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mishellii · 1 year ago

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♢ꜱʟᴇᴇᴘɪɴɢ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴꜱ♢

ɴᴀʀᴜᴛᴏ, ꜱᴀꜱᴜᴋᴇ, ᴋɪʙᴀ, ꜱʜɪᴋᴀᴍᴀʀᴜ, ɴᴇᴊɪ & ᴋᴀᴋᴀꜱʜɪ

a/n: sooo my first headcanons yeiih!! this just came flowing out of me while watching boruto tbh because i'm delusional lmao,,,, anyway, very self indulgent as always :) ignore typos pls i cant spell aaaand enjoy xx

likes & reblogs appreciated <3

warnings: none! SFW :) not proofread

masterlist

♢ɴᴀʀᴜᴛᴏ ᴜᴢᴜᴍᴀᴋɪ♢

✿sUCH a messy sleeper

❀he'd toss and turn throughout the whole night, ending up somewhere completely different than where he fell asleep on the bed

❀matching pyjama sets !!!

✿especially seasonal ones, he adores them

✿BLANKET HOGGER !!!

❀but not on purpose really, he just pulls it with him due to all his movements

✿u always wake up with it either on the floor or him laying atop of it

❀sometimes he hits u with his elbow or his feet, but pls don't tell him he WILL cry

✿just push him away, boy will not wake up under any circumstances

❀the both of u alWAYS cuddle when falling asleep

✿the usual position is with his arms around your waist, legs thrown over ur own and his face resting next to ur shoulder

❀for that exact reason he's a BIG SPOON !!

❀so so quick to fall asleep, and wakes up after u as well

✿but not at all groggy in the morning !! he's energetic from the second he opens his eyes and sees u preparing breakfast

❀overall just the softest boyfriend ever

♢ꜱᴀꜱᴜᴋᴇ ᴜᴄʜɪʜᴀ♢

❀now thIS dude sleeps like a corpse

✿he's not particularly prone on cuddling u, but he fairly enjoys having ur head on his chest and feeling ur fingertips draw circles against his skin

❀he'd never admit it tho obviously

✿mostly wears a black lose t-shirt and some short sweats or sumn

❀just comfortable all around

✿i'm a firm believer in the back position

❀laying flat on the mattress, one arm either around u, or both resting on his belly

✿light sleeper, if i may

❀takes him pretty long to fall asleep as well, but counting ur breath usually calms him and makes it easier

✿u make everything easier for him actually

❀doesn't really care about a blanket, it all really depends on what u prefer while sleeping

✿often awoken by nightmares, but won't ever wake u up or tell u the next day because he thinks it's embarrassing

❀refuses to leave the bed in the morning, but isn't moody at all just very quiet

✿always helps u make breakfast and makes the bed without having to ask him to

❀overall just a calm lover

♢ᴋɪʙᴀ ɪɴᴜᴢᴜᴋᴀ♢

❀without a doubt, a snorer

✿like IM SORRY LADIES but c'mon

❀but not annoyingly loud, just breathy lil snores

✿the problem with it is: he won't move an INCH away from u ever, he's all up in ur business while sleeping

❀doesn't matter how, he's always got to feel u next to him somehow

✿i take him as a sleep talker too, mumbling incoherent words against your neck which only make u laugh tbh

❀akamaru's got his own bed next to the two of u, but some nights he crawls in between ur bodies, practically suffocating u

✿you really don't mind on colder nights, but in summer kiba makes him get off, due to having such a high body temperature already and he doesn't want u to complain even more

❀wore a shirt and pants at the beginning of ur relationship

✿but now??? u'd have to FORCE him to wear anything more than boxers

❀hates when u don't want to cuddle :(( might as well kill him fr

✿why need a blanket when he has you??

❀doesn't leave the bed AT ALL in the morning, u literally have to grab him by the feet and drag him out of it

✿he's a sweetheart, really

♢ꜱʜɪᴋᴀᴍᴀʀᴜ ɴᴀʀᴀ♢

❀dude HATES cuddling at the beginning of ur relationship, me thinks

✿but fear not, it just takes a bit of convincing from ur side and he's in on it

❀but it's subtle touches really, like holding his hand or having ur feet intertwined

✿if u've had a bad day, he'd definitely play with your hair to make u fall asleep, he's not a diCK

❀grey sweats all the way !!!!!

✿rarely ever wears a shirt, except for when it's cold of course

❀he seems much more like a light sleeper than not, but he's so grouchy when something wakes him up it's a drag really

✿has to be completely dark and quiet in his room or he won't be able to close one eye

❀always sleeps on the side closest to the door

✿big on talking about both ur days at night because he's a very private person and loves spending time with u ALONE

❀deep talk at 2am?? u can bet on it

✿forehead kisses!!! once u wake up and neither of u want to get up and start ur day

❀he's such an attentive lover in general, i'm actually going insane

♢ɴᴇᴊɪ ʜʏᴜɢᴀ♢

❀oh my lovely boy

✿i feel like he wouldn't move a MUSCLE while sleeping

❀sometimes you have to poke him to make sure he's still alive

✿AHEM

❀a light sleeper foshou

✿also ????

❀he would 100% wait for u to fall asleep first

✿would always run his fingertips over your back to make you tired

❀unfortunately, the closest to cuddling u two do, is ur head on his chest

✿he gets sweaty quickly, so he'll often sleep without a shirt (which u don't complain about obviously) and that's the reason why he doesn't necessarily NEED body contact (in this situation only!!)

❀but HUGE PLUS he'll sweet talk you to sleep almost every night

✿asking about ur day from begin to end

❀he wants to know it ALL

✿in general, he's really big on making you as comfortable as possible before bed

❀would even wait till the morning to go pee because you look so peaceful laying on his chest

✿don't mind him watching u he just thinks ur so pretty ok

❀u wake up to the smell of coffee almost every morning

✿overall, as we been knew, the gentlest gentlemen to perhaps ever gentleman goodbye

♢ᴋᴀᴋᴀꜱʜɪ ʜᴀᴛᴀᴋᴇ♢

❀poor baby's the king of light sleepers

✿always ready to jump into battle and protect u if he has to, even if u convince him that ur safe and nothing's going to happen :(

❀casually wears a black tanktop and some sweats, mask and shinobi headband easily reachable on the bedside table at his right side

✿definitely enjoys u playing with his hair too much

❀he prefers to fall asleep with his head either on your chest or tugged just under your chin so he can hear you breathe and ur heart beat

✿he's so tragic oh my days

❀anYWAY light snores but only when he's REALLY gone and u rarely ever see him in this state so,,,,,

✿loves listening to ur stories before falling asleep

❀legs & arms intertwined and allathat

✿you will never lay in bed without him picking up one of his books at least ONCE

❀it really calms him down u know

✿but start a conversation with him, and he's all urs, book long forgotten next to his mask and headband.

❀always wakes up earlier than u, preparing breakfast with said book between his fingers

✿(he swears he'll close it once ur awake tho)

❀((he does))

a/n: AHEM i hope u liked it ???? pls tell me ??? AAAA i will see u beans next time bye bye xx

devider by @enchanthings

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kurooh · 10 months ago

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SUMMERTIME SEX.

☆ includes: aged up! bakugō katsuki, todoroki shōtō, kaminari denki, takami keigo.

☆ warnings: 18+ content, fem! reader, fluff + smut, not proofread..

☆ note: thank you to pinterest’s summertime bucket lists. happy summer! even if you hate it (: also experimenting with a new layout

KATSUKI.

— though he usually doesn’t care about what you wear and finds you gorgeous in everything, there’s something about seeing you wear sundresses or skirts that genuinely makes him go insane.

— “the red is fuckin’ beautiful on you, baby.” katsuki’s rough hand rests on your thigh, pushing the skirt of your dress up ever so slightly. he’s driving to the your favorite restaurant, reservations already booked and awaiting for you in a half hour.

— suddenly, not far from the restaurant, he pulls over into a semi empty parking lot and exhales hard, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. “okay, get in the damn back seat.”

— “why, katsu?” you ask innocently, adjusting your skirt so that it hikes up further, the lacy edge of your slutty panties peeking out at him.

— of course, he stares, his face warm. crimson eyes meet yours and he demands, “get in the backseat right now.” as you unbuckle and start to climb into the backseat, you wiggle your ass ever so slightly and he slaps it hard, drawing a surprised moan from you.

— immediately he’s in the backseat with you, all over you; his lips desperately slam into yours, his hands groping you all over. despite how badly he wants to see you naked, he doesn’t make any moves to pull your clothes off and instead twists his fingers into the fabric of your skirt in frustration.

— dazed from his kisses and on fire from his touch, your body falls back onto the seats and your legs spread for him, still in your skirt. he tugs your clothed pussy towards him, nearly tearing off your lace panties as he yanks them to the side. “careful, kat.”

— katsuki ignores your warning and eats you out rather roughly and quickly, sucking on your clit just right. he groans when you cum all over his tongue, his cock growing tight in his pants; he draws you into a sex flavored kiss and allows you to taste yourself on his lips.

— now, he yanks off his pants and boxers, leans back on the seats. he grips his cock at the base, “be a good girl and fuckin’ sit on it.” you reach to take your dress off and he shakes his head immediately.

— panties to the side and slicked up, you slowly push down onto his cock, gasping when the head nudges right against your sweet spot. katsuki groans desperately when you roll your hips onto him slowly, smacking your ass hard, another way of telling you not to be a tease.

— “okay, okay,” you relent, suddenly bouncing on him fast and hard. your red skirt rises and falls steadily, and he’s so fucking breathless. it’s uncharacteristic for katsuki’s eyes to roll back as much as they are now, for his mouth to be entirely dominated by sounds rather than words.

— “you like it, kat?” you smile at him, and it quickly dissolves into an expression of absolute pleasure. “i—fuck! you know i do, don’t stop,” his cock throbs inside of you, almost pulsing as he shakes beneath you.

— he cums with a shout, hissing as you ride him through it steadily, fending off your own in order to stay in charge like this. when you do eventually get close, he flips you over and fucks you through it, yanking your skirt to ground himself.

SHŌTŌ.

— the two of you were at a bonfire with friends and assistants of the agency, when you snuck away with shoto after one too many beers. now, behind a barnacle covered rock, you’re on your knees in front of him.

— “sho..” your moan is muffled on his large cock, which is pressed tightly between your lips and deeply at the back of your throat. he’s been stressed at the agency lately, coming home and having dinner with you and going to sleep, leaving no time for sex.

— of course, you were frustrated by this, hoping that the cause for his stress would finally blow over and he’d be back taking you in the hallway again. you’d seen his stress dissipate over the course of the 3 hour bonfire at the beach, over some beer. together, you drank and drank until he was grabbing at you and leading you behind some rocks on the shoreline.

— shoto hushes you, cupping the back of your head firmly and bucking his hips into your mouth. “oh god, i m-missed this so much, you have no idea,” he gasps, slurring some of his words. “i’ve missed you so much, my love.”

— your fingers slip past your swimsuit and rub sloppy patterns against your clit, trying to keep up with the pace of his thrusts into your mouth.

— you choke when he spears his cock into your throat a little too deeply; “i’m sorry, i’m so sorry—fuck!—your throat feels amazing, i’ve needed you so badly.”

— his balls smack against your chin and shoto continues to groan, the alcohol and horniness making him surprisingly talkative as he fucks your mouth. “it’s just, the people at that a-agency!” his cock stays hard, despite the fact that he’s thinking of his coworkers.

— out of the corner of you eye, you watch the waves crash on the sand, and after a particularly large one, the pace of his hips grows erratic. “ah—shit, i’m gonna fill up your mouth!”

DENKI.

— you and your boyfriend had been enjoying a picnic in the middle of a grassy field, far away from anyone in all directions. you shared fruit together, cuddled, watched clouds, but then things got a little sweeter.

— “denki!” you giggle with him as he lays you down on the picnic blanket, shifting his body so that he’s on top of you. his lips mesh with yours, and you taste the sweetness of the watermelon you’d shared with him earlier. your hand tangles in his soft golden hair, tugging gently, but just enough to draw a whine from his lips. denki’s hips grind against yours with a sloppy desperation, the lovely picnic and its food forgotten.

— he pulls his lips away, peppers kisses all over your cheeks, then starts to trail some down your neck. denki takes in your smell, the sounds you make, the feeling of your hips twisting beneath him; he nips at the soft skin, then sucks at it lovingly. “i want some more sugar,” he whispers against the shell of your ear, his breath warm against your hot skin.

— “denki, we just finished a whole watermelon.” “mmm, i’m not talking about fruit.” unable to hold it back, you let out a laugh, and he finds himself laughing with you.

