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themilfsland · 5 months ago

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Lemme taste my bee-sweetenin’

Pairing(s): Cowgirl farmer Wanda x fem!reader

Summary: a daily life with your cowgirl farmer girlfriend and how you deal with her little obsession.

content: Top Wanda (she denies her bottom vibe), bottom Reader (until Wanda changes her mind), teasing, praising, pet names, mention of punishment, food playing (?), smut, denying, oral kink.

The best-known honey farmer, living in a small and cozy ranch with her girlfriend. But it's not only the pure and sweet honey syrup that is famous, everyone from the village knows how delicious and fresh her handmade honeybuns are. All too ordinary from the neighbors' views, maybe because they don't know the peculiar things about your life as a couple.

Wanda is obsessed with you. To be more specific, she is obsessed with your taste. It's not a surprising matter for you since you figured out she has an oral kink. Every time she bakes her handmade honeybun she asks for your help to try the fresh honey. Although, she never gives you a spoon to do it. The first time you waited for her to hand you the tool to try the honey, but she never did. You get it now. Dipping your finger into the bowl to get some of the syrup then taking it into your mouth to taste it, your eyes straight to hers, never losing her gaze. And it's always the same dialogue.

Wanda: and...? Is it good, sugar?

Y/n: hmmm it's delicious.

Wanda: ya sure? Hmm let me try some.

You keep with the tradition, your finger getting more honey from the bowl, directing it to her mouth, making a little mess on her lips as if you're applying lipstick with your finger, you feel her heavy breath before she runs her tongue over her lips to clean it. Mesmerized by her slow movements, she knows she's always teasing you.

But Wanda wants more and you never deny to her. Honestly, this is what she has been waiting for all this time. Your finger inside her mouth. The sweet taste mixing with the filling you are giving to her with your finger drives her mind dizzy. Usually, you let her play the way she wants, circling her tongue around your finger and sucking it at her own pace. Still, sometimes you like to tease her too, holding her jaw with your fingers pressing firmly on her cheeks while your index finger is inside her mouth, still sticky with honey, making deep in and out movements. The eyes full of pleasure and the muffled moans she gives to you cause your sore core to drip every time.

You love this side of Wanda. The way you encouraged her to let this desire flourish she doesn't even need to use an excuse to taste something from your fingers anymore, she just takes your fingers. In fact, her need to feel and taste you made your entire body an aim. It's so hot and lustful but still so vulnerable from her. You state that because you know how Wanda likes to have control and she makes you very aware of that, especially when you start forgetting your place.

The weekends have a special routine for you and Wanda. In other words, you have a particular rule to follow. No panties. You thought it was just a temporary teasing from her but you learned with some punishments it's a serious rule to follow, and one of her favorites.

Another Sunday morning waking up with the smell of coffee and pancakes, or flapjacks as she likes to call. You smile spontaneously, stretching out on the bed but not lying that you wish a little to have the warmth of your girlfriend's body beside you. It was really hard for you, in the beginning, to get used to her early bird clock, but what could you complain? She is a determined farmer, the best, your cowgirl.

Leaving your thoughts behind, you get up still sleepy and follow her rule, took off your panties, and put the pajamas shorts back on. Following that appetizing smell, you go down the stairs toward the kitchen.

Her gaze catches you immediately when you enter the room, she gives you a soft smile and a welcome "Good morning, my sleepy bunny". Even with the smooth tone she used, you noticed how her hungry eyes scanned over your entire body, you felt as if you are undressed. Well, almost like that, the white pajamas that you are wearing with cute strawberries stamped on it was a gift that she gave you weeks ago, comfortable but maybe a little small for your regular size. And It's obvious Wanda does that on purpose, but you honestly don't mind, you like the way she cares about picking out your clothes once in a while.

You walk towards her embrace, it's definitely your favorite place to be, in her arms. She gives a soft kiss on your cheeks before she snuggles her face in your neck, smelling your sweet scent, maybe she's addicted to it too.

Wanda: Did you sleep well, sweetpie?

She asks while picking some shy kisses on your neck making you shiver a little.

Y/n: Yes, I did! But I missed you in our bed when I woke up, you know...

You start feeling the warmth of her body running through your clothes and you wonder why she's always this hot. You have to adjust yourself when you felt her fingertips patting your arm.

Wanda: Ohh I'm sorry I wasn't there when you woke up, but see, I had to leave bed early to make all these good treats to my pumpkin.

Seeing all those yummy foods on the table makes your mouth water and thinking it became her routine of always doing this, only for you, your heart melts.

Y/n: Well, it sounds like an acceptable excuse, also the smell is sooo good. I may forgive you…

Wanda: It's all for you, sugar....and you're all for me.

She whispers the last sentence while her hand traces the way to your breast, still over your t-shirt she grabs and squeezes gently, just to take a moan from your mouth. Her lips pressed your neck and you can feel that she gave a sly smile with that. You feel the pressure of her thumb rubbing on your nipples, the fine fabric of your t-shirt brushing your skin, the overstimulation is already too much for you to think.

Before she gives you a short break, she makes sure to press her fingers over your upper breast, exactly the spot where she left some of her marks days ago. "I have to map your body with my mouth and make spots in your skin where I'm gonna hide my little treasures" is what she says. And well, she truly does a good job by that. Your thoughts are cut off by her teasing voice and her hand lowering until she holds firmly your ass.

Wanda: but you know, there is one ingredient that is left here.

You know exactly what she's referring to, but you like to play the dumb role, genuinely this is what she's expecting you to do too, she loves when you use your words.

Y/n: hmm really? What would this ingredient be then?

Wanda: It's the honey, my honey, actually.

She says softly, her hand that once was in your ass now is putting the soft material of your shorts to the side, and you give a low whimper due to her act. You only realize how soaked you're when she touches your sensitive folds, her fingers exploring your pussy with slow movements to dampen it with your arousal.

Wanda: oh darlin', you're so wet for me already.

You moan louder than you are expecting by hearing that. She is close to getting what she wants.

Wanda: But I need more, pumpkin, you know that, right? Your soaked and throbbing pussy to taste. C'mon, give me what I want.

That's her game. She noticed a long time ago how her praisings and teasing words cause over you, so she always takes advantage of that. The more she says the more you get wetter, it's like a magic trick she played on you and an infinity source of your taste to her.

Wanda: Lemme taste my bee-sweetenin’, hm?

Your wish is to beg her to thrust her fingers right inside you, but you know it would be in vain. It's her ritual, she presses her fingers harder on your clit, and it's the sign that they are wet enough. You are only able to whine louder and try to keep your legs straight. Then she tastes you. Licking her fingers close to your face just to give you the best view of her tongue taking every drop of your arousal.

Wanda smirks when you bite your own lips and set your hands on her waist. The aching between her legs is the manifestation that she needs more of you. She takes your hands off her and gets down on her knees while making you lean on the counter and spread your legs. The fabric of your pajamas is so soft that she doesn't even bother to take your shorts off, instead, she puts them aside, again, she loves it when your mess makes your clothes sticky.

You whimper when you feel her breath close to your skin, leaving soft kisses on your inner thigh until her lips touch superficially your damped folds, just for teasing you. Her tongue presses for a space, then she traces a path from your cunt to your clit. You don't know if the wetness you feel is her saliva or your arousal anymore, it's all messy and soggy.

Her patience starts to fade when she intensifies her movements, grabbing firmly your thighs to spread even more your legs, your hand threaded through her hair. She thrusts her tongue inside you, taking your arousal to your entrance until you feel you're almost dripping. You angle your hips and pull her head toward you, seeking more contact with her mouth, you need her deeply and faster inside you.

Y/n: ughh faster Wanda, do your job with your mouth.

She stops immediately and looks up to you.

Wanda: what did you just say?

Y/n: ohh no no, I.. I- I just need you.

A heavy regret covering all your thoughts. You know your place, you have to do what she says and take what she gives, it's not that difficult. You are just pathetic to think that she could give some control to you for once. Well, maybe one day, but not today.

Wanda: I don't like the tone you used to me.

Y/n: I know, I'm sorry, Wanda, please.

Already on her feet, she stares at you with disappointed bitter eyes. You start begging her, shy whimpers coming through your mouth when you try to adjust your shorts that she didn't even bother to put back in place.

Wanda: hush your mouth, Y/n. You only take what I give to you and for now you're going to receive nothing.

This Saturday you didn't help Wanda to cook the honeybuns. Actually, she didn't even ask you to do it. She ignored all your direct looks, but you knew she was watching you through the kitchen window when you were cleaning the garden. You felt her gaze on your neck, her distant thoughts planning the best punishment for your bad behavior early. You interrupted her honey tasting and now you will pay for it.

Those soft hands that once were baking those delicious sweet buns will be hard on you tonight.

#Cowgirl Wanda #farmer Wanda #southern wanda #wanda x reader #wanda x you #wanda x y/n #wanda maximoff #wanda maxmoff x y/n #wlw #lgbtq #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda #top wanda #reader bottom #Cowgirl Wanda x reader #wanda fanfic #lesbian farmer #farmer Wanda x reader

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cryptfile · 5 months ago

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☆ Loveseat, [ Carmen Berzatto AU ]

SUMMARY — After being in a relationship with Carmen, you cannot help but being extra judgemental when it comes to food.

WARNINGS — i’m currently rotting in hell, meaning: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, +18 content, there’s a lot of, cursing, choking, praising, dirty talking, mentions of food and eating, hair pulling, fingering.

SIDE NOTES — This is my first post here, so hope you guys like it. English’s not my first language so if there's any mistakes in advance, i’m sorry. Please interact if you like this, reblogs, comments, likes, all means a lot to me! I’ll leave my inbox open so you can suggest more characters! This takes place in an alternative timeline for own my liking, enjoy! x

Lately, Carmen Berzatto was not sure how he managed to get you.

To be completely honest, most of his friends seemed to wonder how he managed to pull the tattooer that adorned his hands with cool designs being that shy, however, when you started texting him photos of your daily food stating it was complete bullshit — He knew he had you in for a long time.

He would explain himself it was something casual at first. A few texts every now and then, swimming between a wave of bad jokes and tension he was sure he was imaging as he read through the texts you send at least twice, then, he would know he’d win you over with food.

Maybe that’s when you became so judgemental at first, after trying the lasagna he made for you after being so tired from working all day long, something else just snapped, even when he was done being near the fire, not even wanting to look at a plate ever again: He managed to spoil you with something good to eat anyways, making you moan in pure pleasure after craving some good food all day.

Of course it was important, can you even blame him?

He was not very vocal about it, hell, it was hard for him to even admit it even after being with you almost six months, but he loved the way you reacted to all his stuff. Even if it was something simple like scrambled eggs or regular pasta with plain butter, it was the way you groaned and grab the spoon licking the silverware clean, showering him with praises after when he was so used to be miserable in the kitchen.

“Open up,” he says before feeding you with the spoon. It was one of those nights where he was trying new stuff at your place, keeping you up till late seated on the kitchen counter close to him as he cooked, opening your mouth just to give an allegedly meaningful critique. “Any thoughts? Feedback?”

It was a wild ride for sure. A turbulent one as you closed your eyes all suddenly, the image burnt on the back of his head when you groaned savoring the taste like it was something else.

“Dunno,” you admit later on, trying to think on anything bad to say — “Need to have another bite before giving an honest answer.”

He smirks in response, repeating the same action just to hear you speak again. Being with you was something similar as his cigarette breaks, escaping from all the stress he usually gets in his life.

Silence again.

“Well fuck, you have me here. Maybe needs some more salt,” you think out loud. Almost trying to say something bad out of force as you knew he wouldn’t stop until he got an brutally honest answer. “The combinations of flavors though is really breathtaking, you outdone yourself this time. Could tattoo this risotto on me, no questions asked.”

Salt? He takes a bite himself almost immediately.

“It doesn’t need any more salt” he replies furrowing his brows in response. “We’ve talked about this sweetheart…”

“You wanted me to be a critique,” you admit almost offended, letting out a light chuckle before stealing the spoon from his hand in one swift movement. “I'm, being indeed, sincere here."

God. It was those moments that made him catch his breath, how the minutes passed slower and everything else seemed to blurry around the two of you. He cannot deny it, cause he loves the snarky responses, the way your mouth wraps around the spoon in a way that made him so devastated at the sight, head spinin’ with the thought of the things he already did to you, the memories that he seems to cherish so deeply.

He cannot stop either when his fingers toy with your hair, the strains sliding smoothly through his fingers. You seemed to enjoy it too, cause it's all it takes to make you forget about the food, leaning into his touch.

