” Dean chuckled.

“White picket fence,” you sing-songed, “private school, stay-at-home moms with three snotty children— no thanks.”

“There's nothing wrong with ‘normal,’ “ Sam rebutted.

“I'd take our family over normal any day,” the older Winchester said. He approached the house and knocked on the door.

A man in a steamed collared shirt opened the door. “Welcome,” he said.

“This the barbeque?” Dean asked.

“Yeah, not the best weather,” he replied, referencing the gray sky, “but... I'm Larry Pike, the developer here. And you are... ?”

“Dean. This is Sam and (Y/N).” He shook Larry’s hand.

“Sam, Dean, (Y/N), good to meet you. So, you three are interested in Oasis Plains?”

“Yes, sir,” the older brother responded.

“Let me just say—” You had no idea where Larry was going with this— “we accept homeowners of any race, religion, color, or... sexual orientation.”

You realized what he was trying to say. “They’re brothers. I’m just a friend.”

Larry nodded and seemed slightly embarrassed.

“Our father is getting on in years,” Sam explained, “and we're just lookin' for a place for him.”

Larry laughed awkwardly “Great, great. Well, seniors are welcome, too. Come on in.” He guided you to the backyard where dozens of people were chatting and eating. “Eighteen months ago, I was walking this valley with my survey team. There was nothing here but scrub brush and squirrels. And you know what, we built such a nice place to live that I actually bought into it myself. This is our house. We're the first family in Oasis Plains.” He brought you over to a woman around his age. “This is my wife, Joanie.”

“Hi there,” she smiled.

Larry introduced the three of you to her before saying, “Tell them how much you love the place, honey. And lie if you have to because I need to sell some houses.”

She laughed. “Right.”

This painfully fake interaction you were having reeked of Middle America. It was making you sick.

Larry left you alone with Joanie who said, “Don't let his salesman routine scare you. This really is a great place to live.”

A very energetic woman with bright, Ariel-red hair pulled back in a tight bun approached your group. “Hi, I'm Lynda Bloome, head of sales,” she grinned.

“And Lynda was second to move in,” Joanie went on. “She's a very noisy neighbor, though.”

Even Lynda’s laugh was obnoxious. “She's kidding, of course. I take it you three are interested in becoming homeowners.”

Before any of you could answer, she said, “Well, let me just say that we accept homeowners of any race, religion, color, or... sexual orientation.”

Dean chuckled. “Right. Um... I'm gonna go talk to Larry.” Dean began walking away. “Okay, honeys?” He smacked you on your ass as he left.

You nearly yelped in surprise. The rest of your interaction with Lynda became very awkward. You were barely interested in what she was saying about the various features of the home. “Who can say "no" to a steam shower? I use mine everyday.”

You nodded, forcing a smile. “Sounds great.”

Sam noticed something just beyond her, saying, “Excuse me,” and pushing her out of the way. What he had picked up off the picnic table was a large tarantula. You noticed a snickering boy with shaggy brown hair a few feet behind where Lynda had been standing.

Sam walked over to the boy. “Is this yours?”

The boy took the spider from him. “You gonna tell my dad?”

“I don't know. Who's your dad?”

The teen scoffed. “Yeah, Larry usually skips me in the family introductions.”

You sucked air in through your teeth. “Ouch. First name basis with your dad— sounds pretty grim.”

“Well, I'm not exactly brochure material,” the kid remarked.

“Well, hang in there. It gets better, all right? I promise,” Sam said.

The kid didn’t seem convinced. “When?”

You heard Larry call the name, “Matthew!” You turned to see the older man and Dean walking toward you.

“I am so sorry about my son and his... pet.”

‘Clearly there’s some issues there.’

You shook your head. “No big.”

“Excuse us.” Larry’s face was set and hardened, pulling his son away from you and the boys.

“Remind you of somebody?” Sam asked his brother. He was gesturing toward the arguing father and son. “Dad?”

“Dad never treated us like that,” Dean argued.

“Well, Dad never treated you like that. You were perfect. He was all over my case. You don't remember?”

“Well, maybe he had to raise his voice, but sometimes, you were out of line.”

Sam scoffed. “Right. Right, like when I said I'd rather play soccer than learn bowhunting.”

“Bowhunting's an important skill,” Dean replied. You agreed with him, but chose to say out of the brotherly debate.

“Whatever. How was your tour?” Sam asked.

Dean turned on the sarcasm. “Oh, it was excellent. I'm ready to buy. So you might be onto somethin'. Looks like Dustin Burwash wasn't the first strange death around here.”

“What happened?” you questioned.

“About a year ago, before they broke ground, one of Larry's surveyors dropped dead while on the job. Get this severe allergic reaction to bee stings.”

You nodded. “More bugs.”

***

Later that evening, Sam was driving you and Dean through the neighborhood. You put your head on Dean’s shoulder over the back of the front seat as he flipped through his father’s journal. He had looked at you strangely and tensed up when you’d first rested your head on him, but you just shrugged in response. To your surprise, he allowed you to stay there.

“You know, I've heard of killer bees, but killer beetles?” Dean shook his head. “What is it that could make different bugs attack?”

“Well, hauntings sometimes include bug manifestations,” Sam replied.

“Yeah, but I didn't see any evidence of ghost activity,” the older brother said, referring to his house tour.

“Me neither,” you added.

“Maybe they're being controlled somehow. You know, by something or someone,” Dean stated.

“You mean, like Willard?” Sam chuckled.

“Yeah, bugs instead of rats.”

“There are cases of psychic connections between people and animals - elementals, telepaths,” Sam continued.

“Yeah, that whole Lassie thing,” you commented. You were thoughtful for a moment. “Larry's kid— he's got bugs for pets.”

“Matt?” Sam seemed unconvinced. “He did try to scare the realtor with a tarantula.”

“You think he's our Willard?”

“I don't know. Anything's possible, I guess.”

Something caught Dean’s attention. “Ooh, hey. Pull over here.”

Your head perked up.

Sam pulled into the empty driveway of one of the Oasis Plains homes. “What are we doing here?”

Dean got out of the car and began pulling the garage door up and open. “It's too late to talk to anybody else.”

Sam scoffed. “We're gonna squat in an empty house?”

“I wanna try the steam shower. Come on,” his brother responded simply.

Sam didn’t move.

“Come on!” Dean urged.

Sam rolled his eyes but complied and pulled into the driveway. Dean closed it behind him.

To your surprise, the home was fully furnished. You assumed it was for staging house tours. You and the boys were thankful to find three beds within the home, avoiding the awkward task of deciding who was going to have to sleep with who. And for the first time in quite a while, you slept incredibly well on the soft mattress and plush pillows.