— “may i?” he pulls away, and moves towards your pelvic area. his eyes sparkle with joy, and his fingers rub quick circles into your thighs. “of course.” your breath hitches when his fingers hook into the waistband of your panties, tugging them down your thighs. he flips your skirt up, then makes himself comfortable on his stomach, facing you. your thighs fall open easily, and his eyes are on yours as he moves to give your clit a kiss.

— denki’s large hands rest on your ass cheeks, his fingers digging into your skin as he swipes his tongue against you. he savors your taste, whining slightly as he dips his tongue inside you. all you can do is moan and shame as he fucks your pussy with his tongue; it feels so good, and yet so teasing.

— “babe, stop teasing me.” you jerk your hips towards him, spreading your thighs wider.

— “but it’s fun,” he disagrees, now licking your clit slowly. he stops playing his little games with you when your fingers twist in his soft hair, yanking his face right into your pussy.

— now, he’s fingering you roughly, and sucking at your clit as though it’s a lollipop. denki holds your thighs open when they shake, threatening to close on him as your orgasm mounts, the pressure inside of you becoming stronger by the second.

— “denki, i-i’m gonna cum, please please don’t stop..” he doesn’t stop, licking your clit hard as you cum and fingering your puffy pussy even after you do; he likes to hear you cry about how sensitive you are.

KEIGO.

— when there’s a blackout in the early evening due to a thunderstorm, the temperature in the house quickly rises to 85° f / 29 c. you and your boyfriend sit on the floor, covered in a thick sheen of sweat. you’re both eating melting popsicles and worrying about how you’ll sleep without the ac on. you are the first to rise to your feet, dropping your thin shorts and shirt on the floor. his wings flutter when he unabashedly looks over every inch of your body, and your cheeks warm at the obvious desire visibly thickening in his shorts.

— “kei, let’s take a cold shower together.” you groan in distaste as you sweep your fingers over your perspiring forehead. he stands, strips off his clothes, and pulls you into his arms bridal style.

— “where to, dove?” he nuzzles his nose against yours, then gives you a sweet kiss. giggling, you wrap your arms around his neck, “the shower!”

— when you arrive to the bathroom together, you’re barely out of his arms before his lips are on yours, eager hands impatiently pulling at boxers and panties. keigo moans as you lightly palm his hardened cock, fingers sliding from the base to the tip.

— “you’re perfect,” he mumbles against your cheek as he practically claws off your bra with one hand, the other tugging your body impossibly closer. thunder rumbles outside of your apartment, the room darkening as it starts to rain and storm outside.

— “oh, we probably shouldn’t be doing this,” you giggle, remembering the dangers associated with showering during storms. “fuck that,” is his swift answer, and he pulls open the glass door and turns on the faucet.

— as you stand closely beneath the misty spray, a warmth presses against your backside; you gasp when he angles his cock to slip between your thighs, his hot tip bumping against your slick folds.

— his wings shift behind him when you turn to look into his eyes. he kisses you, “bend over for me, okay?” you plant your hands against the shower wall and angle your ass towards him, arching your back just right. his wings flutter, and he moans at the sight of you, wet and ready for him. with one hand, he reaches behind him and shoves down his rising wings before he finally presses into you.

— just feeling your tight heat on his tip already has him gasping out, his eyes rolling back and his face crumbling as he pushes all the way inside. “o-oh, angel,” he moans, then laughs nervously, gripping your hips and thrusting into you steadily, “god, i’m already gonna cum.”

— he does end up filling you up rather quickly, but he doesn’t dare to pull out. keigo fucks your creamy pussy with tears in his eyes, shuddering as he forces himself through his refractory period and cums again. this time, he’s rubbing your clit, desperate to cum at the same time.

#kurooh #bnha smut #mha smut #mha x reader #bnha x reader #hawks smut #hawks x reader #todoroki smut #todoroki x reader #bakugou smut #bakugou x reader #denki x reader #denki smut #mha x you #bnha x you

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starboye · 6 months ago

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Kinktober Day 26

starring: logan howlett x ftm!male reader

request: logan howlett making ftm reader wear a bunny lingire after his workout coming back all musky and sweaty all pent up and fucks male reader while male reader licks up logans sweat etc. Making logans smell kink and breed kink go off and fully breeds male reader / size difference with Wolverine and an FTM reader. Logan is much bigger and stronger than reader and can pick him up, pin him down, and throw him around with ease and both of them go bonkers for it. Logan loves the control and power he has to play with reader as he pleases and reader loves feeling overpowered and in Logan's complete control

warnings: smut, cursing, bunny outfit, sweat and musk kink, rough sex, ass grabbing, size kink, use a predator and prey, hickeys, marking i guess, male pregnancy, spit as lube, position switching, mating press, cowgirl, missionary, overstimualtion, underwear as a gag, fucked silly, unprotected sex, creampie

after a strenuous work out and training session logan was happy to be back to his room and seeing you layed in bed, but what was more surprising was seeing you dressed in a bunny outfit waiting for him "and what's all this" he asks dropping his bags on the floor and walking closer to you, grabbing you closer by your hips and kissing your, his hands finding their way to hold your ass in his hands.

you smelled him, his body riddled with the stench of sweat all over versus your sweet smelling perfume that you put on before he came in the room "you wearing a new cologne or something" he asks as the scent fills his nose and his fingers dipped past the lining of the white lingerie underwear you had on.

"it's vanilla logan" you chuckle moving to unbuckle his pants, pulling his belt out of the loops and throwing it somewhere on the floor "well i hate it, i want you to smell like me" he growls picking you up and putting you on the bed, taking off his clothes and getting over you, he tries to rip off the panties but you stop him.

"hell no, these things cost 90 dollars and im getting my moneys worth so take them off nicely" you sternly say making logan roll his eyes before slowly peeling them off and leaving the bunny ears on because they look cute, with how you looked it made him feel bigger, he knew he physically was bigger but something about you in that sexy outfit.

it made him feel like the predator and you were the cute prey he was going to fucking devour, his arms were like triple the size of yous which enthralled him, the thought he could do whatever he wanted with you and you were powerless to do anything about it.

he spits some saliva on his cock and rubs it in before leaning down next to you, kissing your neck as he moves into you, splitting your soaking pussy open as he just sniffed and kissed you, your hands finding his back instantly, holding him tightly to which he smirks "what, scared y' gonna fall" he stupidly remarked drawing a scoff from you.

as much as he wanted to go easy on you, the moans and whimpers coming out of your mouth was making it harder and harder till he couldn't take it and started plowing your cunt harshly, plaps filling the room as he bruised your insides with his cock and your ass with his hips.

your sweet scent was cute to him but he wanted to own you, so much so that he started leaving hickeys on ever inch of your skin and somehow covering you in his sweat, removing what once was a cute guy to now a moaning slut under logan taking every inch of his huge cock, his nose and mouth moving all over your neck till you were covered with his marks and smell.

"y'think you can get pregnant f'me" he asks, he knew you couldn't get pregnant but with the way you were sucking him every time he tried to pull out he would be damned if he didn't try at least, he suddenly picked you up and put you on top of him, your legs straddled to both his sides as he moved you up and down on him.

you were a mess at this point you ruined cunt sopping with wetness, making logan even hornier was that he could see the outline of his cock in your tummy, feeling over it with his calloused hand as a smirk creeps across his face once more, if he wanted to get you pregnant he has to try the best possible position.

so he turns you over into a mating press, a choked out moan escaping your mouth "logan- wait i cant ngh" you tried to stop him but he just shoved his sweat covered underwear into your mouth and fucked down into you, ruining every last bit of self respect you had as you started creaming all over his shaft, it building up right on his pubes, which he really loved.

watching your legs shake in overstuimulation as he continued rough fucking the pussy he loves so much, he's one the verge of cumming at this point and seeing you a moaning mess under him just makes his heart thud against his chest, he wants to own you inside and out and what better way to achieve that than filling your pretty little pussy to the brim with his warm cum that you want so much.

with one more hard thrust he unloads in you, his heavy grunts over shadowing your whimpers and whines, your hole fluttering around his cock milking more and more out of him until he was completely drained of his cum and plopping down next you, you couldn't even make out what was going on by now, your mind to fuzzy and broken to even think but don''t worry in about 9 months you'll be filled with joy to be having his kids.

taglist:@mailmango @spermeboy @ghostking4m @gayaristocrat @addictedtomalepits @staarb0y @crispysoup318 @its-ares @gargoylesworld09 @kadenvatsune @fuckshft @wompwomp-1mh3re

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aurumalatus · 6 months ago

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𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞 [𝟓]

pairing. kinich x fem!reader

word count. 3.1k

genre/warnings. childhood friends to lovers, slow burn, fluff and angst, drabble collection, reader is mentioned to be wearing a dress, descriptions of blood and injury

summary.

in which kinich learns the value of all things: lives, friendship, and, of course, you. or, in which kinich realizes that you are the only priceless thing in this world.

author's note. the slow burn is burning... kinich is a little slow to the punch though LOL. this chapter talks about turnfire night, i took a lot of ~artistic liberty~ with the banquet and such so don't hate on me pls. there's a bit of angst in the next few chapters, i'm sorry HAHAHA. pls lmk what you guys think, it's very motivating! i hope you enjoy <3 reblogs/interaction highly appreciated!

↢ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 | 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ↣

𝗦𝗜𝗟𝗘𝗡𝗖𝗘 𝗜𝗡 𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗦 𝗥𝗢𝗢𝗠 (𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗗𝗘𝗔𝗧𝗛 𝗢𝗙 𝗠𝗘)

At some point, the flowers start to speak your name.

Kinich isn’t sure when the idea took root in his mind—it had been slow for sure, a snail crawling over a branch. Living together makes you a perpetual presence in his life, a certainty like the rise of the sun and the glint of the stars. He finds comfort in that knowledge, but rarely thinks on it more than that.

The day he realizes it, the sun is a bright yolk in the sky, honey-yellow and shining dutifully upon his back. A layer of sweat plasters itself to his forehead, and he scrubs it away with his wrist, panting. For as many years as he’s been a farmer, the work hardly gets easier; it still leaves him sore and aching every day.

Across the field, the front door of your home swings open—it’s you that peeks out, waving. Kinich nods back in reply, gathering the vegetables in his basket and jogging back over to you. He frowns when he notices a dark spot on one of his carrots, vaguely noting that he should toss that one out later.

“I ran you a bath,” you offer, leaning halfway out the doorway. Kinich extends a half-smile in gratitude.

“Thanks,” he replies, holding the harvest out to you. You take the basket with a small ‘thank you’, placing it down on your feet. Usually, you would take the vegetables inside right away to wash and cut them, but today, you’re lingering—there’s something on your mind.

But Kinich is nothing if not patient, so he merely waits, arching a brow.

“It’s Turnfire Night,” you finally admit, hands clasped behind your back. “Elder Leik invited us to the banquet, if you’re keen on going.”

Surprised, Kinich glances over his crops. He’s just about done here for the day, and he doesn’t have anything on the to-do list for tonight anyway.

“Do you want to?”

You’re hesitating, likely out of shyness—he watches you rock back and forth on your heels.

“I think it’d be nice,” you reply, short.

You’re trying not to force him, he realizes. You know how much he hates crowded things like that. And usually, you would be right, but he thinks back on the last time he’d visited the village. It’s been long enough, he decides, and one day wouldn’t kill him.

“Sure, we can go.”

Your disposition brightens instantly, nearly ascending with joy.

“Really?” you squeak, hands drawing to your chest. He smiles and nods, shaking his head with amusement when you disappear back inside, cheering. You’re easy to please in a lot of ways.

Kinich takes you up on your offer of a warm bath, then prepares one for you as well. Gone are the days that the two of you washed up in the river—a nicer bathtub had been one of your earlier investments, and Kinich had grown to appreciate the blessings of a warm place to wash at the end of a long day. It does wonders for his aching muscles.

Over the years, Kinich’s house had slowly grown into a home, right under his nose. Your presence had been a driving force in that process.

While his hair dries, he’s in the kitchen organizing a few of the cupboards when you emerge from your bath, footsteps quietly padding against the floor. You call his name, voice thin and uncertain. When he turns, his heart squeezes.

You’re wearing a lovely dress, a forest green with golden accents—he briefly notes that it matches his eyes, then wonders if you had chosen that on purpose. The thought leaves his head foggy.

“What do you think?” you ask shyly, giving a small twirl. Kinich’s gaze follows the flow of your skirt, the liveliness of it. He’s never seen you dressed up like this in all his years of knowing you, and the sight makes something take root in his chest. “I bought it at the market a while ago, just in case.”

There’s a beat of silence, but it doesn’t sit for long.

“It looks nice,” is all that crawls from his throat, thick. The words sound awkward from his lips, he thinks harshly. A heated flush surges up his neck, curling around his ears and resting there. You practically glow at his response, clapping to yourself.

“I got something for you too,” you sing, disappearing into the bedroom. Kinich waits patiently until you return, gesturing for him to close his eyes. He indulges you, and it’s a few seconds before something soft brushes at his forehead, pushing his bangs aside.