"Since when you became my main critique, hm?” he asks, placing himself between your tights as he invaded your space with nothing but pure confidence in his cooking skills. He knew for a fact, it didn't need any more salt. "Made you so spoiled you are a new expert here, baby?"

“Well, it’s your fault anyway" you defend yourself, narrowing your eyes at his words. "You're the one who spoils me rotten, always feeding me nice tasty stuff, keeping me up till’ late trying new things. I’m what you taught me to be, cannot blame for being a good critique. It is what it is."

"So you're blaming me for being a caring partner?" he cannot hold the laugh back, pulling on your hair almost enough to make you look at him. “S’that what you’re implying here?”

“Would never even dare to” you admit all innocence bitting the inside of your cheek, and Carmen swears you’re doing it just to get in his brain, to control every action in that twisted brain of yours, and he cannot stop himself to fall every time, pulling on your hair slightly rougher this time as he towers over you. “Just implying that you’ll ruin food for me forever if we keep this up.”

“Not seeing what’s the problem with that” he simply replies as he stared at your expression, how the simple act of your head tilted backwards made his blood boil, the exposed skin of your neck pulling him like the polar opposite of a magnet as he looks down at you — “Don’t really care.”

He’s clearly enjoying that. The sudden proximity as his left hand travels through your side, gripping onto your tight as he gives a light squeeze, tracing invisible patterns against your warm skin that contrasts so much to the chef’s usual cold hands.

He cannot possibly have enough of you as you melt into his touch, in the very edge of turning into a mad man as he grabs a fistful of your hair to pull you in a demanding kiss, tongue-tracing over your lower lip, almost asking for a formal invitation to finally invade you, his breathing colliding against your skin, holding you in place as he suffers from a burst of pure adrenaline.

His hands betray him in no time, drawn by the sounds you make when he’s nibbling on that nice curve on your neck, allowing his hand to glide over your soft skin just to end up in your inner tights, fingertips just barely touching as he just watches over you, the sight of you being just enough, that nice smell on your skin when he kisses your neck, your perfume being all around him… it’s getting to him.

He quickly becomes all so vocal, when he’s finally reaching the fabric of your shorts and his touch leaves a burnt sensation behind, the sound of his voice echoing in your ears.

“Gonna’ ruin it f’ya, baby” he says in a low voice — “Looking s’hot all bothered already just for a few kisses, cannot help but spoil m’girl.”

Of course he fucking loves it. He loves how he knows exactly how to make a mess out of you, touching just the right places, concentrated in your pleasure as he drags the velvety fabric of your shorts to the side, making you crave the touch of his fingertips before finally slide them beneath the fabric of your underwear, lips parted as he finally touches your entrance, taking his time with you.

“God, you’re so wet f’me already, so damn warm” he says in a low whisper, making you talk in between your erratic breathing words that don’t seem to mean anything.

It’s so good. The frantic feeling washing over him as his fingers move in circles over your clit, the almost unnoticible wet sounds filling the air of the kitchen as he places soft kisses in that very spot where your shoulder meet the curvature of your neck. He just knows exactly what he’s doing. How to get under your skin, how to make you run out of breath, and he simply grew attached to it, to the way your skin feels so smooth against his fingers and you act up minutes before beggin’ for more.

And when he finally buries two digits in your cunt — God fucking damn.

He cannot keep the facade, blue eyes drinking the sight of you in as you moan, hips moving against his palm watching how his fingers dissapeared in you, pumping slowly at first, enjoying the way your walls wraps around his fingers, the words that came out of your opened mouth in pure desperation.

“Bear,” you would say in an unsteady breathing “O-oh fuck yes, yes baby, please don’t stop, please-”

The hand who pulled your hair before now tightens around your throat, and he can see you smiling like you’re in fucking paradise before he presses against that nice spot in the side of her neck, cutting the suministration of air to your lungs slightly. Always so eager, making him try new things together even when he was used to an relatively calm, almost non-existant sex life when all his focus was on the restaurant, insisting on trying new things that he end up loving.

“Such a good fuckin’ girl f’me, taking me so s’good” he praises you for a moment, obliging you to look at him when he talks “Lettin’ my fingers fill you up like this, a mess already.”

“That’s it baby, move those pretty hips, need you to keep fuckin’ y’self.”

Lewd sounds, his tight grip on your neck, your hips arching to find that perfect place for him to hit and it’s all it takes for the chef to bring you closer and closer to the edge, fingers curling inside your soaked cunt, moaned sentences that in his ear are only adding up fuel to keep flexing his muscles for you, to keep on stimulating you.

“Gonna cum,” you let him know, but he’s quickly shaking his head in disapproval — “Carm, please, need to-”

“You can hold a little longer, princess” he coos, his grip on your throat almost making you stop breathing completely. Fuck. Your vision becomes dizzy, and for Carmen, the view is nothing but pure delight in front of him. Your shirt raised over your stomach, you pretty little face all disorted thanks to the thrill, parted legs just to give him more space to work with, fighting for some air. He’s so damn greedy about it, knowing he’s the only person who can get you like that. “Hm, stop squeezing me like that baby.”

He chuckles lightly, your hands gripping into the edge of the counter, raising one leg over the table as you try to do what you’re told, to please him every single time. He’s torturing you, and you cannot blame him cause you made him like that, just like he spoiled you with food. All those times whimpering in his bedsheets, asking all shy if he can choke you while pounding into your cunt, cheeks red while riding him, whispering things about how thick he feels inside, how he’s stretching you out so nicely, made him confident enough to know exactly what you like.

Carmen Berzatto is a caring boyfriend after all.

“S’okay, sweetheart” he says moments after, placing soft kisses on your face, your skin glimmering against the lights of your kitchen, a light layer of sweat as you closed your eyes tightly — “Cum baby, let me feel you” he talks you through it, words coming to his mouth so easily now, the sound of his tone so raspy it makes you arch your back as you finally let yourself go, riding the orgasm and making it last as long as you can, your own pleasure being your only priority as his digits bury themselves in your cunt, pressing against your neck to make it more difficult for you, to fill your eyes with tears as you loudly moan his name.

He holds you place, the mess he made out of you in such short time, eyes following the way your body shakes in the glimpse of ecstasy, fingers still pumping inside you but at a much slower pace, knowing you’d be sensitive now, lips swollen, messy hair and ruined mascara.

“Willing to admit now i’m right?” he ask in a low voice, letting you breathe as he was still afected by you — “That it doesn’t need any more salt, smartass?”

You hum in response, chuckling at his stubborn remark, your hands gripping into his arm just to dig your nails in his tattooed skin, almost begging him to let you breathe a second.

“Get up,” he says, not harshly enough to be a command, but instead, a plea. “Bend over the counter baby. M’not done with you yet.”

And even being so sensitive, you cannot help but comply, looking at your boyfriend through half-lidded eyes cause yeah, he made you a spoiled brat in terms of food, but you have definitely broke something else when it came to the intimacy he was now into.

Or maybe you just loved being his main critique.

#carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x female reader #carmy berzatto x you #the bear #jeremy allen white #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x female reader #the bear fx #carmen bearzatto #cryptfile // the bear

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seranextdoor · 1 year ago

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DO I WANNA KNOW ? ~ LEON S. KENNEDY.

Summary: Leon just had to take the chance.

Word count: 3.814k / Warnings: stepcest, dddne, mild dubcon at first.

Contents 18+: unprotected sex, missionary, he eats your pussy thru the damn panties, he got a big dick (canon), praising, clit-slap (?), creampie, risky sex.

Pairing: Stepbrother! Leon S. Kennedy X Fem! Reader.

Author note: writing got a little rusty.... but!!! i had fun writing this （＾ν＾）stepbro leon is 2 die 4. kudos to the anon who sent the idea of stepbro leon into my inbox. ilyyyyy 🩷

🖥️ MAIN MENU

🎬 MDNI. DARK CONTENT.

DO NOT COPY, TRANSLATE OR MODIFY ANY OF MY WORKS. ©️ KENNEDYBABY

have you no idea that you’re in deep? i dreamt about you nearly every night this week. how many secrets can you keep?

You drive him insane. Literally. And it’s not even your fault, you were nothing but a sweetheart and Leon was nothing but a complete, degenerate mess when it comes to you.

You were the forbidden fruit that Leon desperately wanted to devour.

There’s a time when he’s left alone in his room after a long, exhausted day at work and all he could think about was you. It doesn’t help how he always had to come home late due to his late-night patrols around the city and all he can hear within the thin walls was your muffled moans and the sound of your fingers squelching and pushing into your cunt. You didn’t know about two things; One, Leon coming back home late because he always makes sure not to make too much noise when he’s downstairs. Two, Leon pressing his ear against the wall with his cock in his fist, furiously stroking up and down to the sound of your mewls. By the time you were done, all he can hear is the water running and splashing in the marbled sink of your bathroom as you washed your hands clean while he was reaching for tissues to wipe his semen off his sheets and abs.

It sort of become a daily routine for Leon. It’s wrong, he knows, you’re his stepsister and the thoughts he had for you in mind were nowhere near appropriate for someone who he should consider as his little sister. But he can’t just suppress the thoughts and feelings he had, the more he pushed aside, the more it grows and torments him, basically eating him alive. The fact that he lives under the same roof as you alone makes things harder for him, but he wasn’t complaining. Not one bit.

Leon gets to see you, a lot. He’d see you laying on your stomach with your shirt slightly ridden up on your back and your shorts hugging the curve of your ass, baby pink panties peeking thru its hem without you noticing it. And sometimes, his eyes would linger on you longer than he anticipated, his teeth biting the inside of his cheeks as his feet nervously tapped on the wooden flooring. You’d bend down in front of him to pick up the spoon on the floor and his breath would hitch seeing the outline of your pussy strained against your shorts. You were none the wiser, oblivious to the way his eyes flittered on your body and your lips but never directly on your eyes.

Because if Leon did look you in the eyes, he would feel guilty for thinking about bending you over the kitchen counter and fuck you stupid when you genuinely wanted to know how his day went at work.

“Leon?” You softly call out his voice, knuckles knocking on the door of his bedroom before Leon rushed to answer you. The sweat on his forehead was quickly wiped with the back of his hand, and his breathing ragged as he adjusted himself. “Yeah?” His voice was strained, exhausted from his work. “Can I come in?” Your fingers toyed with the steel doorknob, leaning your forehead lightly against his door. You heard the small ‘yeah’ before he opened it to you. Lips curling into a small smile, you looked up at him before you stepped inside his room. “Were you sleeping? I didn’t mean to bother.” You said to him, sitting on the edge of his bed before you crossed your legs. “No, no, I was just... Resting.” He replied, his eyes following your every move. Pushing the strands off your face, you tilt your head to the picture of you and him on his bedside.

“Aw, you still kept this?” You hold up the photo frame at him, your thumb glided on the glass surface gently as you gaze at it. “Why wouldn’t I?” He shrugged before he takes a sit next to you on his bed, purposely grazing his fingers against your thighs as he bite back the urge to let out a content sigh.

“I was so cute back then,” Your lips slightly puckered out, pouting at the sight of your younger version in the picture. A warm spread throughout your chest, it’s nice to know Leon keeps this photo of you and him— it makes you feel special. “You’re still so cute now.” His compliment brings heat to your cheeks, your elbow finding their way to playfully nudge his ribs before a soft chuckle left past your lips when he nudged you back. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.” You rolled your eyes, placing back the picture frame on the table before you leaned back and lay on his bed with a small thud.

“Maybe I am, maybe I’m not.” He grinned at you, laying back next to you before he take a deep breath. He’d glanced at you, once, just one look on your face before he quickly avert his eyes away from you and glued them back on the ceiling. Leon knows he would end up staring at you, it’s a bad habit. He can’t help it, just the way your eyes drowsily looked up to the ceiling, your lips slightly parted as your fingers cling to his pillow. He wondered if your fingers would cling to the meat of his thighs if he was fucking your throat, filling every corner of your mouth with his cock until hot tears streamed down your wet cheeks— “They didn’t even tell me they were out of town.” The sound of your voice cutting thru the silence pause his thoughts before Leon tilts his head at you. “Why? You wanna go out or something? They’re just out attending my— our dad’s work party somewhere out of town in a hotel.” He stated.

‘Yeah, right, our dad. As if I wasn’t just thinking about fucking my stepsister.’ Leon thought to himself. God, he’s a sick, sick man.