***

The next morning, you found Sam remaking the bed he had slept in down the hall from yours. He had the police scanner quietly droning on in the background.

“How’d you sleep?” you asked, yawning.

“How do you think,” he replied dryly.

“That’s what I was worried about.”

Sam sighed.

“Dude, we gotta get you right,” you told him. “You’re gonna end up really hurt.”

Before he could respond, the static of the police scanner coming alight with conversation caught your attention. Male voices spoke back and forth about a death that happened in what you recognized as the Oasis Plains area.

“You finish cleaning up; I’ll get Dean,” you told Sam, who nodded. Dean had been serious about indulging in the steam shower. He’d been in the guest bathroom since you woke up that morning.

“You ever comin' out of there?” you called through the door.

“What?” he responded.

You could still hear the water running. “A call came in on the scanner.”

“Hold on.”

“Someone was found dead three blocks from here. Come on.”

The door opened a bit to reveal Dean and his towel-wrapped head. Steam poured out into the hallway. “This shower is awesome,” he smiled.

You laughed in response. “Come on.” You walked away to finish helping Sam gather your things and hide the fact that someone had been here.

When you arrived at the crime scene, a body bag was being wheeled out on a stretcher. You found out from a visibly upset Larry that the realtor, Lynda Bloome, had been the one to pass away. The three of you discovered about a dozen dead spiders underneath a towel near where the outline of her body had been mapped out, and decided to pay Matt a visit.

It took a few hours, but you discovered where Matt went to school and followed his bus route. You watched when he got off the bus.

“Isn't his house that way?” Dean pointed in the opposite direction of where Matt was walking.

You nodded. “Yup. So where’s he goin’?”

The three of you began following the teenager from a bit of a distance. Unfortunately for you, he headed into the woods.

“Seriously, kid?” you muttered. “Always the fucking woods.”

Dean chuckled at your discomfort.

“Shut up, asshole,” you quipped.

Sam approached Matt first. “Hey, Matt. Remember me?”

“What are you doin' out here?” he asked, surprised.

“Well, we wanna talk to you,” Dean responded.

“You're not here to buy a house, are you?”

You shook your head.

“W-wait. You're not serial killers?” Matt began backing away from you.

“No. I think you’re safe,” you smiled.

“So, Matt... you sure know a lot about insects,” Sam began.

“So?” he shrugged.

“Did you hear what happened to Lynda, the realtor?” Dean asked.

“I hear she died this morning,” Matt responded.

“Mm, that's right. Spider bites.”

“Matt... you tried to scare her with a spider.” Sam’s tone was accusatory without being harsh.

“Wait. You think I had something to do with that?”

“You tell us,” you responded.

Matt scoffed humorlessly. “That tarantula was a joke. Anyway, that wouldn't explain the bee attack or the gas company guy.”

“You know about those?” Now you were the one being accusatory.

“There is somethin' going on here. I don't know what... but something's happening with the insects. Let me show you something.” Matt shouldered his bag and led you deeper into the woods. You hoped he knew where the hell he was going and how the hell to get back.

“So, if you knew about all this bug stuff, why not tell your dad? Maybe he could clear everybody out,” Sam suggested.

“Believe me, I've tried. But, uh, Larry doesn't listen to me.”

“Why not?”

“Mostly? He's too disappointed in his freak son.”

Sam scoffed. “I hear you.”

Dean seemed surprised. “You do?”

Sam gave him a look before turning back to Matt. “Matt, how old are you?”

“Sixteen.”

“Well, don't sweat it, because in two years, something great's gonna happen.”

“What?”

“College. You'll be able to get out of that house and away from your dad.”

Dean was upset. “What kind of advice is that? Kid should stick with his family.”

Sam sighed and glared at his brother.

You tried to break the tension. “How much further, Matt?”

You knew Matt felt awkward, too. “We're close.”

Sam glared at Dean once more before continuing walking. Moments later, you reached a large clearing. As you’d been approaching, the sound of insects buzzing had gotten louder and louder. Hundreds of them flew about the clearing.

“I've been keeping track of insect populations. It's, um, part of an AP science class,” the teen explained.

“You two are like peas in a pod,” Dean remarked.

Sam ignored him. “What's been happening?”

“A lot. I mean, from bees to earthworms, beetles... you name it. It's like they're congregating here,” Matt went on.

“Why?” Dean’s brows knitted together.

“I don't know,” he responded.

You caught sight of a dark, bumpy patch of grass a few feet away. “What’s that?”

Matt looked at you and seemed curious as well. He led you once more over to the pile. Your skin began to crawl at the sight of hundreds of wriggling earthworms. Dean accidently stepped on a pile of them and it sank into the ground. You pulled him back by the arm to avoid him falling, too. You let him go, and he crouched to the ground. He used a stick to poke around. He then dropped the stick and stuck his hand straight into the hole. When his hand came back up, he was holding a human skull covered in dirt and worms.

“Gnarley,” you said.

***

Sam suggested bringing the remains to the department of anthropology at a local university. “So, a bunch of skeletons in an unmarked grave,” he said as you approached the building.

“Maybe it is a haunting,” you added. “Pissed off spirits? Unfinished business?”

“Yeah, maybe. Question is, why bugs? And why now?”

The older brother quipped, “That's two questions.”

Sam ignored him.

Dean continued. “Yeah, so with that kid back there... why'd you tell him to just ditch his family like that?”

“Just, uh... I know what the kid's goin' through,” his brother shrugged.

“How 'bout tellin' him to respect his old man, how's that for advice?” Dean’s tone was sharp.

“Dean, come on.” Sam stopped walking, and you and Dean followed suit. “This isn't about his old man. You think I didn't respect Dad. That's what this is about.”

“Just forget it, all right? Sorry I brought it up.” Dean shook his head.

“I respected him. But no matter what I did, it was never good enough.”

“So what are you sayin'? That Dad was disappointed in you?”

“Was? Is. Always has been,” Sam bit back.

“Why would you think that?”

“Because I didn't wanna bowhunt or hustle pool— because I wanted to go to school and live my life, which, to our whacked-out family, made me the freak.”

“Yeah, you were kind of like the blonde chick in The Munsters,” Dean grunted.

“Dean, you know what most dads are when their kids score a full ride? Proud. Most dads don't toss their kids out of the house.”

You were accustomed to their normal sibling spats, but this was different.

Dean kept pushing. “I remember that fight. In fact, I seem to recall a few choice phrases comin' out of your mouth.”

“You know, truth is, when we finally do find Dad... I don't know if he's even gonna wanna see me.” The brunet sounded sad.