A bandana.

When his vision returns, you’re standing inches away from his face—his breath hitches at the proximity. Your gaze is searching as it meets his, your lip twitching at the edge. The excitement nearly pours off of you in waves.

You’re staring.

Kinich’s fingers brush his own cheek, self-conscious. “What is it?”

You lean impossibly closer.

“Nothing,” you hum, happy as a clam. “I just think it makes your eyes look even prettier.”

You’ve always told him how much you love his eyes, the starburst of jade and gold. You have a tendency to notice things about him that no one else does.

“Does it look nice?” he asks quietly, thumbing at the cloth. He would recognize a product of your weaving anywhere—you must’ve been working on this for a while now. He wonders when you found the time, or even how you managed to do it without him noticing.

You nod, a fond smile gracing your face. “You look really handsome.”

Kinich feels a touch of jealousy at the ease with which the words seem to fall from your lips. Sometimes, he wishes he could speak his mind the way you do. He doesn’t usually hold back in his words—most people he interacts with can attest to that—but when it comes to you, his tongue grows heavy in his mouth.

Still, the idea that you think he looks handsome is…nice.

“Thank you,” he breathes.

You turn and skip back into the bedroom, calling over your shoulder about how the two of you should leave soon. He watches you leave, the dress flowing like silk over your form. He swallows.

It’s really, really nice.

Later on, Kinich holds you close as the two of you grapple toward the village, mountains and trees racing past you. Your giggles are warm against his ear; you love traveling like this, the adrenaline that pulses through your veins. Winking dots of light are already visible in the distance, a rousing cheer reaching your ears—the festivities have already started.

He lands neatly on one of the wooden walkways, taking in the scenery. The village is decorated with bright streamers and vases of blooming flowers, crowds of people maneuvering around the party. You maintain your grip on Kinich’s hand, unwilling to lose him in the crowd.

Two taller figures emerge from the swathe of people, greeting you by name.

“Have you two been taking care?” Elder Leik asks warmly, Chief Wayna smiling at his side. The elders are concerned for the two of you, Kinich knows; they’ve tried many times to convince you to move back to the village. Their efforts slowly ceased as the two of you grew older—you’ve always been steadfast in your independence.

You nod enthusiastically. “We’ve been doing really well! Everyone’s seeking out Kinich’s work.”

Your compliment makes him feel a bit embarrassed—he feels an urge to deny it, but the elders only laugh and congratulate him, ruffling at his hair. He does feel a bit satisfied that they recognize his strength.

“That’s great,” Chief Wayna replies, genuine. “Just remember you can always come to us if you ever need anything. But also make sure you enjoy the party!”

He leaves the two of you with a wink, fading into the crowd, and you take the opportunity to grasp at Kinich’s hand, pulling him along. You’re the most excited person there, truly in awe of everything.

Kinich indulges in some of the food, laughing at the gusto with which you scarf down your own—he chuckles as he wipes crumbs away from your cheeks. Everyone’s spirits are high; the music is loud and roaring, an electrifying song that Kinich can feel in his veins. You perk up at the sound.

“Kin, can we dance?” you beg, eyes bright and lips pouted.

He glances around. Really, he doesn’t want to, especially not in front of all of these people. But the music is slowing, and Kinich can never say no to you, so he sighs, pulling you close and placing a cursory hand at your waist.

“Is this good?” he asks, a murmur. You hum in content, resting your head at his shoulder.

“It’s great.”

A permanent grin seems to have plastered itself over your lips. Kinich absently thinks that it makes you look so much more beautiful—a flower in bloom.

“You’re really happy today,” he comments.

Your eyes flutter shut, delighted.

“I’m happy you wanted to come with me. And I was happy that you liked my dress, and that you liked the headband I wove for you. I’m just happy.”

A deep yearning fills Kinich’s chest at the feather-softness of your voice—he feels an urge to hide you away. Somehow, he wants this side of you to only be for him.

“I did really like it,” he confirms. “The headband, and…everything else.”

He likes spending time with you, he likes your dress, and he likes the warmth that permeates his body when you hold him like this. Everything else seems to fade into nothingness.

For a while, the two of you talk about nothing and everything. It’s a truly peaceful existence. Kinich tries to remember if he’s ever been to a Turnfire Night like this before; the last time he’d attended, he’d likely been too young to even remember the event. You just have a way of replacing his darker memories with pleasant ones.

The beat of the music picks up again, and Kinich feels an instant chill when you lift your head from his shoulder. Still, he sways to the music with you, smiling when you start to sing along to the energetic song.

“You’re a good dancer,” you observe, in awe. Kinich shrugs, smoothly spinning you again.

“It’s not that hard.”

Dancing with you is actually fun, he realizes despite his initial hesitation. Your laughter fades with the passing wind, dissipating into the night, and he can’t help but stare at the way the torchlight glimmers against your skin.

The two of you celebrate until the music dies to silence, until people start to yawn and retire to bed. By this time, the sun is already peeking in the distance, barely a whisper of light reaching you.

Kinich carries you home, soft snores echoing from your place on his back—he decides he won’t tease you about it later.

Instead, he promises himself that he’ll keep taking you to Turnfire Night every year after.

(Then, he promises himself that he’ll always protect your smile.)

By the time he cries for the first time, Kinich is fifteen.

He feels that he knows the way the world works now—those with strength, with value, survive. It’s not that he has any interest in being one of the rich ones with towering houses that line the cliffside. Really, all he needs to be satisfied is a comfortable life with you at the foot of the mountain. And his needs—things like clothes and food—come with Mora, so he makes Mora. It’s a simple existence.

He spends more time with you. Slowly but surely, he starts to bring you on jobs and hunts with him. You’re eager to learn about the work he does, and even more excited to help—your medical knowledge does tend to make things go faster. Still, he feels extra layers of anxiety whenever he knows you’re coming along, his grip drawing tighter around his sword.

It comes on a day like any other.

At first, it doesn’t seem like a particularly difficult job—it’s a run-of-the-mill request, to subdue a Saurian that’s been attacking travelers near the village. Even still, Kinich is as thorough as always in the days leading up to the job, and you let him take the lead. He’s strict about these things when you come along, and you know better than to distract him.

The day of, the two of you encounter the Saurian in a clearing adjacent to the road. It’s sick, you mention quietly, hidden in the foliage nearby—it’s foaming at the mouth, erratic in its movements. Kinich mumbles back his agreement.

It starts to peck at the poisoned berries he’d left for it, movements slowing. He counts down the minutes—at this point, it should be incapacitated enough for the kill.

It’s only when Kinich creeps up behind it, greatsword in hand, that he realizes he’d been wrong. The Saurian seems to switch at the last second, beady eyes burning as it poises to strike. Kinich barely blocks the attack with the flat of his blade, teeth gritted.

“Kinich!” you cry out, running to his side. The Saurian perks up at the sound, tense.

Kinich’s eyes widen. “Wait, don’t come—”

It’s too late. The Saurian’s claw catches you in the stomach as it whips around, sending you flying.

A sickening crack echoes when your back smacks against a rock—you crumple to the dirt, hunched over. A cold breath hisses between Kinich’s teeth as he screams your name.

The Saurian doesn’t last much longer than that, not that he really remembers any of it. He swings his sword, cutting and slicing, sounds of battle piercing the air. It’s only when he sprints to your side that he returns to his senses.

A harsh gash is ripped through your shirt and the skin beneath, a pool of crimson already gathering on your stomach. The sight brings bile crawling up his throat.

“Kin…”

Your voice is weak, and Kinich hushes you quickly, an urge to save your strength. A striking fear has his blood freezing in his veins—he remembers his father’s corpse. Terror hovers over his body, leaving him breathless. He intertwines his fingers with yours, pressing the back of your hand to his lips.

“That hurt,” you mumble, a touch of humor in your tone even now. “I’m tired.”

Your eyelids are heavy, stare unfocused.

“Don’t close your eyes!” he demands. He palms at your cheek lightly, willing you to stay awake. It’s unlike him, the desperation in his voice. “Didn’t you say you’d always be by my side?”

You chuckle, a line of blood dripping down your chin. Kinich thumbs it away.

“I said that when we were kids, silly.”

He swallows, throat bobbing. Your eyes follow the motion unconsciously.

“We’re still kids.”

His voice cracks as he says it, like his words can’t bear the brunt of their meaning. Your heart pulses, a burst of adrenaline coursing through you at his rare show of emotion. It’s only a moment, because the pain returns milliseconds later and a groan escapes your chest.

Quickly, Kinich pulls his headband off, sliding it between his teeth to hold while he pulls the flask of water from his belt. He sets about cleaning your wound, gentle, but the stress is evident in his expression. His hands are shaking; you can feel the tremble against your skin as he eases your shirt up.

“It’ll be okay,” he breathes. Even he is unsure if he’s speaking to you or himself. You nod weakly.

“It’ll be okay, Kin.” You cough, and something in Kinich’s chest snaps when a spray of blood splatters over the hem of his shirt. A spray of your blood. “Don’t worry, okay?”

He can’t even really hear you anymore. He’s staring at the crimson mist, wondering how this had even happened. He’d assumed he was strong enough—strong enough to do this job, strong enough to protect you—and he had been wrong. There must’ve been an error in his calculations, or maybe he hadn’t prepared enough.

He fastens his headband around your wound, stemming the blood flow. It’s almost an out-of-body experience—he hardly even recognizes the hands as his.

He’d gotten too comfortable, and you had paid the price.

Those with strength survive, but that day brings a sobering realization—Kinich is far weaker than he thought.

A cold tear slides down his cheek as he carries you home.

You’re sniffling in pain at each step, the movement irritating your wound, and Kinich feels truly helpless. All he can do is whisper promises and apologies, that he’s sorry it happened and that he promises everything will be okay. It almost feels worse that you don’t seem to blame him at all—you’re apologizing too, telling him you’re sorry for being a burden on his job.

“You’re never a burden,” he spits. It comes out harsher than intended, so he sighs, softening. “You could never be a burden to me.”

You don’t reply.

A thick lump lodges itself in his throat as he feels your blood soak through the back of his shirt. It all almost feels unreal—he feels like he could return home to your warmth and smile and everything would be okay. You have a way of making everything okay.

“We’re almost there, okay?” he murmurs. You’re sweating from the pain, sticky against his skin. “Just stay with me.”

The house feels unnaturally cold when he kicks the door open.

By the time he has your wound properly wrapped, the sun is gone, a distant memory. He sets you down in bed, pulling the blanket up to your chin—you’re already asleep, but your expression is unpleasant, tortured. You must be in pain, even in your dreams.

The thought makes him sick.

With a sigh, he stumbles out of the bedroom, collapsing onto the couch. His hands are still shaking from overuse and exhaustion. He’s not used to the tedious movements anymore like you are—you’re always the one patching him up these days.

A vase sits on the table. It’s full of Saurian Claw Succulents—you’d planted them yourself, cheery at the prospect of decorating the house a bit more. Kinich plucks one of the flowers from the vase by the thin stem, vacantly inspecting each petal.

He wonders what he has to change.

Those with strength survive. Kinich wants to survive. He wants to survive and live his days out with you.

But he’s not strong enough. If you can’t smile at his side, what good is he at all?

Your labored breathing is audible from the other room, the sound grating against his ears. If he had a Vision, or some other kind of power, things might’ve been different. If he had just been stronger—

He thinks back on his younger self, on his innocence, on his weakness. He’d discarded that side of himself long ago in favor of something more powerful, in favor of someone who could protect and take care of you.

There’s no turning back now, he thinks.

The stem snaps under his fingers, under the weight of it all, previous gentleness gone.

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #kinich x reader #genshin impact #kinich #genshin impact imagines #kinich x you #adeptus ink

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puck-luck · 11 months ago

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a new birthday tradition | jack hughes

warnings: extreme domination, spanking, spit kink, cockwarming, hair pulling, overstimulation, dirty talk, praise, degradation (a bit), established!relationship pairing: jack hughes x fem!reader summary: fem!reader proposes a new birthday tradition to jack (based on the request: "jack hughes spanking and spit kink pls") wc: 2787

“Birthday boy,” you sing-song, tracing Jack’s nose.

Your touch rouses Jack from his nap. He was sleeping on the couch, waiting for you to come home from work, having fallen asleep from boredom. It’s normal for Jack to fall asleep in the middle of the day, so this little touch has become part of your everyday routine.

“Hi, babydoll,” you greet when Jack blinks his way awake.

He finds you in his eyeline and sighs, the corners of his lips turning up. “Hi,” he says, voice thick with drowsiness.

“You know what I was thinking about today?” You ask, smoothing back Jack’s hair. He nuzzles his face into your palm, dropping a kiss onto your skin.

“What?”