“I know, I’m just really bored. That’s why I came here.” You said to him, completely oblivious to the fact that his eyes practically gleamed at your w. Leon sits up on his bed, his fingers pushing back the strands of hair on his face before he turned to look at you, a small smirk dawns on his lips. “So you come to me to have fun?” A small giggle left past your lips, the faint blush on your cheeks doesn’t go unnoticed. “Please, you make that sounds weird.” You shake your head, only to quickly shut down the fit of giggles you had when you feel his fingers brush against your thighs. Heat courses to your cheeks before a low hum emitted out of you, “Weird? I don’t know what you’re implying.” Leon does, he does. Fuck, this was probably the most he could do to you, just stroking your thighs as his fingers grow higher and higher as the warmth of your cunt radiates against his skin. He swallowed thickly, his fingers lightly squeezing the fat of your thighs before he leaned down to you. “Maybe you’re the weird one.”

Your eyes slightly widened, fingers quickly latching on his wrist before you stopped him from going further. “Leon,” You made a pathetic attempt to sound stern when you called his name when in reality, your voice sounded more like a whine as if you wanted him to keep going. “We can’t.” You didn’t say no, you would be lying to yourself if you didn’t want this too. You lose count of how many nights you spent, staying up watching taboo porn under your blanket with your fingers desperately stuffing your cunt and trying to relieve the ache between your legs while having Leon at the back of your head. You lose count of how many times you muffled out his name into your pillow every time you climaxes around your fingers during the darkest hour. And now that, Leon’s hand is practically inches away from grazing against your pussy, all you could do is looked away from his piercing gaze as you clench your thighs around his wrist. “It’s wrong.”

But it doesn’t mean neither he nor you wanted it less. Leon probably wanted it the most, his mind practically going haywire from how close your body is pressed to his.

“I can stop if you want, just say the word.” His voice was soft and you can’t help but look back into his eyes, before you lay there, contemplating if you should just go for it. Either you do it now, where no one’s home or never do it with him and to be honest, you would pick the first option in a heartbeat. “Keep going,” As soon as you let those words out, Leon leaned in to kiss you, his tongue pushing past your lips as explored every inch of your mouth. His hand resting on your cheek while the other is rubbing your clit thru your shorts with his index and middle fingers until there’s a damp spot forming on the fabric. Pulling away from the kiss with a string of saliva connected on the tip of each other tongues. “You’re so wet already,” He grinned, his face diving between the crook of your neck before he gently nibs your skin and sucked the fresh hickey he gives you on your neck.

“You love getting your pussy played by big brother?” When did that innocent nickname you used to call him make you so flustered? The way it smoothly rolled off to the tip of his tongue and the way his voice slightly dropped an octave made it sound lewd. You hated how much it turns you on, your cunt dripping with your arousal just from his little teasing. “Leon, stop embarrassing me.” You huffed in slight annoyance at his teasing before you hide your heated face with his pillow which Leon was not too happy with. He quickly takes the pillow off your grasp and throws it behind him, “No hiding, princess. D’you know how long I waited to do this?” Leon whispered to you, his lips kissing your jawline. “Too damn long.” He grumbled, pulling away from you before he kneels on the floor. His hands easily dragged you to the edge of his bed before he parted your thighs. “All I can think about is fucking you stupid, do you know how much that tortures me knowing I can’t?” He groans, his fingers were quick to slip the shorts off your legs and let them fall to the carpeted floor.

Leon couldn’t be bothered to take off your panties, instantly latching his lips on your clit thru your panties as he vigorously sucks on it with sheer fervour. The suddenness illicit a sharp gasp past your lips, your elbows and heels digging into his mattress as you watched his mouth clung to the bundle of nerves like no tomorrow with your thighs clamping around his head. “Shit, Leon...” You curse under your breath, head thrown back as he slurped every drop of you thru the thin undergarment. A soft moan croaks out of you as Leon finally pushed aside your panties, his tongue flattened before he dragged a long line on your pussy. “Taste so fucking good,” He can feel his cock straining in his pants, causing some discomfort but that was the last thing he care about, not when he was nose-deep into his stepsister’s sweet cunt. He could care less about anything when his mind is fixated on the way you rolled your hips and rides his tongue, smothering him before he pulled away for air.

“You’re so needy, baby.” Leon littered kisses on your inner thighs, the tip of his tongue flicking your clit causing your hips to jerk forward. His forearms push your hips down to the bed before he lightly slapped your clit and chuckles when you wince from the slight pain. “Don’t do that.” You whine, biting your lower lip back as you let yourself relish back into the pleasure when he kisses your clit, giving it a little suck and pulling away with a small pop. “I know, baby. Just wants you to stay still.” He said to you softly, his eyes shifting up to lock eyes with you. He loves the way your eyes tear up, your cheeks growing hot as your fingers cling to the bedsheets. He loves prodding his tongue into your warm hole while his thumb rubs your sensitive clit until you throw your head back into the pillow with your back arching into his tongue. “I’ll stay still,” It’s surprising how you can still talk properly despite being so high from the pleasure he’s giving you. A dribble of spit already starts dripping at the corner of your mouth, your eyes rolled to the back of your head each time Leon flattened his tongue and dragged it slowly on your dripping cunt until your body shuddered in pleasure.

Your fingers interlocked with his brown hair, tugging and pulling him closer as you slowly reached your climaxes. He didn’t mind, he like the feeling of your nails slightly digging into his scalp while you desperately chases your high. God, Leon probably won’t even mind if his head is bleeding from how hard you're tugging onto him if it meant having the chance to get a taste of your pussy and your soft thighs wrapped around his head. A strained scream sputtered out of your throat when you finally come undone in his mouth, your hips stuttering into his lips as Leon licks every drop of your juices and drank it down with a content grin. His hand reached down to his pants as he palmed his throbbing cock thru his pants, his fingers rubbing up and down on the outline of his shaft before he stands up from his knees. Leon pulled down his shorts until they slipped off his legs leaving him in his black boxer. The bed shifted as his knees digs into the cushion of his mattress.

“Want your cock,” Your words were slurred but you manage to whisper the words into his ears when he gets on top of you. You bring your fingers crawled up and cupped his face before you pulled him into a sloppy kiss, letting his teeth clashes against yours without a care in the world as his hands grip your waist. “Yeah? Beg for it.” He pulled away from the kiss, his blue eyes back into yours as you tucked your bottom lip under your teeth. It’s clear he won’t give you what you wanted until you actually say it to his face. A heavy sigh left your swollen lips, “Please, I need you inside of me. Fuck..." You paused, nuzzling your face to hide your warm cheeks into his neck before you continues, “Fuck your stepsister.” Leon grinned at your words, his lips leaving a small kiss on your collarbone before he pulled away to push down his boxer. “You got it, baby.”

Your eyes watered up as you mumbled a low curse when you feel the tip of his cock pushed into your cunt. It brings immediate weight to your chest as your breathing grows ragged, a part of you still refuses to believe this was happening— you’re fucking your stepbrother, allowing his fingers to gently pinch your hardened nipples while he buries his cock inch by inch. Your fingers quickly pressed against his chest, stopping him immediately as Leon shoot you a concerned look, his hand coming up to rest on your cheek.

“You okay?” He whispered to you when you let out a small wince, eyebrows knitted together before you looked down to where the two of you were connected. “It won’t fit, Leon.” You croak out a small cry, he’s stretching you apart and he’s not even all the way in. “It will, princess, just... I’ll take it slow, okay? It’s going to be okay.” Leon smiled after you weakly nodded your head to his assurance, your arms trails up to wrap around his neck before he slowly pushed himself inside of you. A low moan guttered out of his throat once he finally sheathed himself fully inside of your tight, sopping cunt. Cold sweats run down his forehead and body as he takes in every little noise you made underneath him.

He stayed in your arms for a few seconds before he retracts to prop up the back of your knee with his hand. Leon stared down at the way his cock formed a small bump on your pelvis before he moved his hips slowly, the pad of his thumb rubs your skin in a circular motion. “You’re taking me so well, baby,” Leon said to you in a hushed tone, his head slightly thrown back before he gulped down to the feeling of your inner walls pulsating around his cock. Leon averted his eyes from the ceiling back to your body, staring at the way your shirt pushed up over your chest, your fingers keeping your panties aside as he pushes himself in and out of your cunt at a slow, consistent pace. “Fuck, you feel so good.” He moaned eyes shutter tight before he exhaled a sharp breath. “God, you’re clinging to me,” Leon let out a soft chuckle, his lips finding their way to peck on your swollen ones. “Can’t help it... You’re too big. S’all your fault.” You mumbled, eyes dazedly looking up to him as drops of his sweat drips down to your body.

“I know, baby. It’s all my fault.” He cooed to you, his lips coming in contact with your forehead as he leaves a kiss. You didn’t even realise he had picked up his pace, his hips rocking back and forth faster than before as his balls slaps on your ass, filling the room with nothing but the sound of skin slapping and your wanton moans. “You’re taking it so well though, you love getting fucked by your big brother?” You hummed to his question, “Mhm, love gettin’ fucked by you.” You breathed out. Leon can feel his cock throb inside of you, the grip at the back of your knee tightening as his knuckles gradually whitened. The bedframe rocked back and forth, scratching the blue paint off his wall into straight, white lines as it squeaks under the weight of the two of you. You tried so hard not to glance at the picture of Leon and you on his bedside, almost staring back at the both of you with nothing but utter shame.

The two of you had crossed the line you knew you can’t back out from. Not that Leon cared, every logic in his head was thrown out of the window the second you told him to keep going.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, the way you digs your nails into his shoulders made his breath stagger. The friction between both yours and his body sends your mind into a frenzy that you almost, almost, made you miss the sound of the front door being unlocked and the sound of your parents happily chatting downstairs. “Fuck,” That was all Leon had to say to put a small pause on what he was doing, his forehead leaned against your shoulder as he bit his bottom lips back. He stayed silent for a few seconds before he rocks his hips back, taking you by surprise, “Leon, we should—" You parted your lips to speak only for his hand to go over your mouth, “Just be quiet. Be a good girl for me, yeah?" He says. You nodded, letting his hand press against your lips, your eyes shooting wide when his thrusts became more and more fervent as you wrapped your legs around his waist tightly.

Leaning your head back into his pillow, he took the advantage to leave marks all over your neck, nipping your soft skin until it turns into a slightly darker shade from your skin. Leon moves up to your face, giving you a small peck on the lips thru his hand before he let out a low chuckle. Removing his hand from the back of your knees to hold onto your waist while his other hand is over your lips, you can feel he’s getting faster and faster. Leon can feel it, he was getting so close and he can feel you were too with the way your inner walls tightened up around him, sucking him in deeper and deeper as the squelching sounds fills the room. “Can I cum in you, princess? Please, can I?” He begs, keeping his tone hushed as he whispered into your ear, sending the back of your hair stand up.

You frantically nodded, muffling out a small high-pitched ‘yeah’ to him before you glanced at the way his cock pushing in and out of you, glistening with your arousals under his bed lamp as Leon pushed his hips towards you, burying his cock deeper into a rougher pace. A choked scream left your lips when the orgasm comes washing over your body as you shut your eyes close, the grip around his shoulders tightening before your body falls limp under him. A sharp breath left his lips when he feels you finish around him before he quickly did the same, shooting his cum deep inside of you before he removed the hand over your mouth and pressed it against his bed to support himself. His muscles flexed as you watched his cock throb inside of you, spilling his warm seeds into your sensitive cunt before he pulls out from you with a groan. When he finally rides off his high, Leon looked down at the way your panties were scrunched up to the side as they pressed against your inner thigh— he was so eager to fuck you he didn’t even bother to take off your panties. Not that he’s complaining, it keeping his cum from spilling out of you.

“Fuck, baby..." Leon breathed out, a strained laugh falls past his lips before he leaned in to kiss you on the lips and pulled away afterwards. He stared back into your half-lidded stare, your chest heaved as you catches up with your breath. Your lips curled into a small smile when Leon brush the strand of hair off your face, “You should probably go back to your room, princess." He suggested, helping you sit up on his bed. His fingers played with the strap of your panties before he looked back at you, the corner of his lips curled into a playful smirk.

“Keep this on. I want you to go to bed with my cum inside of you. ”

#leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader smut #leon s. kennedy #leon s. kennedy smut #resident evil smut #leon kennedy x female reader #tw. stepcest #stepbro!leon #stepbro! leon kennedy x reader #resident evil 4 x reader #resident evil 4 smut #stepbro leon smut #tw. dark content #tw. dubcon #leon s. kennedy fic #leon s. kennedy x you #leon kennedy x you

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chiliyue-archived · 1 year ago

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These arms are made for holding you

↬cuddles, hugs & sweet stuff

Includes; Dazai, Chūya, Ranpo, Atsushi, Kunikida, Fyodor, Nikolai, Sigma

Not requested !