“Sam, Dad was never disappointed in you. Never. He was scared.”

“What are you talkin' about?”

“He was afraid of what could've happened to you if he wasn't around. But even when you two weren't talkin'... he used to swing by Stanford whenever he could.”

Sam’s smirk faded.

“Keep an eye on you. Make sure you were safe,” Dean finished.

“What?” Sam’s puppy dog eyes were back.

“Yeah.”

“Why didn't you tell me any of that?” the younger brother asked.

“Well, it's a two-way street, dude. You could've picked up the phone.”

Sam stared at him sadly.

“Come on, we're gonna be late for our appointment,” Dean grumbled.

***

The professor you’d gone to see at the college informed you of a Euchee tribe outside of Sapulpa that the bones Dean had found might have belonged to. The three of you now headed over to a diner one of the local Native Americans had directed you to. He had told you how to find Joe White tree, a bit of a patriarch of their group.

You found him playing cards at his table in the diner.

“Joe White Tree?” Sam asked.

The man nodded.

“We'd like to ask you a few questions, if that's all right.”

Dean continued for his brother, saying, “We're students from the university—”

The man cut him off. “No, you're not. You're lying.”

Dean seemed taken aback. “Well, truth is—”

“You know who starts sentence with ‘truth is’? Liars,” Joe responded.

Dean looked at you and Sam strangely.

“Have you heard of Oasis Plains?” you asked. “It's a housing development near the Atoka Valley.”

“I like her,” Joe told Dean. “She's not a liar.”

You smiled.

Joe turned back to you. “I know the area.”

“What can you tell us about the history there?”

“Why do you wanna know?”

You considered for a moment. “Something bad is happening in Oasis Plains. I think it may have something to do with a Native American grave we found there.”

“I'll tell you what my grandfather told me, what his grandfather told him,” Joe began. “Two hundred years ago, a band of my ancestors lived in that valley. One day, the American cavalry came to relocate them. They were resistant, the cavalry impatient. As my grandfather put it, on the night the moon and the sun share the sky as equals, the cavalry first raided our village. They murdered, raped. The next day, the cavalry came again, and the next, and the next. And on the sixth night, the cavalry came one last time. And by the time the sun rose, every man, woman, and child still in the village was dead. They say on the sixth night, as the chief of the village lay dying, he whispered to the heavens that no white man would ever tarnish this land again. Nature would rise up and protect the valley. And it would bring as many days of misery and death to the white man as the cavalry had brought upon his people.”

“Insects. Sounds like nature to me. Six days,” Dean stated.

“And on the night of the sixth day, none would survive,” Joe finished his story.

Sam and Dean exchanged a worried look with you.

“Thank you, sir,” you said.

Joe nodded at you before you and the boys headed off.

“When did the gas company man die?” Sam asked after you had made it outside.

“Uh, let's see, we got here Tuesday, so, Friday the twentieth,” Dean responded.

“March twentieth?” You thought for a moment. “That's the spring equinox.”

“The night the sun and the moon share the sky as equals,” Sam finished. “So, every year about this time, anybody in Oasis Plains is in danger. Larry built this neighborhood on cursed land.”

“And on the sixth night— that's tonight,” Dean finished.

“If we don't do something, Larry's family will be dead by sunrise. So how do we break the curse?”

“You don't break a curse. You get out of its way. We've gotta get those people out now,” Dean said sharply.

The three of you got in the car and sped away.

***

Dean drove while he spoke with Larry on the phone. “Yes, Mr. Pike, there's a mainline gas leak in your neighborhood… Well, it's fairly extensive. I don't want to alarm you, but we need your family out of the vicinity for at least twelve hours or so, just to be safe… Travis Weaver. I work for Oklahoma Gas and Power… Uh…” He panicked and quickly hung up.

Sam gestured for the phone. He learned from Matt that his backyard was crawling with cockroaches. He urged him to get his family out of the house, and Dean told him he needed to, under no circumstances, tell his father the truth about what was happening.

When you arrived at the Pike residence, Larry rushed out of the house. “Get off my property before I call the cops.”

“Mr. Pike, listen,” Sam urged.

“Dad, they're just tryin' to help,” Matt pleaded from the doorway.

“Get in the house!” Larry ordered.

Matt addressed you and the boys. “I'm sorry. I told him the truth.”

“We had a plan, Matt, what happened to the plan?” Dean grunted through his teeth.

“Look, it's 12:00 AM. They are coming any minute now. You need to leave now, before it's too late,” you told Larry.

“Yeah, you mean before the biblical swarm,” he replied humorlessly.

“Larry, what do you think really happened to that realtor, huh? And the gas company guy? You don't think somethin' weird's goin' on here?” Dean questioned.

“Look, I don't know who you are, but you're crazy. You come near my boy or my family again, and we're gonna have a problem,” Larry told you.

“Well, I hate to be a downer, but we've got a problem right now,” the older brother responded.

“Dad, they're right, okay? We're in danger.”

“Matt, get inside! Now!”

Matt stepped further out onto the porch. “No! Why won't you listen to me?!”

“Because this is crazy! It doesn't make any sense!” Larry yelled back.

“Look, this land is cursed! People have died here. Now, are you gonna really take that risk with your family?”

“Wait!” you shushed the group.

Everyone went silent.

“You hear it?”

From a distance away, there was a faint buzzing that got louder and louder rapidly.

“What the hell?” Larry muttered.

The fluorescent bug light on the porch began overheating; killing several bugs at a time. The buzzing got even louder. Millions of bugs blanketed the sky, heading straight to you.

“Oh my God.” Your breath quickened. “Everybody in the house, now!”

You and Dean held up the rear of the group, and you felt his hand on your back guiding you inside. You locked the door behind Dean.

“Okay, is there anybody else in the neighborhood?” Sam asked Larry.

“No, it's just us.”

Joanie entered the room. “Honey, what's happening? What's that noise?”

“Call 911,” Larry instructed her. “Joanie!”

She seemed caught off-guard. “Okay.” She picked up the phone and began to dial.

“I need towels,” Dean told Larry.

“Uh, in the closet.”

Sam and Matt went upstairs while you and Dean packed the base of the front door with the towels you found.

“Phones are dead,” Joanie informed you.

“They must have chewed through the phone lines.” Dean shook his head as the lights went out.

“And the power lines,” you grumbled.

Larry tried his cell phone only to get no signal.

“You won't get one. They're blanketing the house.” Dean looked towards the windows that were beginning to darken from the thousands of bugs collecting on them.

“So what do we do now?” Larry asked.