“There’s a birthday tradition that I thought you might like.” You wiggle your eyebrows. “I was thinking we’d put a little twist on it.”

Jack cocks his head to the side. “What is it?” He asks, voice wary. He immediately thinks of the first time Quinn told him that his birthday cake smelled like something but he couldn’t figure out what, and Jack leaned down to take a sniff, and Quinn shoved his head into the frosting. He’d rather eat a birthday cake than shove his face into it.

You drop your head so you’re whispering in his ear. “Birthday spankings.”

Jack pulls away from you, looking affronted. “You’re not spanking me.”

You roll your eyes. “Duh, dummy,” you drawl. “When have I ever been the one to spank you? Obviously, you get to spank me. One for every year you’ve been alive, plus one for luck.”

“Oh,” Jack replies. “Yeah, that could be fun.”

You roll your eyes for a second time. “Could you be less enthusiastic about it? You love my ass. You love spanking me. ‘Yeah, that could be fun?’”

Jack shrugs. “I prefer to spank you when you’re being a brat. This is, like, a gift.”

You blanch. You stare at him. Jack stares back. You blink at him slowly and set your jaw, your mouth straightening into an annoyed line. Wordlessly, you rise from the couch and pull your blouse over your head, drawing Jack’s eyes to your lacy red bra and the swell of your breasts. His hands twitch in his lap and he raises one to set it on your hip, to pull you back down to him, but you step out of reach.

“Where’s your sling?” You ask, toeing off your shoes and kicking them away.

“In the bedroom where I left it,” Jack says, snarky. He hates the sling. The angle causes his arm to fall asleep and he hates the numbness. It’s not like he’s moving his shoulder or hurting it any more– he’s going to rehab and PT, working with the best trainers in the NHL. He doesn’t want to wear his dreaded sling on his birthday.

You take off to the bedroom, returning shortly after with Jack’s sling. You hold it out to him with an expectant look on your face.

Jack groans, but puts it on nonetheless. He glares at you once his arm is properly situated in his sling, his arm already prickling with discomfort. “You know I only have to wear this thing for like two more weeks,” he points out begrudgingly. “And the doctors said I don’t have to wear it all the time.”

You unbutton your pants and lower them, again drawing Jack’s eyes to the matching red thong you wore today, planning for him to see you like this. “That doesn’t mean you can take it off whenever you want,” you tell him. “We decided that you’d wear it when you weren’t doing anything. You’re sitting on the couch. You’re not doing anything.”

“I was napping.”

“‘I was napping,’” you repeat, mocking him. “What if you had laid on your arm wrong and set yourself back a few weeks?”

Jack’s nostrils flare at your words. “I didn’t.”

“Yeah, but you could have rolled over in your sleep. I don’t want you to have to miss out on pre-season stuff because you were reckless with your shoulder, Jack.”

“I don’t want that either, Y/N. But I’m also not a child, I know when I’m pushing myself too much. You’re being overbearing.”

“I’m trying to take care of you.”

“You’re acting like I’m helpless. I’m not fucking helpless just because I had surgery.”

You rejoin Jack on the couch and his eyes find your cleavage again, but he tears his gaze away from your breasts in order to continue this argument.

“You’re the one who pouts about your shoulder whenever I’m around to try and get attention from me. You can’t have your cake and eat it, too,” you argue.

With each one of your statements, you play Jack like a fiddle. He said it was easier to spank you when you were acting like a brat, so act like a brat you will.

“Yeah, but you know when I’m just trying to get attention. You play into it every time, don’t act like you don’t enjoy it.”

“You’re so fucking stubborn.”

Jack glares at you. “You only say that because you’re losing this argument.”

You lean forward, “accidentally” pushing your breasts together for Jack to see. He gulps, eyes flickering down then back up to your face. He tries to steel his face, but doesn’t do a great job.

“I’m not losing this argument,” you scoff. “You know I’m right. You’re just being difficult because you hate the sling. If I called your doctors right now, they’d tell us that you need to wear the sling more often.”

You move forward again, this time crawling over Jack’s lap until you’re sprawled over him completely, ass up for him to see.

Jack’s free hand palms one of your cheeks, resting on the skin. His thumb barely touches the lace of your thong where the fabric disappears.

You throw a glance over your shoulder and offer Jack a dazzling, smug smile. “Was that bratty enough for you?”

It dawns on Jack that you’ve goaded him into this, his hand itching to teach you a lesson still, even though it was a fake argument. He grins, letting out a little laugh. His head drops with the laugh and he pats your ass, frustratingly gentle.

“You got me, huh?” He asks.

“You’re so easy,” You reply, giggling.

Jack slaps your ass for that, barely a spank.

“That's one,” you tease. “Twenty two more.”

Jack closes his eyes and tries to bite back a smile. He tilts his head back, resting it on the back of the sofa. “Plus one for luck,” he adds. “Don’t forget that one.”

“Oh, how could I forget,” you say. You raise your hips and wiggle them invitingly, drawing Jack’s eyes. “You should punish me for it.”

Jack brings his hand down on your ass again, harder this time. “So annoying.”

“That’s two.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Jack laughs, bringing his hand down again.

You don’t– you continue to count and moan and each time you make noise, Jack spanks you again. His hand moves more harshly with each drop. Your skin slowly grows more and more red, starting to match your red underwear. It grows sore, but Jack doesn’t stop spanking you until he reaches the 24th. You’re a moaning mess, whining and squirming in Jack’s lap, eyes wet with unshed tears by the time Jack blows cool air over your skin. All of your wiggling over his lap caused him to grow hard while administering his birthday spankings, and he knows that if he brought his fingers down to your cunt, he’d find that you’re soaking through your panties.

Jack pulls you up but the straps of your bra, the elastic snapping back against your skin when he lets go. You arch your back and whimper, climbing onto Jack’s lap to straddle him.

Jack smiles, wiping the wetness from your eyes with his thumb. “How do you feel, pretty girl?” He asks, bringing his thumb down to toy with your bottom lip. He moves it and, like a puppeteer, mimics your voice to speak for you. “So good, you always give me exactly what I need, I love you soooo much, Jacky.”

You laugh wetly, pushing his hand away. “You’re such a loser.”

Jack furrows his brow, humming in a disapproving way. “Now that’s just mean. Maybe I should spank you some more.”

You pout, glaring at Jack. “Yeah, and make me bleed? I don't think so.”

“How about this,” Jack muses. “Wanna give me another present?”

You nod, fingers tracing his clavicle.

“Get on your knees.”

Jack helps you down, kneeling prettily between his legs. You sit back on your heels and look up at your boyfriend, waiting for his next move.

“Go ahead and take me out, honey,” Jack encourages, lifting his hips so you can work his shorts and underwear down his legs. His cock springs up and bounces back, pretty and weeping from his arousal. You go to take him in your mouth, but Jack stops you. “No, no. Warm me. I'm gonna watch a little TV and if you’re good, I’ll fuck your throat.”

You melt, feeling yourself grow so warm and wet that you might honestly drip onto the floor if you get any more turned on. You go to take Jack’s cock in your mouth, but he stops you again, tilting your head up to meet his eyes. You look into his gaze for a moment before his eyes drop to your mouth. You open your mouth, waiting for Jack to feed you his cock instead of taking it yourself.

Instead, he drops a line of spit onto your tongue and closes your mouth. You swallow, eyes wide and blinking up at him. It’s humiliating and so good, making your head a little foggy and your knees spread a little wider.

Jack’s eyes find your knees against the floor, your wet cunt. He purses his lips, smiling with his tongue against his front teeth, looking devilish. He knocks a pillow to the floor with his slinged arm, eyes hooded and daring.

“Pick that up,” he tells you.

You move like a machine, grabbing the pillow and ready to put it back up on the couch, to cushion his injured arm. Jack uses said arm to block you.

“Why don’t you put that between your legs,” Jack suggests, voice bored. When your eyes go wide and you freeze, staring up at him, Jack smirks. His voice drops, low and seductive. “I see how wet you are, baby. I’m giving you something to grind against while you warm me. It might not be my cock, but it’ll be good enough, right?”

You could come on the spot, feeling lost. With aborted movements, you place the pillow between your knees and press down on it, eyes fluttering at the friction.

“Good girl,” Jack praises. He fists his cock and taps the head of it against your lips. “Open up, baby. Let me take that dirty mouth.”

He thrusts his cock into your mouth, waiting until your throat adjusts around him to grab the remote and flick on the TV.

You stare up at him, breathing through your nose. You rest your head on his thigh, the downy hair of his legs tickling your skin. You crinkle your nose, but keep your mouth fastened around Jack’s cock. Jack smiles down at you before turning his attention to the TV, placing a hand on your head and running his fingers through your hair absentmindedly.

He knows what happens when he tangles his hands in your hair, especially when his cock is in your mouth. It drives you to start moving your hips against the pillow, eyes fluttering when the seam of the pillow catches against your clit. You’re trying to keep your head still around his cock, but it’s hard to do when you’re chasing your own release.

Jack’s fingers tighten around your hair, tugging at the roots. You moan around him, the vibrations traveling up his cock.

“You can’t even last five minutes before you move, huh, baby?” Jack asks. He puts on a mask of disappointment, spurring you on when you open your eyes and plead with him.

Your hips move faster, the pillow good but not quite enough to satisfy you. You whine, blinking up at Jack. Still trying not to move your mouth, you flex your tongue against him.

Jack licks his lips, eyes trailing up and down your body. He’s taking you in, the way your cheeks are flushed and your hands are grasping the pillow beneath you, the way your hips are dragging in tilted bursts, trying to maintain the pleasure of your clit hitting the item between your legs. Jack bites his lip as he looks at the wet stain that you’ve left on the pillow.

He gathers your hair into a ponytail, twisting the locks in his hand and pulling. You let out a cry of pleasure, losing track of your volume, too overcome with pleasure. Jack’s pull tips you toward orgasm, your hole flexing around nothing and feeling neglected and empty.

“Jack,” you moan, his name garbled around his cock.

The uninterested look in Jack’s eyes contrasts the slight smile on his lips as he pushes his hips forward into your mouth, then pulls back. He starts to fuck you slowly, but quickly loses his control when you bring one of your hands up to his thigh, fingernails digging into his skin.

His lip curls with a hiss, his pace increasing. You’re a mess, completely desperate beneath him. Your eyes are shining with tears as Jack uses your throat, his thrusts harsh and completely self-indulgent. You gag around him, your throat constricting, and Jack growls. He pushes your head down, your nose brushing against his pelvis and he releases into your mouth with a groan. His come paints your throat with white spurts and Jack uses his grip on your hair to pull you off of him.

A line of spit connects your mouth to his tip and Jack watches your eyes grow heavy, sated, when you swallow his come.

“Gonna come for me?” Jack asks.

Your eyes find his and you nod.

Jack tilts your head up and you open your mouth, showing him that you swallowed every drop that he awarded you. Jack spits a thick wad onto your tongue again, the weight of it heavy on your muscle although, in reality, his saliva would weigh next to nothing.

The heat in his eyes and the taste of him in your throat pushes you to your peak, your hips erratic against the pillow. Your legs are shaking, trembling as you tip over the edge and release over the object between your legs. You’re boneless, quivering between Jack’s legs. He pulls you up onto his lap and coos at you, snaking a hand between your legs to rub over your clit with a teasing finger.

“Think you can give me another?”

“Jack,” You whimper out, shying away from his insistent fingers, but they just follow you and press into you wherever you go.

Jack moves yout thong to the side, burying his middle and ring finger into your pussy and flexing his fingers until you’re squealing from the contact. He pushes his thumb into your clit and you grind down, wincing from the overstimulation but unable to stop chasing the pleasure.

“Look at my baby,” Jack marvels. “So pretty, so perfect. So slutty, huh, baby? You beg me to spank you, you fuck against a pillow until you come, and now you’re taking my fingers. So greedy. I’ve spoiled you.” He curls his fingers inside of you, relishing at the whimper that he steals from your lips with each of his movements.

You come again, the heat of it washing over you. You’re helpless to it, feeling like the orgasm is just rushing through you. You shudder on Jack’s lap, your wetness dripping down his skin and onto the fabric of the couch below you. Jack draws his fingers out slowly, not to overstimulate you even further, and kisses you softly.

“Happy birthday to me, huh?” Jack asks against your lips.

You nod, voice soft. You can barely move, so comfortable on his lap, feeling his skin against yours. “Happy birthday, darling,” You agree, and kiss him again.

“Is this going to become a real birthday tradition?” Jack wiggles his eyebrows, a smug look on his face. “Me spanking you?”

You hum, considering it. “Maybe not when we’re seventy-five and wrinkly.”

“This ass?” Jack reaches behind you and squeezes. “This ass isn’t ever getting wrinkly, not on my watch.”