Bear hugs with Dazai because he's an attention whore and likes to have you all to himself; and so he will bitch for said attention. His head is buried in your chest, scattering kisses along exposed skin with a satisfied smile on his lips as his arms hold you tight into his embrace. He will get incredibly pouty if you try to pry yourself off and will follow you around like a lost puppy until you get back into his arms. Otherwise, you will be hearing " Hurryyyy up 'Belllaaaa" trailing behind your every move.

Head in your stomach with Chūya because sometimes he treats you like a personal pillow. Your body radiates so much comfort, and after a stressful day, he wants nothing more than to be your loving embrace! His fingers are slipping underneath your shirt, finger meassging the skin carefully as his senses drown out to a pulse. He melts within your arms and is easily lulled to sleep when you card your finger through his hair, instantly relaxing his muscles as he mutters a sleepy "I love you."

Arms around your shoulders with his head top of yours with Ranpo because he's an attention whore #2 and will become an absolute menance; making slight teases and feathery touches while he's at it. Your protests fall on deaf ears as he proceeds to pull you closer to his chest, arms firmly caging you against him. All the while, his chin is resting on top of your head; sometimes even nuzzling his cheek in your hair with a contented smile plastered on his lips. He does this unpredictably, randomly plopping against you at random intervals to get his daily affection.

Spooning with Atsushi, but really, he just likes to be in close proximity to you to have him smiling in infatuation. He doesn't mind if he's little spoon or big spoon, Atsushi just wants you to feel safe within his arms, the way he feels with you. As little spoon, he has a small evident blush— but silently crawls into your arms nonetheless and falls asleep in a matter of seconds. When he's big spoon, he's burying his head into the crook of your neck, lips ghosting the patches of exposed skin whilst his fingers trace down your arms in a comforting motion.

Resting against his chest with Kunikida because while he follows a more simple form of loving, he is nonetheless successful in radiating you in warmth <3. One arm subconsciously finds itself sneaking around your waist; his thumb and index are running soothing circles along your waist that easily quell you of any anxieties and lulled you to a state of rest. His vacant one finds its way to your hair, pinching and rolling the strands between his fingers. His lips meanwhile are tenderly feathering along your forehead, pressing gently with a slip of sweet nothings before he too falls alseep within your embrace.

Falling asleep on his shoulder with Fyodor, whose amused you found it to be a comfortable spot for a napping place; but an arm is subtly circling your waist to pull you closer as he continues his work. No words spoken among this exchange with the exception of a light chuckle or two followed by a quick kiss your temples. His eyes are stealing chaste glances as his free hand clicks away at his keyboard but sometimes said hand goes to lightly brush a stray strands of hair from your face before tracing down the bridge of your nose and down your chin, lingering for a couple seconds before pulling away.

Miscellaneous with Nikolai because any position where he's gets to hold and tease you is good enough for him. And what's the fun in being in the same spot all the time? Switch it up a bit~! So, sometimes you'll feel as though you're being suffocated in his bone crushing hug, and other times, he's using your thighs as a resting spot because pillows are overrated anyway. Of course, he isn't opposed to the option with you on top with his arms lazily draped over your waist, sending you a teasing smile. Either way he has you pressed firmly against him and cuddles (& kisses) all your problems away

Hesitant cuddles with Sigma because he doesn't know what he's doing but is still trying his best ‼️ he feels as though he's doing something wrong; unsure where to put his arms or if you're even comfortable :(. His fingers are lightly planting itself on your waist, eyes gazing at your face for looks of discomfort or uneasiness. Even as you have fallen asleep within his embrace, he's questioning every little movement he does; maybe he's pressing too hard or pinchingyou unintentionally? But when he wakes up with his hair tousled, eyes blinking away his sleepiness and sees you still in his arms, it's like the nerves were never there to begin with.

#bsd x reader #dazai x reader #chuuya x reader #ranpo x reader #atsushi x reader #kunikida x reader #fyodor x reader #nikolai x reader #sigma x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #bsd imagines

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silversupremacy · 1 year ago

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daily? silver spoon - day 10

He looked soooo soggy when mephone slapped he litol paw :(((((

#my art #ii silver spoon #ii mephone4 #Smack smack no good things for you!!!#daily spoon content

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milksuu · 1 year ago

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Don't Worry. I'll Support You. | PT. 01

❥ prompt: Your HEARTSTEEL boyfriend has to undergo minor surgery, and they chose you to be their caretaker for the day. Let's see how they are before and after anesthesia. ❥ content/warnings: fluffy fluff, drugged behavior (all medically safe), mention of needles, mild profanity, minor angst ❥ characters/pairings: v!Heartsteel! (aphelios, ezreal, kayn) x girlfriend!reader

an: i don't know why this was tumbling around in my head. wow, this post got longer and longer the more i wrote. i swear I'll write for the other babes too.

APHELIOS

Unfortunately, this wouldn't be the first time Aphelios had to undergo surgery. Happened when they had to remove the nodule from his vocal cords. And he doesn't remember a single thing from that day. Alune took care of him at the time, but she never mentioned anything beyond how he slept most of the day (probably to spare him from embarrassment).

He appreciated you taking a day off work to take care of him and be his interpreter. He was fine with all his consents and paperwork. But when it came to more detailed questions concerning his medical history, he would have you translate his sign language to the medical staff. Thanks to you, the process went smoothly.

IV's were never fun to have. Especially when it had to be in the hand. Aphelios couldn't lie and say he wasn't nervous about it, despite his aloofness. But all he had to do was shift his eyes away for a moment, and look at your cute, bubbly face. He could tell you were rambling on trying to distract him, and he guessed it worked. By the time he looked down again, the IV was in. He denied the golden star sticker usually meant for the pediatric patients, but you took it for him as a momento.

When it was time for him to go into the OR, the medical team gave you two a moment. You slipped a hand into his and gave him two love squeezes. He smiled softly and gave three love squeezes back. A quick peck to his lips and you left to sit in the waiting room.

When he was brought to recovery and awake, you were taken to his bedside. When you stepped through the curtain, you saw him resting as if he were asleep at home. Slowly, he opened his eyes, glazed over with mild recognition. Although he felt lethargic, he signed sloppily with his hands.

Is this heaven?

You bit your bottom lip to keep from smiling too much. You shook your head and reminded him where he was.

Oh. Really? Because you look like an angel to me. And if they want you back up there. Forget it. I'm keeping you.

You covered your mouth to keep from giggling too loud. You weren't sure if he was being serious or actually trying to flirt with you. It wasn't common at all for him to be so corny, but you blamed the anesthesia for that. When the nurse came to the bedside, she went over discharge instructions while you held his hand. He kept giving you light squeezes and rubbing his thumb gently against your fingers. Just to make sure you wouldn't fly away. Of course, anytime you had to let go and sign a paper, he sighed heavily (almost a whine if he wasn't careful), until your hand floated right back for him to take. Then he was sighing with relief again.

While at home, it was just the same. Aphelios didn't want you to leave his side for even a moment. If he had his way, you'd be sleeping next to him, still holding onto his hand. You had to remind him many times that you had to take care of him, so no cuddles or naps just yet. You also had to remind him he needed to eat and take fluids after fasting for so long. If there was thing you knew, he was a picky eater. Aphelios seriously thought ketchup packets counted as a full meal and satisfied his daily fiber intake. Luckily, you were able to spoon feed him some soup with a couple of crackers.

After you had him take his first dose of medication, you could finally indulge him. You settled next to him in bed, and he took no time to wrap himself around you, nuzzling your chest. A small, sleepy smile formed against his lips. Maybe you weren't a real angel. But you couldn't convince him you weren't his heaven on Earth.

EZREAL

Oh, boy. This was the first time Ezreal had to have any kind of surgery. Even though it was supposedly minor, that didn't stop the nerves itching underneath his skin. Is it normal to be this nervous? He wasn't sure, but he tried his best to hide his chattering teeth behind a forced smile. He really didn't want you worrying about him more than you had too. You were already doing him a big favor by taking care of him. He just hoped he wouldn't be a wreck before and after.

Apparently, signing consent forms and answering medical questions became a challenge. His hand trembled so much, his usual confident signature looked like a preschooler forged it. And when it came to answering medical questions, he found himself stuttering, feeling like someone stuck cotton balls inside his mouth.

When it was time for the IV, his whole body was ready to collapse in on itself. Was it always so hot in here? Sweat dampened the top of his skin. W-What's the big deal anyway? Not like he was afraid of some tiny, sharp...needle....OK, the room was spinning now. Great—awesome. Man, he felt so lame.

Seeing the color drain from his complexion, his head drop back, and his eyelids fluttering close, you politely asked the nurse to give him a moment with you. She laid him down in the stretcher and brought you a wet cloth. Wiping at his damp face and neck, you rested a comforting hand against his heaving chest. "It's okay to be afraid, Ez. It's not easy to have surgery. You're brave for even being here." He shook his head weakly, clenching his eyes tight. "B-brave. Yeah right, babe. I mean, look at me. I'm practically comatose and the nurse barely even wrapped the tourniquet around my arm."

"Brave doesn't mean not being afraid of anything. It's doing something even knowing it's scary." Another wipe of his cheek and you planted a reassuring kiss. "There's no one braver in my eyes right now." Ezreal swallowed the ball of anxiety nested in his throat. A couple of more inhales and he gathered his remaining courage for the next step that had to be done.

You held his hand the entire time the nurse worked to get his IV started. You told him to close his eyes and take big breaths, and it would be over before he even knew it. He did as instructed, and just like you said, it was done. He admitted to you that it felt a bit itchy, but that he could deal with. Oh, but was it so worth it when the nurse offered him that golden star sticker. He slapped it on the chest of his gown like a badge of honor.

When the medical team arrived to take him in the stretcher, he gave you that million dollar smile and peace sign. Granted, you whispered to the anesthesiologist to give him some relaxing medication before he went in. The anesthesia provider was way ahead of you. When he started giggling, waving, and blowing kisses like he was out the sunroof of a limo driving down the boulevard—oh yeah. You knew he was feeling it.

When it was all over and they called you back to recovery, the nurse informed you he couldn't stop talking the moment he opened his eyes. And all that he was talking about was you. "Babe! Babe! I did it—I can't even believe it's over. I don't even remember them putting me to sleep. Crazy, right? Like, did I count down from ten? Did I make it to zero? I bet I made it to zero." He practically wiggled himself over the safety rails on the stretcher. You sweetly instructed him to keep still so that the nurses could get a decent blood pressure on him. "Okay. Okay. I'll be good. Promise." He forced himself to lay back, but that didn't last long. While the nurse was going over instructions, he was tugging on your shirt sleeve, calling your name, interrupting every moment wanting your attention. Apparently, he had a lot to say to you in the span of thirty-minutes you were separated.

When you arrived back home, by some miracle you were able to have him settled on the couch once you put on his favorite K-Drama. While sitting next to him (and making sure he didn't get up) he rested his cheek against the top of your head. "Thanks for everything, babe. Honestly, you make me feel like the bravest guy. Like Indiana Jones....or Captain Kirk...maybe even that...one actor from National Treasure...." before you could say anything back, you felt his body relax further into you. His light breaths signaling he dozed off seamlessly. With a warm smile, you pulled the blanket over the two of you, and snuggled closer before you joined him for a nap.

KAYN

GOD DAMN IT'S EARLY! Kayn wanted to shout when you woke him up for his 6AM arrival time. Instead, he grumbled, kicked on his crocks, and went in his pajamas. He was too tired to really argue and complain. He just wanted to get this done and over with so he could move on with his life.

Kayn didn't diddle-daddle with his forms and medical questions. He wanted to put on his gown, toss himself into the stretcher, and possibly get a few more winks before his surgical time. You sighed—this was going to be the longest hour before surgery.

Although still in a foul mood, Kayn eased a bit when you worked up a distracting conversation with him. And when the nurse came in to do his IV, Kayn didn't bother blinking. He probably stuck himself countless of times with other—probably sharper—and deadlier objects. Actually, he took it one step further. When the IV was inserted, just to mess with you (and the nurse), he made a loud, and seductive moan. You pinched his arm for startling the nurse. Poor thing didn't even know how to react to that nonsense. "Ow. Ow. Nurse—nurse, she's hurting me." He said, cowering away from you. "You deserve that for almost giving them a heart attack. What if they missed and had to stick you twice?" Kayn smirked, rubbing at his nipple line. "More of a good time for me, then." You rolled your eyes, begging for him to behave for the next half-hour.