Sam had come back downstairs with Matt. “We try to outlast it. Hopefully, the curse will end at sunrise.”

“Hopefully?” Larry’s eyebrows raised in shock.

You looked to Dean. “You have your zippo lighter?”

He seemed to catch on to what you were suggesting and nodded. The two of you broke off to the kitchen and found bug spray under one of the cabinets.

Joanie seemed unimpressed when you returned with the can.

“Just trust us,” you told her.

A creaking sound from the fireplace caught your attention.

“What is that?” Matt’s voice was higher pitched than normal.

“The flue,” Sam answered.

“Alright, I think everybody needs to get upstairs,” Dean ordered.

Suddenly, thousands of bugs poured into the living room from the fireplace, swarming all around you. Dean used his zippo to light the can of bug spray. “Alright, everybody upstairs! Now! Go, go, go!”

You covered your ears and ran upstairs to the attic with Sam and Dean close by you. You could hear bugs thumping against the attic hatch door; trying desperately to get in. There was only a few moments reprieve before you heard gnawing above you.

“Oh, God, what's that?” Joanie cried.

“Something's eating through the wood,” Dean replied.

“Termites,” Matt added.

Dean ordered the family to get back from the spot where sawdust was beginning to descend and bits of moonlight were coming through. Moments later, bugs began to fill the room through the chewed in spot. You and the boys frantically tried to patch the hole, swatting bugs away from you like a madwoman. You were able to shove a board of wood with another under it to hold it up, but that only worked for a second. Two other holes were chewed through the roof, raining bugs down on you. You covered your ear with one hand and swatted bugs away with the other. You and the boys backed up into the Pikes, who were huddled in the corner. Dean tried his best to light the bugs up, but nothing was working. Then, miraculously, the sun began to rise. Thankfully, all of the bugs began to fly out of the holes they’d chewed through the roof. You watched through the same holes as they flew up toward the sun. You breathed a sigh of relief.

***

The next morning, you and the boys were about to head out of town but stopped by the Pike residence on the way. You approached the moving van that Larry was loading boxes into.

“What, no goodbye?” Dean joked.

“Good timing. Another hour and we'd have been gone,” Larry answered. He shook your hand.

“For good?” you asked.

“Yeah. The development's been put on hold while the government investigates those bones you found. But I'm gonna make damn sure no one lives here again,” Larry explained.

“You don't seem too upset about it.”

“Well, this has been the biggest financial disaster of my career, but…” He looked over to Matt, who was carrying a box in the garage. “...somehow, I really don't care.”

You smiled at him.

Sam walked over to Matt, who was throwing away all of his insect paraphernalia. You looked on fondly as the two smiled and laughed. You bid Larry goodbye and went over to the car with Dean. Seconds later, Sam joined you.

“I wanna find Dad,” the brunet said.

“Yeah, me too,” Dean nodded.

“Yeah, but I just... I want to apologize to him.”

“For what?”

“All the things I said to him. He was just doin' the best he could.”

“Well, don't worry, we'll find him. And then you'll apologize. And then within five minutes, you guys will be at each other's throats.”

You laughed. “I wanna find him, too.”

The boys looked at you strangely.

“I wanna kick his ass to hell and back for leaving you two alone.”

Dean shook his head. “I’m sure he had his reasons.”

“Well, whatever they are, they aren’t good enough,” you quipped. “And I wanna thank him. If it weren’t for him, I never would’ve met you two.”

Sam smiled at you fondly at y0u. Dean had a look on his face you couldn’t quite read.

“I thought we agreed on no chick flick moments, (Y/N),” Dean remarked. “C’mon, let’s hit the road.”

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @iloveshawn @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @davina-clairee @chervbs @thepocketverse @simpingdeadcharacters @elqsiian

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean winchester #supernatural #spn #supernatural series rewrite #spn series rewrite

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creatingblackcharacters · 5 months ago

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Hi, I have a question about the intersection of Black hair care and Black masculinity. Are there any gender biases in the marketing and practice of styling Black hair and in taking care of Black hair? Would you say there is a difference in the way Black men talk about hair care and are raised to associate caring about/putting in extra time and effort into hair care than for Black women? I don't mean to propagate gender roles, just to understand if there would be extra context for a Black man wearing a bonnet to bed to protect their hair, if there is still a level of widespread belief that putting in that effort is still feminine, as it is in white cishet culture. Would the bedtime routine for a Black character with the same style look the same for both cishet men and women?

Yes. I mean, toxic masculinity, homophobia, and the patriarchy are about the same. How men are seen as "sassy" for having the audacity to wash their asses properly, doesn't go away.

(two of my lady coworkers were talking about how getting a pedicure on your own is gay. Like damn, a Black man can't have nice fucking feet on his own volition 😭 what if they have big calluses or painful toes? What if I like a man with nice hands and feet?)

Black men do take care of their hair, absolutely. Takes effort! Durags at night and for nice waves are a cultural staple, same with caring for your afros. Beard care is essential. Going to the barbershop for hair care and community is another cultural staple. You will get picked on if your hairline is raggedy, especially if you have the audacity to mock someone else. I do admit, I've never seen a man with a full on bonnet unless it's a loc sock, but that's because I've only ever been close to one man with long hair for bedtime. That being said, if they have a larger afro or longer hair, they really should, or at least a scarf- it's healthy for the hair. But I don't know if they do.

So it's not the caring of hair that is the problem, a lot of times it's the styles. Like a man with beads or long box or boho braids is probably going to be seen as gay and feminine, regardless of however he identifies. But that's just the unfortunate enforcement of gender roles.

#creatingblackcharacters #black hair

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cinnamonest · 8 months ago

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Okay imagine Diluc with his darling being a captain of the knights. Like after he was away after what happened to Crepus she gets the role of captain. Better yet if they were like childhood friends or their parents arranged their marriage when they were young. So when Crepus died and Diluc ran off to archons knows where, she decided to pursue what she wants in life. So just imagine the shock Diluc would have when he expected to come home and take her into his household and she would one day have his children, only to find their arrangement is called off. He firmly believes that his darling should have no involvement with the knights, she should be back at the winery as his housewife.

The next time she tries to go to the Angel’s Share to get a drink with Kaeya and Eula after a hard day’s work, she is banned from the bar. When she asks why, she gets no other answer than it is what Diluc said. Diluc hoped she would have come and talked to him after that but instead Kaeya and Eula decided to take her out to the Cat’s Tail instead if they can’t all drink together at the Angel’s Share. She has completely moved on with Diluc and instead have met knew friends within the knights.

Then imagine if Diluc confronts his brother about her and Kaeya basically tells him to leave her alone and tells him if he tries to do anything he’ll have the entirety of the knights on his ass.