“Okay, Jacky,” you snort with laughter. “Whatever you say.”

notes: *in a marilyn monroe voice* happy birthday... mr. president <3

this was meant to be a blurb. a short one. for jack's birthday. it did not STAY a blurb. that's my bad. i have a tendency to go overboard. hoping y'all enjoyed!

#puck-luck's fics #jack hughes #jack hughes smut #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes x y/n #jack hughes x you #jack hughes fanfiction #nhl smut #nhl x reader #nhl x y/n #nhl fanfiction #nhl fic #jh86 #andy writes anything🍄

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fairyysoup · 19 days ago

Text

eyes don't lie

pairing(s): timothy ratliff x fem!reader

summary: Your best friend's dad is hot, and you... you are on vacation.

words: 6.1k

cw: explicit, smut, unprotected piv sex, creampie, praise kink, exhibitionism, semi-public sex, older man/younger woman, reader’s age unspecified (over 21), best friend's dad, infidelity/cheating, alcohol consumption, reader is implied to be an alcoholic, pining, perv!reader, reader wants to fuck tim so bad it's making her evil, canon typical assholery by like all parties involved, (except chelsea), saxon being gross, some comedy, mention of morning after pills

a/n: on this week's episode of rose's newest hyperfixation, jason isaacs has got me in a chokehold and i'm making it everyone's problem. sprinted to write this so i could post it on white lotus day so no one say shit if it's bad i haven't written in months

ALL MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

Once upon a time, you really thought you were some kind of upstanding citizen. You really thought you were a good friend to Piper, who invited you on her stupidly rich family’s vacation at a resort-spa in Thailand, all expenses paid. You really thought you’d be there to support her while she finessed her way through convincing her family that she’ll be moving here after college, and have a few massages and sunset cocktails on the side.

But that was not in the cards for you, and now you’re faced with the glaring fact of your loose morals. The fact is sitting across from you at a round table on the promenade, poking at a plate of crab eggs benedict. The fact is wearing a yellow polo and looking like he hates his life right now, or maybe he just has a hangover.

You didn’t know Piper’s dad was going to be hot as shit. Piper didn’t know you’d find her dad hot as shit. Piper doesn’t know you’re a horrible, no good, very bad person, who is currently plotting ways to get her dad’s pants off in the quickest way possible.

Meanwhile, Timothy’s wife is sitting beside him in a bright purple kaftan, not exactly looking the best, herself. Something tells you she doesn’t even want to be on this plane of existence, or maybe it’s all the Lorazepam in her system. Victoria sniffs and smiles tightly at Piper.

“So, how’s the research coming, Piper?” Victoria draws out the word research like it’s an affront to her. You’re sure that it actually is, in some way.

“Good,” Piper says noncommittally around a bite of food. “The interview is on Friday, so I have some time to prepare.” Ah yes, the interview. The interview that actually is a meeting about her residency at the temple.

“Oh, so you set it up?” Timothy’s voice nearly shoots you out of your seat. You shift uncomfortably, the backs of your thighs sticking to the wicker chair beneath them.

“‘Course I did, dad,” Piper scoffs, “it’s not like I’m taking a shot in the dark here.”

You’re staring down at your plate of food like it’s the most riveting thing you’ve ever seen, because you don’t want to be giving that look to Timothy’s blue eyes instead. You’re afraid that if you lift your gaze, you will.

Your name comes oozing out of Saxon’s mouth coated in grime. “So what do you do?”

Piper’s older brother has just about gotten on your last nerve; he knows he’s hot, and it makes him the least charming person in the room. But he won’t stop trying to get in your pants long enough for you to get into his dad’s pants, and it’s throwing you off your groove in a bad way.

“Sorry?” You bat your eyelashes like you don’t know exactly what he’s getting at. You’ve known Saxon for a grand total of two days and everything that he says seems to have the same underlying meaning.

Saxon flashes you a falsely bright smile with nothing behind the eyes. “You know. What gets you going? What makes you all… weak in the knees?”

Lochlan chokes on his eggs. Victoria guffaws, and you try hard not to cringe at the bark of laughter. Piper hisses in disapproval at her older brother, who looks very self satisfied.

Timothy says nothing. He stares at you apprehensively, waiting for your reply.

You still can’t hold in the smirk that crosses your face when you look Saxon in the eye and say, “Older men.”

“Oh my god,” Piper snaps, giving you a glare she had up until now been reserving for her misbehaving family members. “Seriously?”

You shrug off her disdain just at the same time as Saxon grins at you, looking even more pleased. With a pointed look, he says, “I’m older than you.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. As if you didn’t know that. You swear that he’s purposefully obtuse.

You swirl your mimosa in your glass, and peer at him over the rim of your sunglasses coquettishly. “No, sweetheart. Older than you.”

You could hear a pin drop with the hush that falls over the table. As you take a long, cold drink of your mimosa, you finally hear Victoria snicker, and you think that you know which side of the family Saxon favors.

You flick your eyes over to Timothy and find him sitting back in his seat, regarding you with his full attention. Your heartrate kicks up, your skin burning with the heat of his stare. You’re glad that your sunglasses are dark enough to hide which way your gaze shifts. You turn your face a bit more towards the horizon, like you’re just admiring the view of the ocean, but you continue watching him with the animal instinct of a predator.

Timothy has gone crimson around the ears, despite his cool demeanor. His forefinger nervously taps at the tablecloth, and then he looks down at his phone, which starts ringing, albeit quietly.

“Dad,” Piper chastises, as she has been for the last two days. Timothy huffs a sigh through his nose, but he snatches up his phone and flicks his gaze from his phone, to you, and back.

“I… I have to…” Timothy sort of jerks his phone upwards, as if no one at the table quite knows what he means, and then he bolts without a word. Chair scraping, silverware clanking, heels scuffing the floor, his retreat is as subtle as a hippopotamus dancing the Nutcracker.

“He’s very jetlagged,” Victoria tells you, her way of trying to excuse her husband’s decorum. Her fluttering hand hits the table beside your mimosa, like you and she are old friends and she’s just reminding you of how silly her cute little family is. It’s a demeaning gesture, a dismissive one.

You hum. “So what’s Saxon’s excuse?”

“He was dropped on his head as a child,” Piper grumbles.

Saxon makes an ugly noise and throws his arms out in defiance. He doesn’t say anything snide back, though, and so the conversation ends there.

You, meanwhile, are still mulling over Timothy’s retreat, staring out at the horizon and only seeing his backside as he walks away.

Your day is spent hopping from massage to yoga to facial to poolside. There doesn’t seem to be a lack of things to do at the White Lotus, and you can almost forgive the hoity-toity atmosphere when you feel calmer than you have all year.

The evening in Thailand comes with the chittering of birds and monkeys in the trees, the rustle of the leaves in the wind and the cool ocean air kissing your overheated skin. Body oils scented with jasmine and lavender on your skin mingle with the natural earthy smell in the ionized air. You could stay here forever, you think, with your feet dangling in the meditation fountain and your hand wrapped around a champagne flute.

You should really stop drinking. But maybe after you get home from this little vacation.

Because you are on vacation, as opposed to Piper’s reason for being here. Meeting her was the best thing to happen to you in college; without her support and her rigid approach to her studies, you probably would have dropped out ages ago. You aren’t even in the same program, you just happened to share a class or two early in your respective college careers, and you’ve been best friends ever since.

Which is why you feel like the world’s worst person when you hear Timothy’s breathy “fuuuuuck me” over your shoulder, and your skin breaks out in the worst case of goosebumps you’ve had in a while.

“Better be careful,” you say richly, your voice thick with champagne, “or I may take you up on that.”

You absolutely should stop drinking.

Timothy’s face pops around a fence blocking the walkway from the courtyard. In the dim light through the windows of the main guest house, you can make out his brown hair, the shape of his jaw. His eyes twinkle at you like stars.

Timothy walks around the fence. “Sorry you had to hear that.”

“Oh, I love some expletives to complement the view. Nothing more serene.” You flash him a flirty smile and kick your feet, splashing water in an arc. “Is this a fountain or a pond?”

“I think it’s a fountain, what with all the pissing monkeys,” Timothy concludes as he trods down the steps and approaches you. He points at the water features, statues of monkeys crouched on balls spitting water into the pool. You think they’re supposed to be balloons, but you could be wrong.

You watch him come forward with interest. Is he planning to sit beside you? Or just stand awkwardly to the side with his hands in his pockets like a proper, dignified father figure? You really wish he’d go for the former.

To your dismay, he goes for an in-between of pulling one of the porch chairs toward you and sitting behind you. A bit to the left so that you don’t have to crane your neck to see him, but still. That distance is too formal. Too respectful.

You wish he wasn’t so respectful.

“Fountain, then,” you concede, and lean back on your hands so that the soft cotton of your bikini cover falls down your shoulder.

Contrary to the way you’ve been acting around Timothy since you met him, you aren’t much for seducing, or really for sleeping around in general. But something about him is making you act up, making you want to throw away all caution.

Maybe it’s the way he spreads his legs apart when he sits like a fucking slut and leans back in his chair like he owns the goddamn resort. He acts like he’s taking in the view, but you can feel his eyes on your back like you can feel the cool water against your skin. The air is hot and sticky, and you feel stifled even with what little you have on.

“You’re stressed,” you point out after a moment. You don’t say anything else. In the silence that follows, you start counting the boats on the horizon.

“That your clinical diagnosis?” Timothy asks after a moment.

“Just an observation,” you hum, lifting your champagne flute to your lips. “You’re clutching that phone like it personally insulted you. Trouble back home?”

“You have no idea.” He lets out a breath like it’s something he’s been holding in for hours. Considering you’ve heard him deny that anything is amiss to his family about a million times so far, you’re sure that it feels nice to admit it to someone. He gives a half-frantic laugh. “Y’know, I don’t think I’ve been this stressed in… probably my entire life.”

You try to reject the words before they come out of your mouth, but the alcohol wins out. “I know a way to fix that.”

“I’ve got about twenty people telling me to get a massage, and I’m not doing it.” He sounds petulant, like a child. Over your shoulder, his arms are crossed, his eyes focused on his feet, pouting. It makes you giggle a little.

“That’s not my preferred form of stress relief.” A pause. “Would you like a demonstration?”

You have an insatiable need to see what happens when you push his buttons. The thought of what he might do, how far you might need to push before he snaps, makes you squirm a bit. You cross your legs, the cool water dripping along your skin and causing ripples in the fountain below.

Timothy fixes you with a piercing blue stare, and you suddenly know where Saxon got his from. This one is more refined, more practiced. It’s not being played to an advantage, it’s simply calculating. Saxon tries to mirror his daddy, but he’ll never quite have the same amount of easy power Timothy holds with just a look.

The breeze picks up just a bit. The leaves rustle in the trees. There’s a heartbeat pounding between your legs, and you have to force yourself to keep looking into his eyes, and not down, not at his crotch, never at his crotch.

Timothy leans forward and you still, your breath practically hitching in your throat. You squeeze your thighs tight together to stave off the ache, and it only succeeds in making it worse, like acknowledging there’s an ache at all is enough to ramp it up.

He raises his hand, and with the slightest brush of his fingers, pulls the shoulder of your swimsuit cover back up over your collarbone. You blink. The gesture is so simple, so ineffectual, it takes you aback. Then, he plucks the champagne flute from your hand, and before you can protest, tosses the rest of it back in one gulp.

“You’ve had enough to drink tonight,” he mutters under his breath, sweet and sultry, and chucks you under the chin as he gets up, like a kid.

Your face is burning. Your body is on fire. You feel like an idiot, and what’s more, you feel like throwing a tantrum, which would only reaffirm what he just did to you.

You don’t say anything as you watch him walk away from you, again, because you know that you’d only embarrass yourself further, and possibly throw a fit while you’re at it. You don’t know what more you could do tonight, aside from stomp your feet and yell at him to let you suck his dick, which is less seductive and more desperate.

And you’re not desperate. You don’t think.

So, you let him leave. And once he disappears into the master bedroom, you leap up from your seat, splashing water, and snatch your champagne flute from the patio table. You stalk back to your room, ready to rub one out in the shower and pass out for the next fifteen hours.

You creep back into the room you share with Piper, trying not to make too much noise, but your drunken movements are not as subtle as you want to think they are. As you pad toward the bathroom, you hear Piper call your name softly from across the room.

You turn to find her looking at you over her shoulder, curled up in bed. She blinks at you, looking as soft as a kitten under the covers. “Don’t fuck my dad.”

“I’m not gonna fuck your dad,” you huff angrily, smacking the bathroom light. It seems enough to satisfy her. But, as you close the bathroom door, you catch your eye in the mirror, and the unspoken last word of that sentence dances tantalizingly on your tongue.

Yet.

Today is day three at the White Lotus, which means you have roughly five days left to fuck Timothy Ratliff. Which, you would have thought, is going to be a difficult undertaking. Except that he won’t stop looking at you.