When the surgeon came to the bedside, he discussed the procedure at length and a few expectations afterwards. When he finished, he asked if either of you had any questions. Kayn raised his hand like the serious kid in math class. "Yeah. Question, Dr. Shen. When can I have sex again?" You almost spat out the complimentary coffee the front staff so kindly gave you. You couldn't believe he had just asked that question so casually at...let's see.... 06:50 in the morning!

You apologized on his behalf, but Dr. Shen merely dismissed it. "That's quite alright. It's a fair question. And one I receive plenty of times from my male patients. Even ones well into their eighties, and surprisingly, nineties." Kayn nodded with a grin and you rubbed your warming forehead. Of course. What else would they bother to ask? The surgeon went on to say; "As far as any kind of exertional activities, that will all be discussed and cleared at your follow-up appointment in two weeks."

TWO WEEKS!? Kayn almost fainted right then in there. He looked at you with such concern, as if someone told him a Pentakill concert sold out before he could even buy a ticket. He reached over and grabbed your hand, holding tight. "Listen, kitten. I don't think I want this surgery anymore. Can we go home now?" You shook your head disapprovingly. After hearing such news, and you not bailing him out, Kayn sulked as if he was getting surgery to forever castrate him.

When it was time to take him, he begrudgingly let you kiss his cheek. Otherwise, he didn't reciprocate your affection. He tossed his chin away and said. "Whatever. Let's just get this crap over with." Once again, he had you shaking your head, and you apologizing to everyone in the room.

When the nurse came to bring you back into recovery, you noticed he was sleeping on his side, back turned to you. You wondered if he was still upset by the whole ordeal. When you reached out to touch his shoulder, he tensed, but slowly turned over. "Kayn. Are you feeling alright? If you're in pain, I'll tell the nurse—" Before you could finish, Kayn reached forward and grabbed you, pulling you into the tightest hug. You felt him bury his face into your neck and shoulder, hands desperately clinging to you.

"Oh, thank you, thank you." You heard him choke up. You brought a hand to gently comb through his hair, asking him what was wrong. He shook his head. "I...I don't know. I thought— just before everything went black—what if I never saw you again. And the way I acted before they took me..." he squeezed tighter, burying his sulking face deeper. "I'm sorry. I love you, okay? Just, trust me on that. Please."

"It's okay. I love you too," you hummed and stroked his back, continuing to assure him. "You don't have to worry anymore. It's all over. You're still here. The doctor said you did so good, and there were no complications." Pausing, you planted a kiss to the top of his head. "How about we get you dressed so we can go home, hm?" He nodded against your shoulder, and you helped the nurse dress him for discharge.

When you brought him home, Kayn wanted to do nothing but turn off the lights, close the blinds, and lay next to you in quiet darkness. Breathe you in, feel your warmth, and listen to the softness of your pulse against his ear. Focus on the fact that he was alive and you were alive with him—nothing else.

#heartsteel #heartsteel x reader #heartsteel ezreal #heartsteel aphelios #heartsteel kayn #aphelios x reader #ezreal x reader #kayn x reader #league of legends #reader insert #x reader #my man dr shen making an appearance #divider by leafsea

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nyxxxx-onepieces-dragun · 1 year ago

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Ace Boyfriend HC

A/N: Js a bunch of fluff and random things that came to mind and its quite long but enjoy ;3 Characters: Ace x Fem!reader mentions of other characters aswell this is a SFW HC but I might make a NSFW one so stay tuned for that!

SFW HC:

When you first started dating Ace would love to give you sweet little love letters. It's sweet yet not too much and they would say something like "your my never ending thought, A."

definitely be prepared for the ultimate princess treatment. Oh your hungry? he's already running to Thatch asking demanding it be made for you right then and there, your feet hurt? no problem he'll just give you a piggyback or carry you bridle style.

I think Ace would be too shy to approach you despite his confident and gentleman appearance he just doesn't want to mess things up so instead he asks you out via letter that went along the lines of "Lets flip a coin. Heads, your mine. Tails I'm yours." he definitely didn't have Marco put it on your desk in your cabin

He loves physical touch it reminds him that he's not alone and your like the calm in his storm keeping him there and anchored.

Also if you want him to melt while you both are chilling in his cabin he's on his stomach sleeping soundly just go over and start massaging his back, bonus points if you dance your fingers over his Whitebeard tattoo, now its a daily thing for you and if you don't do it please do it he'll be all whiny and pouty "Y/nnnn~ please can you rub my back?? I promise just for 15 minutes!" you do it for about three hours hehe

He never ever takes you out on missions with him, afterall he is the 2nd division commander and he takes on some serious missions but when you do arrive on a new island you best bet he is right there at your hip keeping a protective arm draped over you and watching out for anyone who might try anything he's so golden retriever please love this man with all your heart

He's great at being big spoon and being your personal heater but he looooves being little spoon it makes him feel safe and calm in your arms as you run your fingers through his raven locks all that day's stress washes away and he feels content knowing that someone will always be there for him no matter what.

One time Ace tried to set up a romantic little boat date and everything was going great the moon was high up stars twinkling in the sky as you both ate fruit together he was sat across from you and before you knew it his narcolepsy kicked in and his face was now in your chest as he snored soundly.

At first you were confused and a bit flustered since he was so...close but you ended up just running your fingers through his hair waiting for him to awake and when he did...this man got redder than a tomato apologizing over and over again.

But the more frequently it happened the more bolder he got and at some point he would just stay there burying his face more into your chest which in return landed him slaps on the back of his head and scolding while you were a flustered mess "so comfy~ OUCH! it's not my fault I fell asleep!"

this is my first time writing I'll try to get better in the future but Thanks for reading this reposts are welcome just credit me! & <3

#one piece #portgas d ace #ace x y/n #nyx #portgas d ace x reader #one piece x reader #He is so golden retriever coded akjshjkd #Nyxwrites

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dmitriene · 1 year ago

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ʀᴇꜱɪʟɪᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴏꜰ ʟᴏᴠᴇ.

❝ 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 ❞ 𝘥𝘢𝘥 𝘥𝘪 𝘭𝘦𝘰𝘯 𝘬𝘦𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘥𝘺 𝘹 𝘮𝘰𝘮 𝘧𝘦𝘮 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳.

❝ 𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺 ❞ 𝘓𝘦𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘷𝘢𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘺.

❝ 𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘴 ❞ 𝘱𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧, 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘯𝘰 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵, 𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱, 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘣𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘩, 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥, 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧𝘥𝘰𝘶𝘣𝘵, 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘶𝘨𝘴, 𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘭𝘦𝘰𝘯.

❝𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘳'𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘦❞ 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘰𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘴𝘰 𝘪 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘺 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘳𝘺, 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘭𝘭 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘪𝘵!

✎ 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵. 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘴. 𝘢𝘰3. ˑ༄

The soft morning light filtered through the curtains, filling the room with a soft glow, and you stirred in your sleep, letting the warmth of the sheets envelop you, but something was missing.

Hesitantly, you sat up, blinking away the remnants of your dreams and focusing on the emptiness next to you — Leon was not there.

Yawning, you swung your legs off the bed and walked down the familiar, dimly lit hallways of your home, the sounds of cartoons quietly coming from the living room as curiosity drew you closer.

As you walked into the room, your heart instantly filled with warmth at the sight before you — there, sitting on the couch, was Leon, his strong arms wrapped around your newborn daughter.

She opened her eyes wide and was mesmerized by the colorful images on the television, her tiny fingers twitching in fascination.

Leon, dressed in a soft black shirt and a pair of comfortable sweatpants, looked so casual and effortlessly affectionate as he held her.

He fed her with a small spoon, carefully guiding it into her mouth, to which the baby's mouth obediently opened, and she swallowed every bite without fuss.

You couldn't help but smile intuitively, your heart filling with pride and love as you watched this enchanting scene.

The love in Leon's eyes as he looked at your child was undeniable, and your heart filled with gratitude for having such a caring and devoted husband.

You quietly walked towards the two of them and Leon immediately looked up, his eyes meeting yours and a warm, adoring smile spreading across his face.

He tilted his head, allowing you to kiss the top of his head, your lips brushing his dark hair.

— «You're up early» he whispered in a low voice so as not to disturb the baby, as he kissed her tiny forehead softly before turning his attention back to you.

You responded with a contented sigh, wrapping your arms around Leon's neck from behind — «I couldn't sleep without you next to me»

Leon laughed quietly — «Sorry for waking you, i just thought i'd give you a little break, let you catch up on some rest»

You kissed his cheek and played with his light stubble, enjoying the warmth of his skin on your lips — «You're an amazing father, you know that?»

A shy smirk tugged at the corners of Leon's lips, for as long as you remember him he had always been a man of action and never shied away from danger, but the prospect of fatherhood brought with it a different kind of uncertainty.

The responsibility was enormous, and he worried daily that he might not be good enough.

You nuzzled his cheek, whispering the words he desperately needed to hear — «You've been there every step of the way, from the moment we found out we were expecting, you've read every parenting book, you've painted the nursery, and you've put together the crib a thousand times, you're an incredible father»

Leon's eyes sparkled with excitement as he turned to face you, holding your baby carefully in his arms — «I love you» he whispered simply, placing a gentle kiss on your lips, pouring his gratitude into his actions.

As you looked at your daughter, her tiny fingers wrapped around Leon's, you felt a deep sense of satisfaction that this was your family, and it was wonderful.

Previously, a few weeks before your beautiful daughter was born, Leon had taken an extended leave from his demanding job — he was determined to dedicate every minute to being the best father he could be, and when your daughter was born, he stepped into that role with unwavering devotion.

His days were filled with changing diapers, feeding and rocking her crib at night to lull her to sleep, there were moments of frustration and sleepless nights, but Leon took it all calmly and stoically, his love for the child was unshakable.

Slowly, the days turned into weeks and you watched in awe at Leon's transformation — he was the one who calmed your daughter's cries and made her giggle with pleasure, he was the one who mastered the art of swaddling and could sing lullabies that instantly calmed her down.

You fell in love with him all over again as you witnessed the depth of his love for his family — he was your partner in every way, sharing with you the joys and challenges of parenthood.

As you stood together and looked at your baby, mesmerized by the colorful images on TV, you knew this was a moment worth cherishing, an unspoken understanding that your family was everything you could ever want.

Leon continued to feed the baby, his warm smile never fading as he whispered words of praise and encouragement to her, and you couldn't help but melt at the sight of his unwavering devotion, your heart filled with love for both of them over and over again.

After a few more spoons, the baby finished her breakfast, and Leon gently wiped her mouth with a soft cloth and held her close to him, to which she yawned and her tiny hands reached for his shirt.

With a gentle smile, he began rocking her back and forth, calming her into a state of relaxation.

You leaned over and whispered — «You're a natural, Leon, she adores you»

Leon turned and looked at you, a mixture of pride and love on his face — «I can't believe how lucky i am» he murmured — «I was scared, you know, about being a father, i didn't think i could do it»

You hugged him from behind tighter, resting your head on his shoulder — «You've done more than i could have ever hoped for, you're an incredible father, and you've brought so much happiness into our lives»

All of this time, Leon's gaze never left your daughter — «I love her so much» he said, his voice full of emotion.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked at him, and you were filled with love and gratitude for him, knowing that you had chosen the right partner to embark on the journey of parenthood, and at that moment you were very happy.

Hugging him, your daughter settled between you as you shared another family moment of deep warmth and love — your little one was surrounded by the unwavering love of her parents, and in her innocent eyes she saw nothing but the purest form of love.

While the TV continued to show cartoons, the room was filled with Leon's quiet lullabies, and an atmosphere of absolute love and contentment reigned.

Your heart was full, and in this simple, everyday moment, you knew that you couldn’t dream of anything more.

taglist: @roseglazedlens, @scar-crossedlvrs, @daydreamrot, @valsthea, @kennedyswhore dm me if you want to be tagged in my works or open my taglist.

#[ ✒️july writing ]#leon kennedy x fem reader #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy comfort #leon scott kennedy x fem reader #leon scott kennedy x reader #leon scott kennedy x you #leon scott kennedy fluff #leon scott kennedy comfort #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy fic #leon kennedy fanfic #id leon kennedy #dad leon kennedy

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astroboots · 1 year ago

Text

Love Bites

CO-WRITTEN WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Summary: Marc wakes up with a lot of hickeys in the mirror.

Content: a cup of yearning, a spoonful of angst and a heapful of horny and mix well with masturbation.