Protective best friend Kaeya thoughts™️

Diluc is plagued by that typical Man Thing™ where he just sort of views you as this sort of… thing. Things are static. If you leave them sitting on a shelf, leave and come back, they’ll be right where you left them. They don’t change and grow, they don’t have an existence of their own. He has a habit of thinking of you this way — his mind doesn’t process the fact that while he’s gone, you’ll continue to live your life, that you’ll talk to people and do things and make choices. Or rather, it feels like he’s the center of your life, that it revolves around him, so nothing important can happen to you if he’s not there. He imagines you’ll just be all sad and wistfully waiting for him like a housewife waiting on her husband to return from the war or whatever.

But ohhhh the falling out between those two makes things so much worse. You're hanging out with him? After he explicitly told you not to, before he left? You... deliberately went out of your way to go against his very clear orders?

This is made even more bizarre by the fact that you were raised to obey him. Even when you were young, you were made aware that he was your future husband and that whenever you saw each other, you were supposed to do everything he says and bow your head and be pleasant and sweet and never raise your voice and be respectful and speak softly and so on and so on, all the proper manners and such that were instilled in you. He was used to that. You were obedient, loyal. What happened to you? Did you forget what he said before leaving?

No, it has to be his influence. There's no way his perfect wife-to-be would ever make a conscious decision on her own to disobey.

He's not exactly wrong, you've spent the last few years with Kaeya more or less every day, who’s always telling you how you shouldn't let yourself be tied down by something as archaic as arranged marriage, you should be out here drinking and living life to the fullest and spending time with him instead and all that. He's just looking out for your best interests. How cruel of society to lock you into some arrangement where you’re expected to obey some man's every word, when you should be choosing to listen to him instead (on you own volition, of course, he'd never say you have to listen to him, but you know, you still should, because he gives good advice and all).

But you do feel guilty. Terrible, really, thinking you've hurt your ex-betrothed. You do like him, he was just so… controlling, stern and all. Maybe if you talk things out, you can still be together, but you know, in an equal, mutually respectful relationship, without any expectations of submission and obedience on either end and all that. Sure he was raised a certain way, but that doesn't mean he can't change, right?

So against the advice, you do decide to go talk to him. You haven't seen him in so long, the memories — and your awareness of his ways and nature — feel very distant. Less real. You're used to reasonable people, and you've changed a lot, you're sure he's changed too. It's a maturity thing, right?

He'll be happy to see you, since he's been practically begging you to come back, writing letters asking — well, more like demanding, but still — for you to talk to him. You're sure he's matured a lot over the years of absence. He'll surely be willing to adapt to a different mindset once he just listens to you and lets you talk — he'd let you talk, right? It's true that when you were younger, on the few times you insisted on defiance, he'd eventually grab your jaw and tell you to be quiet, but that was then. This is now.

And if you can't come to a mutual understanding, you'll just walk out the door and leave. Sure, likewise, when you got into mild disagreements when you were younger he would grab you by the arm and physically block the door until you submitted and conceded and apologized for such unbefitting behavior, but… he's outgrown that, surely… you think.

#.dl

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capslocked · 2 years ago

Text

DECAF

male reader x chou tzuyu

5k words

"Figured you should know," Tzuyu says, appearing in the bathroom mirror behind you, "you’re all out of coffee."

This unfortunate revelation comes as you’re halfway into brushing your teeth. Comes when her warm arm reaches around your waist, fingers splaying out across your stomach before they decide to slip past the waistband of your pajamas.

"Did you—" You raise an eyebrow at her before leaning over the sink to spit, and the mouthful of toothpaste no longer muddles the question, "check the cupboard above the fridge?"

"And the pantry." Tzuyu gives your cock an experimental pump. "And the hall closet."

As you eye her reflection, Tzuyu is already distracted, trading one vice for another: dragging her lips against the side of your neck. Of all the places she loved to be—at your side, in your arms, on the end of your cock—the pucker-shaped bruises shadowing in across your throat were beginning to indicate something of a clear favorite.

"Hey." You drag the toothbrush out of your mouth, minty foam nearly drooling off your lip as you let out a dry laugh at the fingers wrapping your cock. "Can you, like, give me a minute?"

Tzuyu looks up over your shoulder, straight into the mirror and blinks a few times. Caffeine conundrum aside, it’s not a sleepy kind of blink, rather the kind that might buy one but a moment to think, get their thoughts in order. She rolls her eyes, because she likes getting what she wants, especially when you’re involved, but you like her better when she’s a little riled up, after the suspense of waiting has caught up with her. Chipped away at that prim and proper outer layer of perfection.

"No," she says finally in a surprisingly steady voice, and squeezes her fingers tighter around you. Gets a couple of gentle pumps going under your shorts. "I don’t think I will."

It’s not through any fault of her own, but she looks an ounce less put together than when you both staggered through the front door of your apartment the night before—you’d gotten your hands into the delicately styled waves in her hair and as a result, all those primly smooth toffee-brown locks either tightly curled or straightened stiff to their own volition. Then it’s your sweatshirt thrown over her shoulders, she’s absolute swimming in it. Perhaps impossible to not find it endearing. And her cheeks, still flush (because oh, had you just done a real number on her) are smoldering and probably hot to the touch. You usually have no problem getting out of bed in the morning, but the fact that she’d woken you up with her ass in your hips made it hard not pick up where you’d left off the night before.

That fact that she’s all bundled lust and sin in your arms, playfully teasing your cock between her fingers and looking at you like you’re the one who’s at fault is en route to the same outcome again.

By the time the two of you are out of the bathroom and stumbling down the hall, it’s all hot kisses and heavy hands, working toward a common goal one moment, tugging gently at your hair, lined firm beneath her jaw, faces pressed together in this sloppy, consuming kiss—and antagonistic the next, silencing the loud smacks between your lips as Tzuyu begins to tug your shirt up over head.

Tzuyu pushes you down the hallway which is every bit as ludicrous as it sounds, presses your back against drywall with a hand at your waist, and gets her fingertip tracing a lazy circle over your chest. "Hey," she says, and her voice comes out cool and composed like she isn’t standing there in her underwear, the long lines of her legs getting tangled up with yours. "Do you think it’s bad?"

"Gotta be more specific, beautiful," you tell her, snaking a hand up her sweatshirt. Still no shirt. No bra. The same as how she woke up.