All morning, at breakfast, his eyes focused on you from across the table. Your leg shook under the table, trying to keep from staring back at him. All the while, you could feel him trying to undress you with his eyes. It felt almost salacious, with Victoria sitting next to him, with Piper sitting next to you.

You won’t be getting into heaven anytime soon, you gather.

Then, there’s some hullabaloo about the family needing to give up all of their electronics for “spiritual serenity” or whatever the fuck, and you honestly could throw yourself into the ocean. Now you’re feeling just about as stressed as Timothy looks, and it was his fucking idea in the first place.

You spend the afternoon laying on the pool deck, sipping at vodka tonics and staring at the cerulean sky above you, wishing you were dead. Your mind won’t stop playing Timothy, Timothy, Timothy on a loop, just to torment you with what you don’t have. Timothy, on his back for you. Timothy, and his piercing fucking blue eyes staring up at you from between your legs. Timothy and his hips pressed up against yours, your back to his chest in the shower, warm water spilling over your–

Against your will, your entire body is turned on again. You shift in your seat, feeling wet between your legs, and it pisses you off even more. What are you supposed to do now, if you can’t fuck your best friend’s dad and you don’t have your phone?

“I’m suffering more than Jesus,” you bleat pathetically after a moment, jamming the heels of your palms into your eye sockets, like it’ll fix everything. You see stars behind your darkened eyelids.

“Amen to that,” says the girl in the chair beside you. You’ve seen her around; she’s beautiful, with big eyes and a smile that lights up the room. She has a boyfriend twice her age who always seems to be avoiding her.

You turn to look at her. She turns her head to smile at you, and you feel a little more relaxed just at the sight of it.

Shifting onto your side, you prop your head on your hand. “If you were gonna fuck your best friend’s dad, how would you go about it?”

The girl stares at you like Bambi, completely stunned by the question. “Um… I don’t know that I would?”

“Of course,” you grumble, flopping back down onto the pool lounger. The consensus is clear. “I’m a horrible person.”

“Hey, I’m not judging,” the girl says, her smooth British accent twinkling in the air. “But, I mean, if that’s your best friend, maybe it’s not the best idea to let a man cause a rift?”

“Sure,” you answer. Makes sense. “But he’s so hot. Like, I could die. But then I’d die never having fucked him, and it makes me sad to think… If I think too long, I’ll cry about it.”

The girl scoffs, and you turn your head to find her suppressing her laughter. She catches your eye, and tries to rein it in. “Are you always so dramatic?”

“All my life.” You settle back in your seat. The sun warms your legs, and you heave a sigh. “I mean, I propositioned him last night, and he was all dismissive about it. Like, he’s one of these good guys that’re all, ‘oh, but my wife…’ y’know, except that his wife is constantly fucking zonked out of her gourd on benzos, so I doubt she’d even notice if she walked in on him balls deep in some other piece of ass. And today he keeps giving me the eyes, you know, the ones that’re like, ‘I’m thinking about fucking you in my head right now.’ And my best friend, right, she’s all, ‘don’t you dare fuck my dad,’ but like, she’s going to become a buddhist monk at the temple on the hill for a year, so what will it matter to her that I fucked her dad when she’s pursuing spiritual enlightenment? I mean, it’s not like I’m trying to get spiritually enlightened, I just want to sit on his dick. And what if that is the key to my spiritual enlightenment, huh? What about my soul’s journey?”

The girl is nodding slowly, looking slightly horrified. “Your soul’s journey… is sitting on your best friend’s dad’s dick?”

“Maybe it is, I don’t know. Who’s to say? But would you begrudge me that if you were my best friend?”

She blows a raspberry of a laugh. “Sounds like a real pisser.”

“Yes, it is, thank you,” you agree, and snatch your vodka tonic from the patio table. You take a long, cooling drink, and sniff ruefully. “But how do I get him to see that, is the question.”

The girl hums, looking like she’s really mulling that one over. “I mean, if he’s giving you the eyes, maybe he’s already made up his mind?”

“Maybe.” You swirl the ice in your glass, ruminating. “Maybe I could shove my tits in his face or something.”

“You do have nice tits,” the girl says, pointedly looking at them. “That might work.”

“It has to work. He’s a guy.” You slurp the dregs of your drink and smile over at her. “This has been great. I’m so glad I talked with you about it, um…”

“Chelsea.”

“Chelsea!” You stand, a little wobbly on your feet. “So good to meet you. If I see you again I’ll let you know how it went.”

As you walk away from her, you hear her floaty voice saying, “Can’t wait.”

You look for him at the bar. You look for him on the promenade, in the lounge, in the gardens, at every possible pool. He’s nowhere, and you feel more and more frustrated by the second.

You run into Piper at one point, who tells you she’s turning in for the night. You make up some excuse about wanting to go for a night swim, but really, you just don’t want to have to crawl into bed in the same room as her and have hideously vivid wet dreams about her dad.

You end up back in the courtyard beside the “pissing monkey” fountain, lamenting life. You really shouldn’t be, and that’s what makes it suck that much worse. You’re in a gorgeous country, surrounded by beauty, and luxury, and fucking wellness, and all you can think about is that you don’t have him. You walked around so much that you don’t even feel the buzz from the alcohol anymore, so you just have your misery to contend with on this, frankly gorgeous, night.

After a few minutes of listening to the splashing of the fountain and staring at the stars, you hear a rustling. And that turns into clanking, which turns into cursing. You frown and get up to peer through the darkness, looking for the source of the noise. Then, the gate to the courtyard swings open, and Timothy charges in.

And he really charges, stomping like he’s on a mission from God, or something. He stops short of the fountain and stares at you, out of breath. His hair is disheveled. He looks positively livid.

“Timothy,” you say, a little shocked at the state of him. You look him over. “Rough night?”

He says nothing, at first. Then he comes towards you, and you startle, staggering backwards before he grabs you and plants a kiss on you. Your hands find his arms, fingers digging into his biceps, and the wind has been stolen from your lungs by the time he lets go.

“Sorry, I–” he chokes out, looking a little dazed. His eyes are a bit glazed over, but they rake over your face with a base amount of embarrassment. “I needed to do that before I changed my mind.”

Your hands move on their own, sweeping his hair away from his forehead in a gesture far more familiar than you ever have been with him. The creases in his brow relax, just a bit. You tilt your head and hum. Well, so much for subtlety. “Would you like to take me up on that demonstration now?”

He nods once, curtly. “It’s Tim.”

You frown. “Tim?”

“You called me Timothy,” he clarifies. His hand finds the side of your face, caressing your cheek like he’s not even paying attention to what he’s doing. You fight the urge to close your eyes and lean into the touch. “My friends call me Tim.”

You smile conspiratorially. “We’re not gonna be friends.”

“Oh, no?” There’s a little smile curling at his lips, like you amuse him. His accent comes out a little thicker when he says, “Tell me, what are we gonna be?”

You shake your head, your smile growing even as you reach up onto your toes to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. He turns his head, captures you in a deeper kiss like he’s not willing to play games. No, you guess that he’s not– he’s gripping your waist like he means business, hauling you against him, his thigh pressed between your legs to give you something sturdy to lean against.

You’re two seconds from feeling like your head’s on backwards when he sucks a sharp breath and pulls away.

“Wait–” he whispers. “Your room?”

You pause. “Piper’s in our room. Yours?”

“Victoria.”

“Shit,” you curse, looking frantically around the courtyard. Your back is to a dark alcove, surrounded by fencing and a hedge that shields it from prying eyes. Good enough. “Fuck it.”

You yank him by the collar, turning him so that he stumbles and collapses onto the patio lounger behind you. He grabs you by the hips and you come down hard onto his lap, eliciting a groan and a hiss from him as you straddle his waist.

“We’re gonna have to be quiet,” you whisper against his mouth as your hands work over his belt. “Think you can manage it?”

Timothy– Tim– pulls back and gives you a condescending look as you palm him, and he watches you bemusedly as your eyes go wide. “Can you?”

Shit. All your dirty thoughts over the past few days didn’t prepare you for the sheer size of him, the fact of which is now pressing against the front of his trousers. Your mouth fills with saliva, and you swallow before you grit out, “Guess we’ll just have to see, huh?”

His eyes linger on your lips for a second, and then he kisses you. Greedy hands squeeze your ass, making you gasp into his mouth, and his tongue licks in to taste you. Slowly, his hand slides up your back to the tie of your swimsuit top and tugs once to unravel it.

Your top slips from your chest and settles around your waist, allowing your oversensitive breasts to feel the slight breeze in the air. You moan into Tim’s mouth, your hands finding their place in his hair to pull, your hips rocking forwards as he squeezes your breast.

His thumb strokes over your nipple, and you shiver, trying hard not to squirm too much against him. But his hand pulls you flush against him, your hips slotted perfectly over his, and the contact is too precious not to. Your hips bear down, your teeth graze his lower lip, and Tim groans softly against you.

“Tim, fuck,” you gasp into his mouth. The kiss turns passionate, leaving you aching and starving for the feeling of his hands on your body.

“Thought you said we weren’t gonna be friends,” Tim murmurs, quirking an eyebrow at you while his thumb continues to circle your nipple.

Your head spins incessantly. “I’ll be whatever you want me to be, if you keep touching me like that.”

Tim chuckles, but doesn’t hazard a reply. Instead, he dips his head, and his lips become entranced by your collarbone, or so it seems. Heat blooms and spreads up your back, tickling the nape of your neck and making your head fall back with a sigh.

The throbbing in your core is maddening, coupled with the melting warmth of Tim’s lips making their way across your skin. You have to steel yourself not to whimper aloud, not to make too much noise. It’s harder than you thought it would be.

And then Tim’s hand makes its way between your legs to cup your cunt, and you nearly choke.

You whine, your fists tightening on his shirt. You’re impressed that you don’t manage to tear it with how hard you yank at him, and Tim shushes you with a severe look that steals all the noise from your throat.

His fingertips brush the waistband of your swimsuit, and you don’t know what to do with yourself. You grab fistfuls of his hair, shaking with all of your pent up anticipation. You’ve wanted this for days, and now you have him under you, with his hand right where you need it.

The feeling of his fingertip tracing over your clit is torturously blissful, and you die just a little bit. Your mouth falls open, but no sound comes out– you think you forget to breathe, altogether. Tim’s cool gaze is fixed on your face, watching you as he pumps two fingers into you, curls them with devastating precision.

“Darlin’,” Tim coos softly, just loud enough for you to hear it, when you rock your hips forward onto his palm. “That’s it, sweet girl.”

Your heart pounds in your chest as you feel him, ever so slowly, withdraw his hand. You watch dazedly as he lifts his two fingers and smells you on them, the evidence of your arousal glistening in the moonlight. His eyes flutter shut as he sucks his fingers into his mouth.

It’s written all over your face– he’s shocked you. And you thought you were the one being a pervert, but it seems you’ve met your match. As he pulls his fingers from his lips and meets your eye, you swat his hand away and crash your lips against his, licking into his mouth like you want to try to taste yourself on his tongue.

Your hands find their way back to his undone belt, and you finally reach in to grasp the length of him. Wonderfully thick and rigid in your palm, you stroke him, eliciting a groan that melts into your mouth.

It’s your turn to shush him as you pull his cock free, allowing your fingers to have their way with feeling him. Quick in his own movements, Tim twists the ties of your swimsuit bottoms between his fingers and pulls, tugging the fabric loose.

You take his cue for what it is. You toss your swimsuit bottoms over your shoulder to where, you’re sure, it falls into the fountain.

You push Tim back to recline on the patio lounger, lift your hips, and there, fifteen feet away from his family’s hotel rooms, you lower yourself onto his cock.

It feels good. It feels like you should have been doing this for fucking ever, but it’s hard not to think that when he’s stretching you out in the most wonderful way imaginable.

Tim groans far louder than he should, and you clap your hand over his mouth quickly. The ensuing slap sound echoes in the hollow of the courtyard, but you aren’t sure if it could be heard inside over the noise of the fountain. You turn your head, peering through the darkness at the curtained windows of the guest house, trying to see if there’s any movement.

Tim stays as still as you are, his staccato breath ghosting over your knuckles. Once you’re satisfied that you’re still in the clear, you pull your hand away from his mouth and bend over him. His grunt is softer this time.

Your lips graze his ear. “Quiet.” His huff of a laugh is all the answer you need.

You swirl your hips, pick yourself up and lower down. You start off slow, if anything to keep him from making too much more noise. Your name falls from his lips, so softly that you can barely hear it over the noise of the fountain.

Tim’s hands grasp your waist, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. Your pace quickens, the patio chair creaking with the force of your hips grinding down into his. Tim begins to guide you as he meets you with his own thrusts, hitting that perfect, elusive spot inside you each time.