A/N: Inspired by @guruan amazing art series of love marks and hickeys on the Moon Knight boys. See her twitter for the pieces.

Word count: 4.9k words

ASTROBOOT’S MASTERLIST | THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMS' MASTERLIST | MOON KNIGHT MASTERLIST

Marc is no stranger to finding marks on his body.

Black and yellowed bruises scattered across his ribcage. Angry pink abrasions on his knuckles or jaw, the dark reddish brown of old blood crusting around deeper gashes.

They never bothered him too much. The suit takes care of it in the blink of an eye when he needs it to. Well before Steven wakes up so that Marc can make sure that his other half will always stay none the wiser of what their body is put through on a daily basis.

Marc is usually the one responsible for most of the marks and bruises. But Steven, with his clumsiness, isn't altogether blameless.

There are nights when Marc will wake up with a sore arm from a box of souvenir junk that's fallen onto Steven during inventory time. Sometimes, Steven in his half-conscious stupor will bump into a particularly hard corner of the shelves leaving Marc with a purple blotch on his hip or shoulder. It happens often enough that when Marc wakes up fronting and find his body marred with big ugly bruises, he doesn't react with even an ounce of surprise.

After all, pain and bruises are routine for him. It's what Marc has known for as long as he can remember. But Marc can't say he's used to this.

He's standing in front of the small mirror of the bathroom. His eyes lingers over the maroon-red mark that's discoloring the junction of his neck, right above his clavicle. It's the length of three fingers. It's bright, splotchy and glaring.

It's so unexpected it takes Marc several long seconds before he registers it for what it is.

Not a mosquito bite, it's too large for that. Not a bruise caused from a punch.

A hickey.

A grumble simmers in the back of his throat. Marc has a pretty good idea how the body ended up with a hickey.

Steven was going to take you out on a date last night. Some restaurant you’d been wanting to try “for ages.”

You'd looked so excited when you'd told him about it over breakfast that morning. Eyes bright, smiling cheek to cheek that made his chest squeeze tight within, as you had devoured the pancakes he'd made for you.

Marc stares back at his reflection in the mirror. At the big showy red blotch on his skin. If Marc leaves it as it is, it's sure to spread even wider until it turns purplish and blue and covers half of his throat.

Shit, you really went to town on his— on Steven's neck.

The two of you must have had fun.

His fingers trail the outline of the discoloration of his skin. The skin is bruised and a little tender, but it doesn’t hurt. Not in the way he's used to.

This isn’t the lingering pain from the impact of blunt knuckles or the sharp throbbing of broken ribs. This is different.

This bruise was made, not with a fist or a weapon, but with care. Made with your soft lips dragging across his neck. Your exploring fingers digging into his hair as your teeth scrape down his jaw and down his --

Fuck. What is he doing?

He glares accusingly at himself in the mirror.

What the hell was that?

Marc doesn't do this.

He doesn't let himself think about what it's like when you and Steven are together.

That's the rule he set for himself early on when you entered Steven's life: Marc is going to stay out of your way.

Leave you and Steven to live a normal and happy life without his interference... Except he fucked up.

Marc feels like a goddamned Disney villain most times. It's bad enough that Marc steals away hours—sometimes days—from Steven's quiet London life without the man knowing.

Somehow, and Marc isn't entirely sure how he's managed to land the three of you in this position, but not only do you know about Marc now. Marc's also cornered you into the impossible situation that you have to keep his existence secret from Steven.

Leading to the present status quo. One where Marc eats away at the poor man's life like a bottom-feeding parasite. Stealing time from Steven, on mornings that you wake in their bed. Hours that Marc could and should be ceding back to Steven. Instead, Marc finds himself lingering more and more often. Standing in the kitchen, cleaning up waiting for you to wake.

In the beginning he told himself that it was to keep an eye on you. After all, he can't have you wandering around in apartment flat and uncover something that is not meant for your eyes. But he'd be lying to himself if he said that was still the case. Because Marc trusts you after all.

No, he knows why he does this. Why he stays in the mornings, sat across you from the table, watching you eat with warmth fizzing pleasantly in his veins. He knows even if he'd never dare to put words to what it is.

He wants to take.

A heavy, sick feeling spreads in his stomach—his old familiar friends, shame and guilt—because Marc has already taken enough.

He doesn’t get to take this too. Doesn't get to think about what it's like when you and Steven are together.

That time belongs to Steven. You belong to Steven.

Marc is just an interloper.

His eyes pull back up from the floor of the bathroom and he catches himself frowning in the mirror.

He hasn’t moved his hand. His fingertips linger, thumb dragging over the pulse of his throat before pressing down on the bruise, hard. Digging in until he can feel the ache of it. Until the mark stings like it would have when it was freshly made by you.

A sharp thrill sparks down his spine, and warmth streaks across his lower stomach. Marc ignores it. Ignores the heavy ache that pools in his groin. It’s fine. As long as he ignores it, doesn't take things further, then he can let himself have… this. The fading echo of the love you have for Steven.

Marc leaves the hickey.

He wears his civilian clothes when he goes out at night on Khonshu’s business so the suit won’t heal it. Tries to avoid getting hurt so he won’t leave any other bruises for Steven to find. It feels strange. It's been a long time since Marc approached a fight with anything like caution.

Over the course of the next week, he wakes up each night to see that the hickey has bloomed. Marc maps its journey as it spreads from the small spot on his throat up the length of it until it almost reaches his jaw. Then it begins to fade.

On the fourth day the stark red has grown subdued. By the fifth, the blotches on his skin are well on their way to healing. And on the sixth...

On the sixth day, Marc finds a second mark right below the fading one at the base of his neck and long red streaks marking scratches on his shoulder.

New marks keep appearing with each week. Small finger-nail shaped crescent moons on his shoulder blades. The indent of teeth on his clavicle. More hickeys, the small and gentle bruises scattered across the body like a treasure hunt for Marc to find.

He's not sure how he feels about that. Except that there's a strange and unsettling flutter deep in the pit of his stomach everytime he catches sight of one of them in the mirror.

Shit. He's probably not supposed to feel anything about them at all. After all, they shouldn't affect him one way or the other at all. None of them actually hurt.

Judging from the frequency they're appearing, Steven obviously likes them. What’s Marc gonna do about it? Sit you down over the breakfast table, as he ladles up pancakes on your plate and casually drops that he keeps finding marks you've left on Steven? That it makes him feel... (funny? strange? good?) some way about it?

No, this is fine.

There's nothing to be done with the strange situation the three of you find yourselves in. All Marc can do is catalog each and every one of them. Each and every bruise and scrape and bite you leave on Steven, pressing harsh fingers over them until the blunt ache sets in so that Marc can feel them too.

Nothing is wrong. It's fine.

As long as he doesn't think of anything more, doesn't let his mind wander, then Marc isn't crossing a line. After all, there's nothing else he can do about the situation.

The only thing he can do is to keep his silent inspection of each hickey and scratch left on the body. He tells himself it's because he has to know what's going on with the body. To make sure it’s in good enough condition for Khonshu’s missions. That’s all it is. It has nothing to do with the fact that it's a tiny window into the part of Steven's life with you that Marc won't let himself intrude or eavesdrop on.

He almost believes it.

And if there’s a bittersweet feeling that weighs heavy in his stomach, it doesn’t matter. He can ignore it. Marc is no stranger to wanting things he can't have, things he doesn't deserve.

It's fine.

Everything is fine.

And it would have kept on being fine if it weren’t for the fucking lipstick.

The first time it happens, Marc wakes up alone in the apartment slumped over a chair, a book in his lap. Steven must've fallen asleep while reading. Nothing unusual there.

Marc doesn't even notice anything’s wrong until he steps into the bathroom and catches sight of his reflection in the mirror.

Smears of glossy scarlet stand out glaringly against his skin. It's on his face, his mouth and neck, bright red like a traffic light, warning Marc to stop.

Against his better judgment, Marc doesn't heed the warning.

His hand comes up to trace a pristine, perfectly-defined lip print on his cheekbone, trying not to let himself imagine what caused it. He pushes the invading image of your smile and the sweet curve of your lips down into the depths of his mind where he can't reach.

This is different from the hickeys and scrapes. Completely superficial. There is no underlying injury for him to punish himself with, but he catalogs the marks anyway.

The one on his neck is less pristine, smeared at the edges. His fingers drag over the skin in the same place your lips would have.

There's a bright-red smear at the corner of his mouth.

Marc stares at that one for a long time, breath coming in faster and heavier as his fingers hover, not quite touching.

He doesn't dare touch it because he knows what sort of contact made those marks. Can almost feel the weight of your arms wrapped around his neck, the slight sting of your fingers twined into his hair. The bridge of your nose alongside his as your plush lips press to his in a desperate, devouring kiss.

Shit. Shit!

His heart thrashes hard and fast with the fluttering panic of a trapped hummingbird inside his chest. Stepping backwards, a rush of blood floods his body and he feels lightheaded with the pace of it.

He can't look at it. Has to turn sharply away. Grabs a washcloth and the soap and scrubs until his skin feels raw. He doesn't let himself look again until the marks are gone because it feels like crossing a line. One he wasn’t—isn’t—going to let himself cross.

"It's my four month anniversary with Steven," you tell Marc as you reach for the toasted bagel with cream cheese in front of him.

Marc slides the plate back out of your reach and begins to layer smoked salmon on top.

"Where are you two going?"

"Steven booked Gloria. It's the cute Italian place with all the flowery corner booths and pretty porcelain dishes, remember?"

He nods as though he has any idea which restaurant you’re talking about. He doesn’t. Marc doesn’t spy on Steven’s dates with you.

"Their truffle pizza is delish, and for dessert they have this heavenly lemon meringue pie which is—and I am not exaggerating in the slightest—eight inches tall.”

"Sounds nice," he says, adding the finishing touches to your bagel. He barely has time to place the last caper before you swipe the plate from his hands and take a large bite out of it.

You moan your approval, then chew and swallow, smiling at him as you lick your fingers clean, and Marc doesn’t let himself think about anything at all.

"We'll go there sometime," you say, and it makes Marc stop in his tracks. "We can share it together."

He doesn't say that there’s no way in hell. Doesn't tell you that he doesn’t get to be together with you outside of the bubble that is these stolen mornings here in Steven's apartment. Doesn’t try to explain why somehow that would be crossing the last tenuous line he's set for himself.

Instead he turns around, stowing the cream cheese back in the fridge and steadfastly ignoring the insistent itch under the collar of his shirt. Your latest mark is there, simmering with heat where the shape of your lips are still branded onto his skin.

"Sounds nice," he says again.

Marc doesn't peek on your date with Steven.

It's not easy to stay away. His consciousness keeps floating to the surface, an involuntary reaction to Steven's feverish excitement that buoys Marc closer to awareness. Trapped in the dark purgatory where he’s peripherally aware of the palm of their hands going clammy with sweat and the whole of their body flashing hot and cold. He has to constantly swim down into the nothingness to avoid being inadvertently pushed to the front.

But Marc holds steady, even when he can feel their heart pounding away in their chest like Steven is running a goddamn marathon. He's determined to let you and Steven keep your private time private. The two of you don’t need him hanging around peeping like some perverted fly on the wall.

But…

It's a special kind of hell when Steven gets this excited.

It takes everything Marc has in him to fight the instinct to step in and take over, but he manages it somehow, holding on by his metaphorical fingernail until Steven finally succumbs to an exhausted sleep.

As the first dim light of the morning sun slinks through the windows, Marc wakes to find himself in bed, tangled up in twisted sheets.

His thighs ache, his back is stiff and it takes him several moments to orientate himself. Sandy-eyed and more exhausted than he should be, he peels back the bedding, to reveal…

Red.

His bare chest and stomach are smeared in bright crimson red.

Blood.

He's covered in it.

Adrenaline cracks through him, bright and sickening, and Marc jolts upright.

Oh fuck, what has he done now?

No. He forces himself to regulate his breathing, air hissing between his teeth as his chest heaves. It couldn't have been him.

The last thing he can remember is ceding the body to Steven, and then the fight to keep his consciousness submerged. Steven wouldn’t have done this either, which means– Shit! Shit!!

It's everywhere.

Splotches parade across his torso, bright and glossy and so very red. Really red, almost… too red. He tips his chin down to get a closer look, and…

There's a perfectly defined shape of a set of lips on his left pec.

Marc stares at it, then raises a trembling hand to press two fingers over the ruby red lip-print and sags with relief.

Not blood. It's fucking lipstick.

Your lipstick.

His face prickles with heat, his fingers trembling against the skin of his chest.