As she leans her body against you, all gentle angles and immaculate curves that would make Euclid roll in his grave, you’ve got a handful of incredible ass to knead and a second sinking fingers into her chest that makes her question come across all that much more ridiculous:

"That the two of us are always together, you know, like this." And even as she considers—however seriously—that the two of you might spend too much time behind closed doors and under fitted sheets making each other cum over and over and over until you’re gasping and red in the face, she begins to rut her hips gently against you, finds a circle of motion that brushes your stiff cock between her legs in just the right way.

"Well," you say, voice trailing while your thumb skates beneath her lip, admiring how much better she looks in your hands than on TV, in magazines, all glitzed up in studio lighting and digital effect.

And psychologically, you think you understand it. How this is the only way the two of you can put any part of yourselves—the joint self, the you and Tzuyu, the combined unit—first. You can’t do what regular couples do; you can’t indulge in everything that Tzuyu so desperately wants to do. You want to as well. Of course, you don’t whine about it as much as Tzuyu, but in reality, there’s nothing more than you’d like than to hold Tzuyu’s hand in the middle of a crowded street or kiss her passionately in an airport terminal, in front of a tourist attraction, get an indulgent makeout going at a concert or a bar like you see of so many other couples. You see them all the time, so happy, so wrapped up in each other, so oblivious to what they get to enjoy that you don’t.

So you’re both lenient about the going-ons in the privacy of your own home. To a degree.

Doesn’t mean you can’t say you try to be responsible about it, keep the way you two go at each other in check, under control. You know better than to let Tzuyu have access to you where her name is up in lights, where cameras are flashing and under all those prying eyes, where the two of you could turn a mistake into calamity.

But still you like to test those limits.

"How do you figure?" You nuzzle your lips into Tzuyu’s neck. Her response is exactly like what you expect: a heavy sigh and a tilt of her chin that tells you to kiss her more, touch her more, get your mouth all over her and make her feel good. When you get closer to her ear, you whisper, "where’s the harm?"

"I just think we really have to be more careful," Tzuyu has to tell you. Frequently. "You know you drive me crazy. But if someone were to find us—"

"Tzuyu," you start, and the sound of her name on your voice, coming out low and austere, always brings her to heel. Quickly. "No one’s going to find out. So tell me. What do you want me to do to you? Right now."

Her cheeks burn brighter with that beautiful rosy shade of pink, a flush heat that travels across the bridge of her nose—eyes flicking down to where you can’t see them, suddenly bashful like she wasn’t the one who jumped you in the bathroom, gotten you hard and ready—like she wasn’t the one who woke you up with her thighs sandwiching your cock and silently demanding you fuck her right there.

"I’m just saying—"

"Tzuyu," you say again, and this time she all but shudders. Starts to quietly whine as your fingers get closer to where they can have her absolutely creaming and whimpering and coming undone; teasing at elastic, tracing the wide form of her hips; only closer without ever arriving. "Tell me what you want."

You watch the usual suspects: the swell of her lip twisted between her teeth, eyelids lidding and dusky irises glinting with thoughts of you. It’s all there, and it’s not going anywhere anytime soon. The Want. The need.

Tzuyu’s mouth falls open in a whiny moan as you realize there’s not a lot keeping you from simply shoving her across the hallway, turning the tables and getting your weight on top of her. She bites back a needy sound as you pin her in place. Normally, the proud smirk on your face would be enough to make Tzuyu groan and roll her eyes, but it’s hard to muster up the resolve required to send you a piercing glare when her current expression is as far from intimidating as it could ever be.

"Tzuyu," you say a third time, after a long pause, breathing slowly and keeping your voice even. You don’t need her knowing that seeing her like this gets your heartbeat going rabbit-fast. Don’t need her knowing how bad you want to turn her around in your hands and fuck her senseless.

"What are you doing?" Tzuyu asks, and the muscles in her body are coiling so tight they’re practically screaming. "I’m not a little girl. Stop teasing me."

You’ve got your free hand running a thumb down Tzuyu’s chest, along her stomach and sliding it across the smooth pale skin that stretches over her ribs, until in one quick delivery, you’re pulling her soft cotton panties down around her thighs. When your pointer finger makes contact with where she’s hot and fidgeting between her legs, Tzuyu’s throat clicks with a swallow.

"Just tell me what you really want," you repeat, gliding your finger across the surface of her cunt’s aching lips, "or I’ll stop." It’s possible you’d never be able to help yourself, you have to tease, playfully nudge her. The real fun is when you could get her to start cussing and swearing and begging—that’s how you knew you’re giving it to her good, that toe-curling, mind-blowing sex that everyone dreams of, when that delicately maintained veneer started to show cracks and rough edges. "Let me make this easier. Do you want me to hold you down?"

It’s not a surprise that you’re hitting the nail on the head. She’s yours. You know Tzuyu, and her eyes go wide. She nods, because it’s what she’s only ever wanted—filled her nighttime fantasies and daydreams for months before she’d ever truly seen it, truly felt you over her and fucking her with your tongue, your fingers, your cock. She’ll later swear up and down that you’re the one always dragging things to the bedroom, getting her so worked up she can’t help but ride out her own frustration. The way she sees it, you’re the one who’s corrupted her. Not that it’s even half the truth.

"Do you want me to get you wet?" You ask, even lower now, like a growl at her throat, and Tzuyu lets out a delightful sound at the mere mention of it.

She spreads her legs wider as you continue to finger her, wriggles her hips desperately on your hand to find some sort of friction that might set her loose, but you bring a grip down hard onto her waist, pressing her firmly into the wall to keep her from shifting.

"I want—" Her words become cut off and unintelligible when your fingers find purchase inside her, find her immediately soaked and dripping around you. She gets that adorably needy tone in her voice the moment your thumb comes to rest on her clit, prodding at the bud just light enough to make her shiver. "Please."

It seems to take a special kind of awful to look down at Tzuyu’s desperate expression and find it nothing other than charming and adorable, but much to her impatient displeasure, you’re that exact kind of awful.

"Speak up," you say, even though rationally, everything is clear to you—the fact that you can get Tzuyu begging for it a whole separate matter. "Wanna hear your lovely voice, Tzuyu."

She sighs. It’s anxious. It’s needy. It’s a perfect honesty: "want to feel you in me."

"Want me to fuck you," you amend, kissing her once, hot and hard, and when you pull yourself off her mouth, you make sure she’s listening. "Want me to cum in you."

She nods. Swallows. Rolls her lips between her teeth.

"Want it." Tzuyu’s chest heaves to shoot out a hot, pointed breath, and she preens the misplaced hair off her cheek and back behind her ear before returning to a moment more composed. "Want you now."

"Oh, I think we all have all the time in the world, darling," you breathe into the hollow of her throat, and the two of you don’t stop kissing this time, your lips always on each others, the smiles growing at the corners of your mouths giving way to something more heated and intense. More urgent.