He sits up, his chest connecting with yours as his nose brushes the shell of your ear. He pulls you down hard onto him, making you gasp. You throw your arms around his shoulders instinctively as his teeth find the soft joint of your shoulder.

“C’mon,” he growls into your ear. “You can do better than that.”

Your hair stands on end at his goading, his voice laced with condescension. You drop your head and bite down on his shoulder as you rock your hips into his. Lifting one hand, you slide it between your bodies to touch your clit.

“That’s right, good girl,” he hisses, his voice so impassioned that you feel like a coil ready to snap. “Make yourself come, I want to feel it.”

Tim jerks his hips up ungodly hard into yours, and you almost cry out. Almost. Instead, you bear down onto him, with your teeth and with your core, and you shatter. Your cunt pulses around him as he tugs you further onto him, and your free hand snatches at the back of his shirt to keep you steady.

The feeling of your orgasm only seems to spur him on. While you’re still in it, with waves of the aftershocks rolling through you, Tim somehow manages to maneuver you onto your back. The cushion gives under you, but you don’t have time to process the comfort before you have to clap your hand over your mouth.

Because Tim is now chasing his own high. And you should have known that Mr. Stressed-As-Fuck was going to be relentless.

He hitches your leg up and his hips surge forward into you, and you scramble to grab the side of the lounger. You think you hear it scrape against the cement, but you can barely comprehend anything when he’s stealing the thoughts from your mind, until you can think of nothing but him.

Eyes rolling back, one hand flung upward to keep your head from hitting the backrest, you think you hear him snarling something under his breath. His hips stutter, and he comes with short, quick gasps.

Your body hums, your limbs tingling. Tim’s arms steady him on either side of you, and he falls slack, his head resting against your bare stomach.

Your breath steadies, and you finally gather the courage to say, “Piper can’t know about this.”

“No one can know about this,” Tim commands, pushing himself up. You see him in your periphery, but you can’t bring yourself to move. You think he’s completely ruined your state of equilibrium. You assume that he’s putting himself to rights. He looks at you sternly, like you’ve somehow disappointed him. As if you aren’t spread-eagled on a pool chair, with the evidence of what you just did leaking out of you.

“No, I know that,” you snap, rolling your eyes. But you look imploringly at him. “I’m just saying. Piper can not know about this. It’ll kill her.”

“Yeah,” Tim nods after a moment. “Okay.”

You stare at the sky for a few moments. “So. Want to talk about it?”

Tim laughs. Not just a huff, but a full blown bark of laughter. “My life is already as fucked as it can get right now. I don’t think we should.”

You hum, pushing yourself up onto your elbows. “Fair enough. I’m good at keeping secrets.”

“Secrets,” Tim parrots. He looks you over, his eyes lingering for a moment between your legs. “Want a… a drink, or something?”

You smirk. Maybe you’re getting ahead of yourself, but you feel like if you go with him anywhere now, you’re bound to repeat this encounter. Probably several times.

“Actually,” you say, “I’m giving up drinking.”

“Oh,” Tim replies, his eyebrows shooting up. He looks impressed– maybe even proud. “Well. Good for you.”

“Give it two weeks,” you grumble. You swing your leg over the chair and sit parallel to him, untying your swimsuit top so that it’s not fastened around your waist anymore. You clutch the fabric in your hand, and look over your shoulder at him with a smile. “Have a good night, Tim.”

“Right.” As though he was just waiting for his cue to leave, he stands up and gives you a patronizing look. “Drink water.”

“Sure thing.”

You watch him leave. And even though you aren’t as frustrated as you had been last night, you wistfully still hope that, somehow, you’ll have him again.

Just, preferably in a bed next time.

You wake in the morning to something that feels like a cold fish slapping you in the face.

Yelping, you jolt up in bed. Tits out, completely naked save for the sheet on your bed, you catch the thing that had stuck to your face as it peels itself away and falls into your outstretched hands.

“Lochy found your bikini bottoms in the fountain,” Piper hisses. “What the fuck did you do last night?”

“I told you,” you grumble, wadding up the wet swimsuit bottoms and tossing them through the bathroom door, “I went night swimming.”

“Bottom-nude?” Piper looks entirely unconvinced. “Your top was in the shower this morning. What, did you just go around pantsless for my entire family to see?”

“No,” you object. Not the entire family, anyway. “I was just… I dunno. A little out of it.”

Piper wrinkles her nose at you. “You have got to stop drinking. You smell like a barroom floor.”

As she stomps into the bathroom, you flop back into bed and cover your eyes. Then, something occurs to you that you hadn’t thought about the night before.

“Hey, Piper?” you call, a little shrill as your anxiety spikes. “Do you think room service carries Plan B?”

and i oop. practice safe sex babes

#timothy ratliff #timothy ratliff x reader #timothy ratliff x fem!reader #the white lotus #white lotus #fanfic #roses*

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sugurusbabygirl · 1 year ago

Note

can you do a choso smut where he’s the sluttiest virgin in the world. like so slutty that he jerks off to the reader constantly and when he finally fucks her he gets all whiny and needy and overstimulated

(luv you!)

I may have gotten a little carried away….

this has been on my mind for DAYS

(luv you too babes <3 )

He shouldn’t feel so guilty about it. You guys have been together for a couple weeks, so it’s fine, right? He wants to go at your pace, it was his idea. He didn’t want to rush you—but he just couldn’t help it.

You were so adorable laying all over him while you both watch a movie. Smiling and laughing away, all you did was innocently set your hand on his thigh to give him a loving squeeze. He hated how hard it made him. He couldn’t focus on the movie, excusing himself to the bathroom. He was quick—he learned to be so you wouldn’t get suspicious. Thinking about you sliding your hand up the palm him through his pants. How good it would feel to pull you into his lap and fuck you dumb.

You left a pair of underwear in his laundry once, by accident. A thin, stringy little purple thong. They were clean, so it wasn’t weird, right? He wasn’t some depraved pervert.

Oh, but he was.

Whimpering your name as he pumps his aching cock into the fabric. Wishing so badly that he could grind up against you, splitting your pussy lips over him. He imagined what it would be like to make you beg for him to finally slide in and hear his name slip in your angelic voice.

Everything you did made him hard. Bending over to tie your shoes. Reaching up into the cabinet, when your shirt rides up just a little bit. Any dress that shows even an inch of cleavage. Your voice, oh dear lord. Jacking off to an innocent voicemail you left him is part of his nightly routine.

So, imagine his excitement when you’re over one night. You’re both tangled on his bed, making out, when you pause and bring one of his hands down to the hem of your shirt.

“Take it off.” You whisper in his ear with a smile.

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He restrains himself, as much as he wants to rip it off of you, gently pulling the fabric up over your head. He leaves a trail of kisses down your neck, laying you against the covers. Looking up at you through his lashes, he continues to kiss his way across your chest, pausing to drink you in.

Your eyes haven’t left his, grinning with anticipation. God, you looked perfect. Lips red and puffy, hair a haloed mess on the pillow. He didn’t dare look away. Not even when he moved to latch his lips around your nipple. You sucked in a quick breath, sighing like an angel as he flicked his tongue over the hardened bud.

He was hard. Straining against his sweatpants, aching for any ounce of friction. But he had to focus. They were going at your pace, this was about you.

He gripped your other breast in his hand, rolling the nipple between his fingers, drawing a low whine from you. Shit, you were going to kill him.

“Choso?” Your sweet voice brings him back down to earth. He continues to look at you, reveling in your flushed face.

“Hm?” He answers, granting your nipple a particularly harsh suck, making your back arch ever so slightly.

“Want more….”

Your words went straight to his cock, twitching with need. He finally detached his lips from you, only to begin a descent down your sternum. Hooking his fingers into the waistband of your pajama pants, he slowly pulls them down your legs, pressing more gentle kisses across your stomach and hips.

He was imagining what kind of underwear you’d be wearing. Maybe something purple, like the ones he still had tucked away in his dresser. Maybe another thong….oh god he hoped you had more of those.

But when he looked at you, he was met with nothing. He groaned, rutting his hips into the mattress, just enough where he thought you wouldn’t notice. He pressed a slew of hungry kisses to the inside of your thigh, gripping the other tightly in his thick hand.

“You plan on this, baby?” He asks you, looking up with a shit-eating grin.

You’re blushing and you can tell he’s thrilled with your little surprise. “Maybe a little.”

He smiles like an asshole, glossing his middle finger up your slit, barely brushing your clit. You gasp at the unexpected feeling, letting your head rest further into the pillow. He looks up at you, breasts heaving excitedly as you smile. Parting your lips enough to truly admire you, he can’t help but give a few kitten licks to your bundle of nerves.

“So beautiful.” He hums, soaking in your soft moans when he pulls away. Meeting your eyes again, he sinks his pointer finger into his mouth, grinning at your flustered laugh. Before you can admire how hot he is in this moment, he’s sliding the dampened digit into you, pumping slowly at first.

He feels his cock twitch again. “Already so wet….” He groans, studying your reactions intensely.

“Another.” You wine, making him push his hips into the mattress again. Fuck, he can’t take much more of this.

Without a second thought, he obliges, adding his middle finger. Your breath catches at the feeling of the slight stretch, gripping the blanket on both sides of you. He watches you in awe. The way your chest rises and falls with each rapid breath. How your eyes screw shut when he starts pumping his fingers faster, drawing sweeter sounds from you. Even sweeter when he brings his mouth down to suck on your clit. He can't help but rut his hips when you arch against his tongue.

"Baby, baby, baby," You chant, pulling at his loose hair to get him to look at you. "Want more."

Your tone shift makes his heart flutter. No way this was actually happening. "You mean..."

You nod, and that's all the go-ahead Choso needs. His clothes join yours on the floor and he wastes no time crawling over you, his hair gathering around his face.

"You're s-sure?" His whole body shivered as his painfully hard cock brushes against your slick lips. His composure was starting to crack. He was on the edge of paradise.

"Yes, I'm sure." You say softly, pulling him into a chaste kiss. "Please."

He smiles, pressing a kiss to your jaw as he lines himself up. He's throbbing, having dreamed and fantasized about this for so long. He tries to keep his cool, wanting this to be perfect for you. Then he pushes in, slowly, all his self-control comes crashing down when he feels you swallowing the tip in.

"F-fuck." He sighs, pressing his forehead to yours. It's like his body has a mind of its own. He pushes further in, halfway, pulling a whispered version of your name from him.

Finally, finally, he fills you completely. And he whines. He absolutely crumbles against you. He starts rocking in and out of you, dragging his cock against your tight walls.

"Ah...ah...fuck...oh my g-" A series of whimpered cries come tumbling out of Choso's mouth. He can't believe how good it feels. How perfect it feels. His thrusts start to gain speed when your fingers tangle in his hair.

"Feels so good, so good, baby." He whispers into the crook of your neck. Wave after wave of ecstasy curls and crests through his body. You pull on his hair, clenching around him. His hips stutter, another groan rumbling through his chest.

"So good." You agree, arching your back.

His chest pressed against yours, he slides his hands down to your hips, keeping his face buried in your shoulder. "Y/n, please..." He begs, loosing himself in the feeling of you. "I need-shit-feels too good."

You smile to yourself, moaning softly as you watch him lose control of himself. "Use me, baby."

Something in him snaps. He rolls his hips into yours faster.....faster.....deeper. Every thrust brings a high-pitched whine to your ears. He grips your hips tighter, needing to feel you. It's like you can read his mind, dragging your nails up his back. He cries out, a pitiful, needy moan. The sound of skin on skin bounces off the walls, mingling deliciously with your wetness and his whimpers.

"Shit," His voice quivers, fucking into you at brutal pace. "I can't-ah!"

You groan, egging him on, scratching down his back again. "Wanna cum, baby?"

He nods shamelessly into your neck. "Yes! Yes....fuck." His thrusts grown sloppy, holding a vice grip on your waist. "Need to, please, please." It's like he's losing his handle on reality. You feel so good around him, pulling his hair, marking up his back.

"Oh, fuck-" He whimpers, "y/n, y/n, I-"

"Choso..." You groan, and that's all it takes. He pulls out of you and that's when you finally get to see him: sweaty, beet red, breathless, toned chest heaving.

All he can think to do is grunt and groan as he lines up at your slit, pumping himself until thick white lines of cum shoot out. He lets out a long, high pitched whine as he coats your lips and slit with his cum until he's shaking.

You smile up at him, never seeing him look more attractive. You push yourself up onto your elbows before being pushed right back down. Choso, with a hand pressed lightly against your throat, kisses you with a renewed fire.

"Not done yet." He mumbles against your lips. "S'your turn, baby."

masterlist <3

#choso kamo smut #jjk smut #jujitsu kaisen smut #kamo choso smut #choso smut #choso x reader #choso x y/n

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bunnylove1 · 13 days ago

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⋆˚࿔ Sol headcanons 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

✎ᝰ. : I Do not own this character! These headcanons are just for fun and may not be what the creator headcanons for there character! Please keep that in mind !