There's another, less well defined print next to it, and he traces that one as well, and then the red ring smeared around his nipple. He follows the trail of color down his chest and abdomen. It's fucking everywhere. Way more lipstick than could possibly come from a single application.

Marc can picture it. Fuck, he is picturing it, as clear as day. Your bright eyes gazing up at him through lush lashes as you kiss your way down his– down Steven's heaving chest, pausing your assault every now and then to reapply your lip color. The tip of the waxy red stick smoothing over your plush lips, leaving the shiny red color behind. The way you would purse your mouth before leaning back down to stamp another mark upon his skin.

Marc's fingertips brush over another red smear low on his belly. One that’s just barely visible before it disappears under the edge of the sheet.

There’s static in his head, so loud that it drowns out everything else. He can barely hear his own thoughts so it’s easy to ignore the little voice in his head screaming that this is a bad idea and push the sheets aside to follow the red streak down the crease of his thigh.

Tired muscles jump under the brush of his fingers, skin prickling, and he's suddenly, uncomfortably aware that he's hard. Achingly so, his dick throbbing just inches from where he's touching the trail of lipstick on his skin.

The soft cotton of the sheets drags against his overly-sensitive skin as he shoves it the rest of it off, and–

Fuck.

He stops, every muscle in him tensing up because the red smears and kiss marks don't end with the one on his hip. Of course they fucking don't. They continue down the sparse trail of hair leading to his groin where there's a perfect bright red ring circling his aching dick, right below the leaking head.

There’s several rings, the red streaked and smeared up and down the length of him. Oh fuck.

His dick pulses, jerking against his stomach, and a drop of precome wells from the tip. He watches as it rolls slowly across the flat plane of the head which is graced with a single, only-slightly smeared kiss mark.

Marc feels that mark as if it were branded onto him.

He takes himself in hand without thought, thumb slicking though the slippery fluid, smearing it across the impression of your lips. His whole body jerking as he grinds his thumb into that red spot, pressing as though he could somehow imprint your touch into his skin—into the very fabric of his torn and fucked up soul.

He gets lost in the feeling, pleasure just short of pain that has him shuddering and shaking under his own touch. Lets go only long enough to lock his fingers over the circle of scarlet right under the head of his dick. Then it’s on to the other ones, covering each of the marks in turn, squeezing and sliding between them, rubbing the seemingly endless stream of precome he’s oozing over his cock. The lipstick spreads, smearing further until it’s staining his hand as well. The skin of his palm and the length of his dick both streaked with that bright alarming red.

Everything aches. It's overwhelming. Sharp pleasure pushes along every nerve, filling up every empty crevice in his hollow chest until there’s no room left for anything else, and he doesn't know if it's from the touch of his own hand or the knowledge that these marks are from you (from your soft, plush mouth wrapped around his dick) or both.

Marc doesn't do this.

He doesn’t do slow. Or soft. Doesn't let himself indulge in this kind of languid, drawn-out touches.

Sure, he jerks off. When the need arises, he takes care of it. He handles his hard-on the same way he deals with the other tasks involved in the upkeep of their body—with little patience and just enough effort to get it over and done with as efficiently as possible.

More often than not, it's him in the shower, fisting his cock with quick, perfunctory motions as he stares at the wall and tries not to think of anything at all (something that's been harder than usual these past few months). It's something he does as a matter of routine. Just one more item on his hygiene checklist: wash hair, jerk off, wash body, dry off, brush teeth.

This is.... not that.

If he stopped long enough to acknowledge what it is he's doing. To put words to what this is, he's not sure he can think of anything but "fucked up". Fucked up and entirely alien and new to him. Slick and soft and slow. The drag of his fingers over the stained, sensitive flesh of his straining, aching dick almost sensual, and it drives a low, guttural gasp from his lips.

The sound is met by a sleepy sigh from behind him, and Marc freezes.

Fuck.

He doesn’t dare turn his head to confirm what he already knows. That you must have spent the night with Steven, and you’re still lying there in his bed now.

And Marc is sitting less than an arm's length away from your sleeping body, smearing your lipstick up and down the length of his leaking, jerking cock.

And you're about half a second from waking up and catching him red handed and realizing just how fucking disgusting he is.

Terror spears through him as images of what happens next flash behind his eyes.

The shock on your face. Your redredred lips parted in surprise and disbelief. How disbelief would shade into horrified disgust when you see the proof of just how fucked up he is; the way he's made himself sick with yearning over you. Over something that's not his—could never be his because you're a thousand times too good for him.

Marc wants nothing more than to curl up into himself and disappear forever, but he forces himself up and out of bed. Keeping his back towards you, he retreats toward the bathroom as quickly and quietly as he can manage. He doesn't dare turn around.

If your eyes are on him…

If it's already too late…

He doesn't want to know.

That resolve lasts until he's reached the questionable safety of the bathroom. He can't help but sneak one a last look over his shoulder at you as he slides the door closed.

Your eyes are closed. Thank fuck. The knot of fear in his chest loosens slightly at the sight of you sleeping peacefully, unaware of his disturbing behavior.

But– Oh fuck, your lips.

The delicate contours of your plush mouth are smeared and stained with the same color that's streaked across his body, a fucking beacon in stoplight red.

His skin, every square inch that's tinted with the evidence of your touch, starts to burn, and Marc burns with it.

He doesn’t remember shutting the door. Doesn’t remember turning to press his back to the wall. Marc comes back to awareness staring down at one of his hands where it’s wrapped around his aching, leaking, red-smeared dick. The other hand is pressed against the lip print on his chest, fingernails digging in. A bright spark of pain courses through him, and he pushes harder, clawing at the stained flesh as though, if he just presses hard enough, he can peel back the layers of himself to reveal the memory of what it felt like to have your lips against his skin.

Marc is excruciatingly aware that he is fucking things up. Has fucked them all to hell and back already.

The line he told himself he would never cross is somewhere miles behind him along with his self control and any shred of decency. This is wrong. He should not be doing this. Has no fucking business with his hand anywhere near his dick when his mind is full of you.

The knowledge of how fucked up all of this is, makes him slow his strokes. Guilt and shame weigh him down, as heavy as Khonshu’s armor, flooding his body almost as thoroughly as pleasure.

But he still can’t make himself stop.

The floodgates are open. Marc can’t stop rubbing his dick any more than he can stop seeing you, eyes wide and knowing; your ruby red lips pressed to his, sliding over his stomach, wrapped around his cock.

His chest heaves, breath stuttering painfully in his lungs. His fingers tighten around his cock, and the pleasure that sears through his veins is blinding. It’s consuming, all-encompassing, burning through every reservation and shred of morality until it robs him of the ability to tell right from wrong.

Everything is a haze. There are no thoughts left in his head. Nothing left except you.

All he can think of is the look of pure delight on your face after you take your first bite of the breakfasts he makes for you. The way he'll sometimes catch you gazing at his back when he's standing by the stove and you think he can’t see. The forty-five minutes each morning that you're his alone.

Warmth seeps through his chest and takes root beneath his ribs, a counterpoint to the almost painful heat rippling in his gut. It climbs his spine and spreads outward along his limbs until all of him, from his stomach to the tip of his head, is filled with the sensation. It feels good. In a way that Marc can't ever remember having felt.

There's a strange sound pushing against his throat, and if Marc wasn't so far gone, he'd register it as sounding dangerously close to a whimper.

His eyes flutter open, (and fuck he can't remember when he even closed them) to find himself staring up at a stranger in the mirror. He doesn't recognize this man. The messy black hair that falls over his brow doesn't belong to him. Nor do the swollen lips, parted slightly as if their owner is about to plead for something. Dark eyes have gone glassy and wet, with an unfamiliar drunken glaze.

He doesn't know this man, but it’s not him.

Can’t be him.

Or maybe it is.

Need, ugly and grasping, is written across his face. He can feel it dripping out of him, can see the full extent of his depravity, staring back at him. He looks desperate, nearly unhinged.

Out of control.

All the things he doesn’t get to be, because he’ll just fuck things up.

But that doesn’t stop the jagged heat blossoming in his stomach. It starts from the tip of his toes, wrapping his limb with aching bliss until his knees go weak and he's nearly doubling over unable to hold his own weight.

His hips cant up to meet each stroke of his hand. Chasing after the pleasure eagerly, even as the residual shame clings to every inch of him.

He presses his eyes shut again so he doesn't have to look at himself in the eye as the looming promise of his orgasm rises higher.

He regrets it immediately.

In the dark, without the distraction of his reflection to look at, there's nothing to stop his mind from filling the blank space with you.

Your gaze from across the room.

Your touch when the back of your hand accidentally brushes against his when you help him with the dishes.

Your voice...

“Together,” you'd told him yesterday. You'd go tho the restaurant together. As if you two were a couple.

The breath catches in his lungs, searing pleasure streaking along his limbs, achingly sweet and…

Wrong.

This is so fucking wrong.

Wrong of him to think of you here with him. Wrong to imagine the warmth of your body pressed against his, your smaller hand wrapped around him in place of his own. Wrong to wonder how soft your lips would be, trailing down the length of his neck, teeth sinking into his neck to leave another fresh mark, one meant only for him.

The feeling is too large, too overwhelming. It's fucking unbearable. Pleasure doubling and redoubling to fill every inch of flesh, every cell, until his body feels alien to him.

It rips through him, chaotic and endless. A cacophony of static, fills his head as his climax explodes through him. Pulse after agonizingly blissful pulse rips through him, and he spills himself across the white porcelain of the sink.

It goes on and on and on until he's empty and wrung out.

Until the only thing left in is the harsh noise of his uneven breathing wheezing out of his chest and the acidic guilt and shame that are lodged in his throat like bile that he can't spit out.

The strength has been zapped out of his limbs. His knees are weak, threatening to give way, and his hands shoot out, gripping the sides of the cold and dirty sink as he slumps forward, barely holding himself upright. His forehead is pressed against the cool glass of the mirror, but refuses to look at his reflection.

It's there all the same. The incriminating flush of his skin nearly as red as the marks from your lipstick. The evidence of your lips pressed to his skin with intent, with care, with… love.

But not for Marc.

It’s never going to be for Marc.

He closes his eyes again and lets the world fade away.

Dedications:

To my favorite clown @thirstworldproblemss who had her mastery hands all over this and wrote majority of this pieces (all the best parts of it).

Also dedicated to @guruan who is currently in tumblr jail and if tumblr could let her out that would be great!!! I need my beautiful MK boys in art form and Leslie's presence in my life on tumblr.

Follow me on astroboots-writes and turn on notifications to be notified when I post something new!

#oscar isaac #moon knight #marvel mcu #marc spector x you #marc spector x reader #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight fic #moon knight fanfic #marc spector #moon knight x reader #moon knight x you

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ninyard · 24 days ago

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Thoughts about Kevin having an actual Ed and not doing all these rants about food for fun and giggles like some ppl think

OKAY. Okay. So this is just some kind of headcanon stuff based on canon that I’ve thought about for a while. Obligatory trigger warning for ED topics specifically related to ortho/fasting/general shitty relationship with food stuff.

So. I don’t think that Kevin is capable of admitting to himself, by himself, that he has an eating disorder. But I think there’s two sides to it - there’s his body image, and there’s his healthy eating. Their overlap is sizable, but blurry, in the sense that it’s not quite clear where one starts and the other ends.

I have this image in my head of two parallel situations; the first a situation where a young Kevin is sat on a couch with his mom by his side. It’s a lazy Sunday, the TV is playing old cartoons, and Kayleigh is sitting next to her young son, both of them curled up in pyjamas and awake too early to be sane. Kayleigh a book open to one side of her and a notebook on her lap, and she’s scribbling something down that a five or six year old Kevin couldn’t care less about. He’s a good kid, a quiet kid, and all he wants some mornings is just a bowl of cereal, his mom by his side, and his favourite tv show. So he gets all three; an old episode of Kayleigh’s favourite childhood animation, the two of them curled up beneath the same long blanket, and a big bowl of coco pops on his knees, or whatever the sugary, chocolatey American equivalent is. The spoon is a teaspoon, snug in between chubby little fingers, and there’s chocolate milk and cocoa puffs all over his little face, but he’s happy. He’s content, he’s comfortable. He’s a kid, being a kid, eating the cereal that his mom buys him without question, just because it’s his favourite.