Tzuyu’s arousal is like a living thing, fighting for control, getting her furious and blotchy and burning up to the roots of her hair. When you draw your fingers out of her throbbing cunt, she doesn’t even stop to think; takes them between her lips and starts sucking. She doesn’t decide to do it, you figure, it just happens, as if she’s meant to. She’s perfect for everyone, and then she’s flawless for you.

"Gonna make you cum now," you growl against her cheek, and she coos the moment you sink to your knees. Starts slipping her hands through your hair in anticipation. Gets your face between her legs where you’ve got wet kisses trailing down her inner thighs. It’s so close to where she needs you, has her rocking and circling her hips in the hope she might reach your mouth, the pleasure she might only realize at the end of your tongue.

And finally, you slide your mouth upward. Tongue flattened, lips hot and loose, you let her find it.

"Fuck!"

Between her legs, you grin, pull back enough to murmur, "there’s my girl." And with that you’re hooking a hand behind her thighs and diving back in.

Tzuyu’s eyes are all docile gleams and innocent glimmers, watching from above as you push her legs open wider for you—sharp draws of air as you eat her pussy with delicate and calculated approach: the tip of your tongue against her clit is just the right amount of hot and wet and firm to get her dizzy, voice flooding full of lust and want. She yearns for nothing more than the way you pull at her swollen lips, masking her cunt with these hot, hungry kisses that cover your chin in her slick, fill your mouth and your thoughts with her.

"Oh, my god," she says behind the knuckle worrying her teeth, crying out in such obvious satisfaction that it has you nearly laughing—so smug and self-satisfied that you push your face into her hot pussy harder to hide the expression. Like flicking a switch, you’re tapping, teasing, torturing that button that makes her feel all of that pure concentrated relief. Makes her feel like you’re pulling her apart and tearing her to pieces—makes her desperate and choke back moans, ones that cry for more.

"God," Tzuyu curses, and your name on her lips becomes a wish, a prayer, begging, "fuck, what are you doing, that’s so—that’s so good, you’re so good, please, please don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop."

Even if you consider keeping her on that precipice, nudging her closer and closer until she physically can’t take anymore, Tzuyu’s cunt is so warm and sweet, and even her cum tastes incredible, all strange and familiar at once—gets you bearing down to kiss deeper, harder. You know the basic principle of what you’re seeing: that Tzuyu’s body is reacting, that you’re reducing her to instinct, bringing her to the edge and fucking her earnest.

"C’mon princess, you can cum for me, I want you to cum," you rasp, and the pet name—one that you’re sure would in any other context make her wince—gets her heating up even more. When you lower your mouth again, you swirl your tongue around her clit and then suck.

"Yeah," she says, nodding, "Yeah, yeah." The word becoming all she can manage between hot, shuddering breaths that you can feel coil in her distinctly tight stomach, only releasing in the violent jerks of her hips, each spasm more uncontrolled, less predictable than the last.

It’s a concerted effort: the wet touch of your mouth, the two fingers—three now—that you have fucking her dripping cunt get her needy cries echoing through your apartment and her throat hoarse. The pressure must be just perfect because Tzuyu flies right over the edge into everything. She’s all broken moans and stutters and hiccups—all you find between her thighs is hot and wet and pulsing and quivering and perfect. The beginning of the end, and she’s pleading, begging for release.

"You’re going to make me—" she pants, twice, holding tight to your shoulders, nails sharpening like claws into your skin, and her legs aching into quakes and tremors around you.

That’s your Tzuyu.

"Cumming—I’m cumming," she cries out, almost silently, and then it’s your name and curses all sputtered out across these keening moans that almost see her young, tight body collapse and spill all over you. "I can’t—You’re making me cum."

"Good girl," you murmur, your mouth still dragging across her stomach, and it’s the praise that all but kills her, gets her breath arriving in fits and starts, wrestling against you for control, but it’s far, far too much. Far too gone in her own orgasm to realize she’s fucking soaking you in her slick. Of course, you’re kneeling there, just grinning like the devil himself, pushing your fingers in and out of her slowly to ensure that Tzuyu’s fucked right through the apex of her high; curling against the way she throbs; feeling the way she quivers.

She’s the girl whose name is on everyone’s lips, and she’s practically drenching you—oh, what a heartthrob, you think, and then immediately remind her: "you’re so fucking pretty Tzuyu. Love when you cum for me."

Her fingers thread through yours, and she finally lets her lips twist out that million dollar smile, laughing all abashed and flushed and red in the face until finally giving you that look: an expression that lets you know she has only one thing on her mind, and that she wants for nothing more than to get filled by your cock, mend the empty feeling knotting in her stomach, the utterly foundational need.

And after kissing you, melting into you and getting her own taste off your lips, she brings her mouth against your ear, breath still hot and haggard, tells you, "get on the bed, baby."

And but so, you arrive at a familiar crossroads, those four corners of your bed. You’re sprawled with your head at the base and feet at the pillows because that’s simply how you two managed to tumble, Tzuyu controlling the fall. When she peels the sweatshirt from up and over her lithe frame, your cock jumps, twitching in her hands, because the image is nothing less than perfection. The fact that a girl could have a face like hers, and a body like that is some sort of error, a cosmic mix up—one to which finds you the sole beneficiary.

"Maybe I should tease you," she says, licking her palm and getting both hands around you, pumping you languidly to full attention. "Look how bad you want it."

"You’re in charge, princess." you say, laughing out loud.

Tzuyu rolls her eyes. Gets her elbows on either side of your face so you’re looking at nothing other than just her. There’s a story here, and sure, it’s novel and unique. Right up until the point it isn’t; there’s never been a different ending beyond your cock buried deep inside her until she’s panting and whimpering.

"Is that right?" she asks, leaning in so close you can feel her warm breath tickle your neck.

"I mean, I might be lying; decide to get you underneath me if you go too slow."

"I’ll keep that in mind." Tzuyu chuckles, her laugh echoing against your chest as her lips curve up into a toothy grin. If that isn’t a look perfected. She grabs you by the jaw and kisses you, so thoroughly that you really haven’t the shadow of a doubt in your mind that she will be every bit the challenge you could ever hope for—and when she pulls away, her tongue licks across your lower lip, before gently biting down and whispering, "I’m gonna ride you now, baby."

The look on her face is careful, more determined, as she lines herself up against your body, straddles your hips and rubs the head of your cock through her heat, kissing it to where you’d made her soaked and wanting; there’s a deep breath between you, and then Tzuyu slides closer in your lap. Sinks down.

And then you feel her—all of her—as she takes the full length of your cock into her hot, tight cunt. Neither of you even move. Simply sit there and look on all teary eyed and so wracked in pleasure to the point your mouths just hang, frozen, because apparently she was discovering the answer to every question in the universe, and all of them were you.

"Move your hips for me, Tzuyu," you say, and you’re guiding her, urging her, making haphazard grips out of the beautiful curve beneath her tiny waist, a makeshift reign where her hips flare and that ass smacks down hard against your thighs. "There you go; fuck yourself on my cock."

Actually it’s more like she slams down. It’s a lofty goal of hers, to get you so fucked and bothered and reduced to smithereens. That, or get you so close to the edge, get you so needy for your own release that you’ll simply throw her off you and pin her to the mattress and fuck her like she really wants.

"It’s so fucking good," Tzuyu gasps, raising her hips. The sound that comes out of you is indescribable when she lowers them again. That’s the reaction she’s looking for, that you—ever indomitable you—are shuddering under her hips, that every time she drags her pussy along your length, gets you aching inside her tight, hot cunt, she has you absolutely struggling, hanging on by a thread.

"Tzuyu," you choke, and you’re gathering all these smirks and haughty looks; she throws her head back because apparently that vice-like grip she has around you, a glove to your cock, all velvety smooth and addictive is just as good for her as it is for you. "I just love how this pretty little body looks when it’s bouncing up and down on my cock."

"Oh my god," she curses, moaning at how good you feel inside her, voice finding a familiar tremble as each bounce on your cock gets her hot cunt that much more fucked, more soaked, more perfect, and you’re both whimpering mindless. Her body stretches to accommodate you as she squeezes up so tight around you that you’re joining her groans with a lazy smirk. She nods, slapping her hips roughly against you, fucking you with all the energy she can muster, and she rasps, smiling in silent laughter, "ugh, I can feel you filling me so deep. Love fucking you like this. Could do this all day."

The sounds coming out of you—fucked out of you each time her thighs land flat against yours, each swivel of her hips in a rhythm that doesn’t falter even once—are driving Tzuyu up the wall. Every last moan and sigh only spurs her to ride harder and harder until she realizes she’s better off lifting herself onto her feet, crouching over and using every muscle of her toned legs to fuck your aching shaft. With her beautiful form above you, tight young body glistening with sweat and whimpering at the bottom of every rut, you hold tight to her waist, carelessly marking bruises under your fingertips, grasping hard as you’re fraught with the utterly perfect, tight, wet cunt wrapping your cock.

"It’s good," Tzuyu gasps, on repeat, and her cheeks begin to flush again, fill so unbelievably pink. "It’s so fucking good, baby."

On the basic, thrust by thrust level, it’s kind of her trademark—what you’ve come to expect from her. She’s all toned muscle and coiled lust around you, merciless, truly fucking you, taking you up and down while her curves ripple in place: small, perfect tits shaking each time she crashes onto you, and her ass against you waist feeling incredible.

It’s fast and heavy and hot and you’re nearing everything dangerous, nerves on fire and holding your breath right up until the moment Tzuyu cums all over your cock. She slows to a near crawl, hips still circling against you, and then, overcome by the sensitivity of another orgasm, freezes. This time, it comes with no warning, just the writhing and wracked look of a girl who can’t believe how good your cock feels deep in her pussy, making her feel so full and complete.

"Tzuyu, you’re gorgeous," you reaffirm, reaching a hand against her chest, sinking your fingers hard into her perfectly sculpted breasts. You know how this goes, the fact that she never knows how to ask for what she wants, that when she’s like this, she needs you to take control. There’s always such sweet fun to be had in grappling her hands behind her back, get her ready to be fucked and used like she craves. Shift your hips downwards and prime yourself at the perfect angle, and get her cumming over and over until she’s a hot, fucked mess. "You look so good cumming for me. I’m going to fuck you through it sweetheart. I’ll take care of you. I always do."

"Mnppph." Tzuyu moans into your neck, as you start to glide upward into her hot, fucked hole. She’s so massively drenched that the sound of it, you thrusting fast into her cunt, is absolutely filthy. If the sheets were in bad condition from your romp before, they’re approaching new levels of fucked, completely beyond repair.

Tzuyu grins. She loves this. She loves whittling down your arrogance and repurposing it into an unabashed lust, the kind of raw emotion that will hammer at her cunt until she’s mewling, keening, and simply falling apart. Until she’s recovered enough from losing herself on your cock, and she’s whispering in your ear, "want your cum, want to feel you fucking burst."

You consider it. All with Tzuyu’s lips on your throat, kissing your face and punching out tiny breaths every time your cock buries into her, it’s a pretty real possibility. It was taking some amount of self-control to hold back before with Tzuyu’s pussy being the hottest, tightest, wettest you’ve ever known—only growing more unbearably immaculate with every inch you bore into her—and here you are, fucking her with such strong, hard strokes that slide so easily from base to tip of your cock that you’re approaching it all. Dangerously fast.

Yours, Tzuyu croons in your ear, crying out in heavy desperation with a voice so crushed and gravelly it’s near irreconcilable—she’s so wracked that the only thing she can do is beg for you to unload in her cunt. "I’m yours. Want you to cum in me so bad, fucking own this pussy baby, fill me and make me yours."

"Tzuyu, you—" Holy shit. You’ve got it all twisted, explosion imminent. Nerves and muscles acting together and without your permission. "—feel so fucking good."

"I know," she says, thumb rubbing at your cheek while she barely holds herself above you—eyelashes fluttering each time you bottom your cock out in her cunt. "You can cum. Go ahead. Cum for me, baby."

Your teeth grit, and you take a final gasp of air between your teeth, "Tzuyu, fuck."

You’ve got your hands clamping down on her ass, pulling her into the end of each thrust, and as you bury yourself deep into her cunt again, you cum.

"Amazing," Tzuyu breathes against you, ignoring the groans and sighs still billowing out of your lips. "You’re perfect." She clenches down on you, tightening around you to wring you dry with each shallow thrust you make to fuck your cum deeper into her. It’s hot and wet and fucking unbelievable.

It takes all your remaining energy—those last waning vestiges—to shift Tzuyu’s body aside you. Your cock falls out of her well-fucked pussy and onto the sheets before you feel her ass snuggle again into the crook of her hips, as good a way to start as it is a way to finish, and the exhaustion of your own orgasm has your breath short and unsteady.

"Hate to say it," Tzuyu says, wiggling her ass against you, which is truly a dangerous game, regardless of your condition, "but I’m really hoping you’d go get more coffee."

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