Then there’s Kevin, not many years later, sitting at a cold kitchen table with Riko across from him and Tetsuji in between - their little bodies are too big for the chairs they’ve been sat in, but they’ve been pushed forward and boosted up until they’re uncomfortably sat over a gray looking plate. They aren’t allowed eat until they can identify the protein in their breakfast, until they can recount what macros are sat on their plates. It’s a cruel and unusual thing to ask of two nine year olds, but they’re used to it by now. Kevin doesn’t like eggs anymore. Every morning it’s the same. A balanced meal, with the same amount of calories as usual, at the same time every single day of the week. Routine is good for growing minds, the master had told them, and nothing should go into a growing body without knowing exactly what it is.

The problem starts in that, when he was younger, his diet wasn’t necessarily focussed on restricting. The master wanted to ensure that Riko and Kevin were hitting their daily needs. If a plate was not empty, then a goal had not been met, and it didn’t matter how much Kevin cried that he was full, or not hungry, he couldn’t get permission to leave that table until his plate was clean. Their meal times were set and strict - any changes were usually punished in the firing of cooks or the beating of unfocused children. They were weighed each morning to ensure they were growing as they should be, gaining weight as expected, gaining muscle as required.

The older they got the more particular things got; Kevin found himself on an almost unmanageably strict diet and weight management routine - nothing unhealthy, in theory, but too healthy, instead. Times that he couldn’t deviate from, the same meals day in day out, nothing added, nothing taken away. It was when he started working harder on his physique that it became second nature - there was no space for him to be a lazy high schooler who didn’t want however many grams of protein with his dinner. That didn’t exist. Want was a non-factor. Food was always a finely crafted need.

When Exy becomes the biggest priority in his life (as if it wasn't before), when gaining muscle and working out becomes more appropriate for his age, he's introduced to intermittent fasting by a Raven dietician that should've had her license revoked. He was 14, 15, 16 and calculating the times he would be able to stop eating at in order to get a decent amount of time without food in his system. He would calculate what he would need throughout the day to eat as little as possible but to get the nutrition that he needs. They built this bulking/restricting programme into his routine, weeks where he'd eat at regular intervals throughout the day, hitting his calories and nutritional needs, and weeks where he felt like he wasn't eating much at all. It was done in a way that research deemed healthy, so who was he to argue?

So it’s normal to him, this obsession, more of a built-in requirement than something he thinks about at all. He's never been around people that don't care about things in the way he's supposed to. He doesn't remember much of his mother or her eating habits, and until he's much, much older, he isn't reminded of any of the foods he was allowed to eat as a much younger child, until a smell or a taste throws him back. (When he tells David he's never had McDonalds before, he believes he is telling the truth, but when he allows himself to try the fast food some time into the future, he remembers that taste from some memory too far away to touch. It's confusing and sickening and it feels wrong, wrong, wrong.)

I think the thing about Kevin's eating disorder is that, until he is around people that can tell him it's not normal, he doesn't see any problem with it, and even then he sees the foxes as unfocused and unserious when he's called out on it. He doesn't believe anyone when they tell him he has an unhealthy obsession with what he does and doesn't put in his body - why would he? Why would he have any reason to believe that they're right?

The way I like to imagine him understanding his issues is between a few different ways. There's David, first off, in those first couple of weeks after he broke his hand. It's beyond David how Kevin can be in their hotel room with a barely recognisable hand asking about dinner, or calculating how he could properly fast around this whole ordeal. How Kevin could barely keep down any food he was in that much pain, but still insisted on having a full meal that he forced down his throat because he had to. He watched how frustrated Kevin became when he would throw up his food, some app on his phone or a scribbled-on napkin calculating what he was missing with every day that went on where he was in too much pain to eat. There's David, who tells him he can't justify cooking him a huge meal that he can't eat, and Kevin who has a panic attack at the idea of missing a week, two weeks, of being on track. I can't play if I don't eat, he sobs, when all David is thinking about is, I'm not even sure you can play at all.

There's Abby, who does his first physical a couple of weeks into his time in PSU, who carelessly tells him his weight, and Kevin who immediately freaks out and the number being much lower than he's expecting. Abby who tells him it's okay, that he's recovering, and he who panics and asks her to buy him as many protein bars as she can find.

There's Bee, who tells him his relationship to food is unhealthy, and Kevin, who doesn't trust her at all. There's the number for an on-campus dietician and a pamphlet about eating disorders pushed across a table that he throws out into the first trash can he can find.

(There's Allison, something I could fill a whole other ask about, who can't stand watching the way that he eats, his obsessions with food, who begs Bee to do something about it because of how triggering it is for her to watch.)

So that's one side of it - his obsessive health, his over conscious eating habits, his learned behaviours that he would never deem to be unhealthy. There's that need for control over everything that goes into his body, that sends him into a spiral when he can't keep on track of things. It's the eating disorder than most people in the sports world wouldn't bat an eyelid at. He's dedicated, of course he is, he's admirably obsessed. That's just what athletes do. That's just how he was taught to care for his body. He doesn't comprehend for a long time just how damaging it is for his whole world to revolve around his next or last meal.

The other part is his body image - this one, maybe, is less tied to canon than the healthy eating, but something that I feel goes hand-in-hand with 1) him being an athlete in the public eye and 2) already having underlying issues with orthorexia and the way that he eats.

Imagine this, Kevin who has always been mindful and obsessed with the way that he looks, how much he weighs, how his body is shaped and built - he's 17, 18, doing some of his first major magazine shoots. One is for a sports magazine, or maybe a pop culture magazine, and he's doing this shoot in a few different outfits. But the last of the bunch is some shirtless shots, all harmless and not-too-revealing, but shirtless nonetheless. And Kevin has been so obsessed with his own body for so long that he knows exactly how he looks when he's unclothed. Maybe he has a mole on his lower stomach. He has a rib on his left side that sticks out a little more than the rest. His six pack isn't perfect, but it's there. He has acne on his back. Something.

Kevin does the shoot, and honestly? He feels great. He feels like he looks his best, he's happy with himself and how well he's been looking after his body, and then the magazine comes out. Then the magazine comes out, and he flicks to the section dedicated to him, and there, in a full fold-out spread, is him, shirtless. It doesn't take him long to notice the differences - he'd asked the photographer to flick through the photos at the shoot, and there's some tiny, minor editorial differences that he can't stop staring at.

There's a little bit of normal body fat that usually just hangs over his pants - it's muscle, he knows it is, and it is minuscule when he sees it on himself, but for some reason they've edited it out. The mole on his stomach is gone. The redness on his chest, on his back, the textured skin on his stomach - smooth, gone, no longer a problem. It's the first time Kevin has ever seen his body photoshopped, as if the things normal about him are a problem, and he looks closer at any shoots he's done before; tiny blemishes on his face, little scars, freckles, things he'd never even considered to be a problem, disappeared through the magic of photo editing. It's jarring, at first, but he realises then just how much it's been done. And it's not necessarily that the editors of these photos sees these things as problems, we know that, it's just how normalised it is for celebrities to be flawless at that point in time, but Kevin doesn't see it like that.

Some other times he compares edited photos and non edited photos of himself - ones where he's been made to look taller, leaner, sometimes bigger, whatever the publication required, and that manifests itself into a different obsession. It manifests into the desire to look perfect, flawless outside of the healthy eating and muscle toning he's already doing. I've always thought that if Kevin's eating disorder was to turn from something along the lines of orthorexia into something else, that that would be the reason. When he loosens up from his strict routine after joining the foxes, maybe then would come the au or the point where it'd manifest into knowingly fasting without it being a healthy-diet thing. Maybe then it'd manifest into harming his body knowingly because he feels like it'll make him look "perfect", instead of harming his mind unknowingly because he needs to be "healthy".

I should stop myself before this gets too much longer but the TL;DR is that I have a lot of thoughts about Kevin & his relationship with food and his body and I could talk about it forever. <3

#thank u for indulging my thoughts #this has been in my drafts for way too long #kevin day #ask #mine

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slytherinshua · 2 months ago

Text

CUDDLING WITH AMPERS&ONE

genre. fluff. warnings. reader described to be shorter/smaller in brian's (but let's be real who is gonna be taller than him 😭). reader has maybe long hair in seungmo's. not proofread. pairing. ampers&one x fem!reader. wc. 930 (around 130 per member). request. requested by anon. a/n. in my writing for ampers era i'm so excited (maybe eventually i'll find a bias even) net. @kstrucknet

KAMDEN ﾐ 캠든

He’s all for whatever you want as he honestly doesn’t have many preferences about how you cuddle

As long as you’re content and he gets to be close to you, he’s a happy camper

Some days you just rest your head on his shoulder, other days you’re on his lap or spooning

You often wake up with limbs completely tangled with his during the night— you’re not sure how it got that way, but the closeness of your boyfriend warms your heart

90% of the time, you’re the one initiating cuddles as his arms are always free for you

But he’s definitely the type to grab your waist and pull you onto his lap as you’re walking by, which is one of the few times he initiates <3

BRIAN ﾐ 브라이언

Sweetheart’s cradle all the way, it’s like his favourite way to cuddle you

With your head resting on his chest, arm wrapped around your waist, he feels so content with you in his arms

And you love listening to his steady heartbeat <3 there’s nothing more relaxing

Sometimes you hear it speed up when you compliment him too

Since he’s so tall, he wouldn’t even mind if you lay completely on top of him

He likes back hugs too or any standing up hugs/cuddles cause he loves the height difference

Would look down at you with a lovesick expression and kiss your forehead before pulling you into a tight hug

He’d never tease you about your height, but he’s silently endeared by how much shorter you are than him

JIHO ﾐ 지호

His cuddles are the softest thing in the world oh my god he’s so gentle and comforting

He needs to be so close to you, as close as humanly possible

Arms wrapped around your body, your arms wrapped around his body, legs intertwined, everything

And he’d be unable to control his smiles while cuddling too cause he’s just so happy whenever you’re in his arms !!

Best believe you have a routine of cuddling before sleep, finding the most comfortable position in each other’s arms before dozing off

If during the night you get separated, whoever is first to wake up will rectify that

Being in Jiho’s arms for as much of the day as possible is the ultimate goal, which makes separating so he can leave for work a hard task for both of you

SIYUN ﾐ 시윤

Always always you’re on his lap

He’ll think of any plausible excuse just to keep you close so he can continue hugging you :(

Says he’s cold and you need to warm him up or that he’s deprived of cuddles and needs his daily dose, etc.

Somehow his convincing always leads to you cuddling against him, not that you ever would complain

His chest is your personal pillow and his thighs are your cushion— why would you ever choose your own seat when your boyfriend was right there?

The problem comes from Siyun’s habit of falling asleep while you’re cuddling, effectively trapping you because his arms are still wrapped securely around your waist

We all know he’s a deep sleeper too so good luck waking him up

KYRELL ﾐ 카이렐

He loves to cuddle you under blankets, especially if its cold outside

He perfected a burrito technique to keep you both completely covered head to toe with the blankets

You’re wrapped up so close to Kyrell and just so comfortable and warm

He’ll also just put the blanket over your legs if you’re cuddling on the couch

He’s reach for your hand and lace your fingers together so carefully and then rub small circles over your knuckles with his thumb

Loves to watch movies like that— it definitely became a regular for stay-in movie nights

He also likes having you in between his legs, even if you’re just sitting on the floor

Would build legos with you like that with his head resting on your shoulder and his arms wrapped around your waist :’)

MACKIAH ﾐ 마카야

Either cuddling in bed facing each other, or a classic arm around your shoulder while sitting <3

The man is a yapper so he’ll probably be talking to you while cuddling (or listening to you talk!)

He likes to play with your hands/fingers as well, feeling the softness of your skin and the warmth from your body

Or just hold them and give little squeezes; if he squeezes 3 times in succession you know he’s saying ‘I love you’

He’s very classically romantic like he came straight out of a teen romcom

Rather than throwing you pickup/flirty lines on your dates, he’d more likely do it while you’re cuddling

Makes you 10 times more flustered just from the close contact, and you’d definitely bury your face into his chest/shoulder to hide how flushed you are

SEUNGMO ﾐ 승모

Seungmo is particular about cuddling, he has his preferences because, to him, it’s a very serious business

He wants to be on your lap

Whether it’s just his head resting on your thigh or you holding his entire body, that part doesn’t much matter to him

You both love it even though it’s unconventional

You because it gives you access to his hair to play with or his cheeks to nom kiss

Him because he loves the feeling of your fingers in his hair or tracing the lines of his face

He would grab one of your hands to press little kisses to your knuckles and would get so giggly if you gave him cheek/forehead kisses because your hair would tickle his face

He’ll also blow raspberries on your belly sometimes

↳ ampers&one taglist (bolded could not be tagged): @eternalgyu,, @hursheys

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