✎ᝰ. : warnings! 18+ content ! The kid at the back is an 18+ game so is my account if you are underage please leave. This writing contains, smutty acts, fluff, and more! Not proof read!! You have been warned.

→ : In the winter time his nose and ears get bright red when he’s out in the cold.

→ : he has a preference for milk chocolate and or dark chocolate.

→ : Sol likes too lay his head in your lap while he reads his books. Bonus points if you play with his hair or lay your arm on his stomach.

→ : HUGE on PDA like man has a hand on you 24/7. In the library, your in his lap. Walking around school he’s holding your hand Tightly. Talking with the group or with hyugo his hand is around your waist and occasionally his head is in the nape of your neck

→ : I think this man has a thing for chubby people, he likes how soft and squishy they look.

→ : likes having his head pat, idk he probably loves it when he’s laying on your chest and you just pat his head.

→ : he loves too be praised. Call him a good boy or say he’s doing such a good gob and he’s weak and on his knees

→ : doesn’t like doing quickies cause he wants too take his time with you.

→ : if your fem and wear short skirts around him he’ll get all flustered and hot. And if you masc and wear anything revealing he’ll act the same way

→ : slowly kisses you all the way up your body, starting from your legs all the way up, he likes too worship your body.

→ : I know this man has a slight mommy kink… like not heavy but will let it slip out some times

→ : Perfect house husband, cooks you dinner and packs you your lunch. Does the dishes and makes the bed and takes the trash out. He just loves doing stuff for you.

→ : this man probably sleeps in his boxers and an oversized band tee or just a pair or black and green plaid pj pants with no shirt.

→ : sleep talks. I know this man probably spills his dreams while he sleep. Like says things like “no please” or “ ____ don’t go”.

→ : has a whole album of pictures and drawings of just you in it. And the cover is your name with hearts around it.

→ : leaves a BUNCH of hickeys and bite marks on you. Like the devil himself would be jealous.

→ : likes too slow dance to old 50s music with you in the kitchen while you guys are cooking/baking

→ : will tie your shoes for you. Like if he notices your shoes are untied he’ll just bend down and tie them without asking

→ : likes too be tied up but also kinda hates it cause he wants too touch you.

→ : I know this man is LOUD during sex. Like whimpering and huffing and loud moans. And random grunts.

→ : holds the door open for you and if anyone is behind you he’ll close it once your out and leave the person too open it themselves.

→ : likes when you wear his chocker or any piece of his clothing/accessories.

→ : will do matching outfits with you if you asked him too

→ : Possible kinks for him: slight mommy kink, cum kink, bondage, choking but lightly, heavy hair pulling kink. Masochist. And a sadist. Switch at heart. Public sex. Overstimulation and edging (don’t tell me he doesn't like too be edged.)

→ : lets you draw on his arms and hands and will lightly wash his hands so he can make the drawings last longer.

→ : would let you do his makeup as long as there’s no lipstick on his lips.

→ : has a little tiny horse plushy keychain on his backpack or keys

→ : probably draws doodles on his shoes.

→ : will let you re dye his hair, and will ask if you want him too dye yours so you guys can match.

→ : I think he would like his partner too dress up in pink and white I think he likes too see you have an opposite style from his. Butttt he also likes when you wear black and green !

→ : doesn’t like hot chocolate with marshmallows. Idk he likes plane hot chocolate.

→ : will ask you too skip school with just him and no one else, will take you out on a date during that time.

→ : will get down and freaky with you anywhere like … the bathroom as long as it’s clean, the bedroom the kitchen the living room. And more

→ : has fucked you while you were on call with Crowe.

✎ᝰ : sorry if there’s errors or if it’s not long enough for yall. I haven’t written anything in so long. And this was a treat. Thank you for reading this pumpkins !

✎ᝰ : these headcanons are for fun and like I said I don’t own the character the character belongs too @/fantasia-kitt

#Tkatb #The kid at the back #sol the kid at the back #sol x reader #Sol tkatb #Solivan Brugmansia #yandere visual novels #yandere x reader #yandere vn #grace speaks #male yandere

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noctiva · 16 days ago

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im branching out of my box. view this as a premonition of what’s to come.

Eyeless Jack - General Headcanons

CW: mentions of cannibalism, blood and gore, self-destructive thoughts, mentions of mating cycles, mentions of self-hatred and body dysmorphia

I can not believe I haven’t talked about Jackie poo on this blog yet…. my fellow canadian <3

Visual/Appearance

We’ll get the obvious out of the way, grey skin duh. Cool toned, looking almost blueish in the sunlight. No eyes, constantly leaking a tar-like substance that drips down his cheeks and neck.

Has fangs and claws, both of which, incredibly sharp. He doesn’t ever need a scalpel, his claws are sharp enough to slice open skin like butter. Paired with razor sharp teeth, that can sink into muscle like it’s a rare steak - strong enough to crack bones if he really wants to.

Well groomed, dark brown hair. I’ll talk about this more in a second, but Jack remembers what it was like to be human, and so his appearance is a soft spot for him. Keeping the one thing that still looks human about him well-maintained is very important to him. He usually gets one of the other proxies to cut it.

Pointy ears, that articulate like a cat’s would. Perk up when he’s happy or excited, flatten when he’s pissed or frightened (though, he’s very rarely frightened).

He has a tail!!! Every time someone draws jack without a tail an angel loses their wings. I kid! But for real though, he’s got a tail. Looks like a rat tail with a big tuft of fluffy black fur at the end. Very soft, but also sensitive - so don’t touch it unless you’re close to him.

Tall and big!! Literal monster of a man! I’m talking like, 6’7 without his boots on. He was scrawnier as a human, but the whole ‘getting turned into a demon’ thing was like a cheat code for getting jacked. Big broad shoulders, calves for days, thighs that could split a watermelon in half. (🤤🤤)

I think he’s got a roman nose and an upper bite. His fangs poke out even when his mouth is closed.

Veryyyy clear skin. Like almost in an uncanny way. Kinda looks like a porcelain doll with how unblemished it is.

Wardrobe

Wears almost exclusively dark clothing. The shit that leaks out of his eyes stains everything, including his shirts, and so it got annoying. Nowadays he basically only wears black to try and counteract this issue. (Unless he’s wearing his lab coat!)

Big ol’ hoodies and even baggier jeans (also black). Think… Tech wear meets lazy stoner. Baggy, but in an intentional way. Loves those pants that have a shit ton of straps on them for no reason. He’d totally wear Tripp NYC if he could get his paws on it.

Combat boots at almost all times. He tucks his jeans into them.

Big side bag guy. Has a crossbody bag and a hip bag on him whenever he goes out to hunt. Guess what he keeps in them :)

He’s almost always wearing his mask, unless you’re like really close to him. As I said before, he remembers being a human. He remembers what he used to look like. So, knowing what he looks like now is always jarring, no matter how many years pass. He thinks he must look terrifying, so he’s not too keen to be subjecting his appearance to everyone else.

Again, actually pretty particular about his appearance! So unlike a lot of the other proxies, he hates it when his clothes rip and tear. Will be washing the blood out of them the moment he comes home from a hunt.

Usually prefers to eat shirtless because of this, as a way to try and avoid all that mess.

Personality

Stoic, and analytical.

It’s pretty hard to tell what he’s feeling most of the time, because his mask hides his expressions and his tone doesn’t give much sway.

Very closed off, extremely hesitant to let anyone close. Even the other proxies. He’ll play the role as their doctor, but that’s as far as he’ll really go in terms of relationships with them.

It’s because of two things, and both of them stem from Jack’s distaste towards what he’s become.

1. He doesn’t trust himself. He knows that who are friends, and who are food, but he doesn’t trust that his feral demon brain won’t blur that line from time to time. He likes to keep interactions minimal, to decrease the chance of that ever happening. He’d literally never forgive himself. 2. He doesn’t think he deserves it. He’s a cannibalistic, bloodthirsty demon, and he’s aware of that fact. He doesn’t think a creature such as him needs, nor deserves normal human relationships - because he isn’t human anymore, after all.

An actual sweetie if you do manage to wriggle under his skin.

Soft spoken and so incredibly kind, like some sort of angel trapped in a demon’s body.

He’s a big giver. Extremely selfless. Will willingly put himself in danger to save a friend. It’s not like he’s going to die, and he’s well aware of how to patch himself up if it’s really bad.

In relationships, gets flustered very easily. He was like this when he was human, and it carries over.

Honest to a fault. Will say whatever he’s feeling, whenever he feels it. If it hurts whoever he’s talking to he’ll be incredibly apologetic, but that wont stop him from doing the same thing in the future.

Big listener! Not a huge chatterbug himself, but he’ll sit and listen for as long as you want to talk to him. And, he’ll retain it all. He’s got a great memory.

He does not remember how to speak english. He can understand it, but for some reason his tongue just can’t figure out how to form those words anymore. I personally headcanon that he’s fluent in french, because canada, but I could see him speaking russian too.

Growls when he’s mad and chuffs when he’s happy. Like a tiger <3

General

Has an INSANE sense of smell and hearing. He can smell people from a literal mile away. And if you’re a woman, he can smell it when you’re ovulating <3 His ears can pick up sounds that no one else even thinks about, like the sound of your blood rushing through your veins.

Because of that, he hates it when people smoke. It’s already such a strong smell for people with normal noses, but for him? It’s literally headache inducing. He genuinely can’t stand it. Light up a smoke around him and he’ll be a mile away in a matter of seconds.

Alcohol and drugs don’t affect him. Demon things! Sober for life!

He’s blind! Like completely. In my brain he echolocates like a bat would, and his heightened hearing makes it easy to know who’s approaching him just by the difference in the way their feet hit the ground. His nose will sniff you out before that though.

Obviously, very well versed in the medical field. But he weaponized that knowledge against himself when he was first transformed. Performing experiments on himself. Cutting into his stomach just to time how long it took until the wound closed up completely. Removing his own organs just to see if he could still survive without them.

The results of those experiments were… Not good for his mental health.

Because they made it all too clear, that he was not in fact human any more.

Jack went a little crazy with it for a while. Doing the absolute worst to himself all in hopes that maybe he’d prove himself wrong. Cutting an arm off, leg off, cutting his own damn tongue out - all just to heal every single injury.

He does not have very high self worth. He views himself as a nasty, abomination of nature - because that’s what his experiments proved that he was. Not human, just some sick amalgamation that looked almost like one.

He can’t see himself (because… blind) but what he’s felt under his fingertips tells him all that he needs to know. So, as I said before, he hates taking off his mask. He could only imagine the horrors he’d be subjecting people to if he did.

He knows what he looked like as a human, and so knowing that his body has changed - but not knowing how much exactly, makes his stomach churn on a daily basis. He’ll run his tongue over his sharpened teeth and feel nauseous. Scratch his claws down his arm and nearly be sick right then and there. Feels trapped in a body he knows he wasn’t fit for.

Does not liked to be watched when he eats!! He’s already pretty pissy about this whole ‘being a demon’ thing, so to watch him during his most demonic activities? Yeah he’ll probably cry himself to sleep after.

He always smells like copper and sulfur, no matter what he does.

…He goes through mating cycles. Another thing that he absolutely despises about his new body. And you’ll know when it’s happening, because he will lock himself in his room and not leave until it’s over. (unless you’re his partner 😗)

Gets real feral when he’s on the hunt. Like, the human part of him completely switches off. He is brutal and messy. Doesn’t even retain his medical knowledge when he’s like this. Will tear through an entire abdomen just to get some kidneys even though he could’ve totally just sliced an incision in their lower back.

It’s like, common knowledge not to go anywhere near jack when he’s like this. He will not recognize you. He will tear you to shreds just like any other victim.

Oh, and he’s a very picky eater. Kidneys only! Everything else is yuck to him.

On a lighter note, he likes to knit :)

His claws are long enough that he doesn’t even need knitting needles.

Also a big fan of big brain games. Play chess or scrabble with him if you want him to fall in love.

Does not hunt animals! People only! Big animal guy. It’s like… You know how you feel way worse about a dog dying in a movie than a human? That’s Jack with eating.

Luckily, he only has to eat once a week, so that plenty time for another stupid human to wander into his territory.

I’m gonna headcanon that he purrs! Sue me!

Does not like perfume or cologne because of his sensitive nose. Too strong. Besides, your natural scent is 10x better.

—————————————————————————☆

ok! EJ has finally made an appearance on my blog!

he’s my side piece <3

#creepypasta headcanon #creepypasta #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta hcs #creepypasta smut #eyeless jack smut #eyeless jack #eyeless jack headcanon #eyeless jack hc #crp fandom #crp headcanon #crp

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benz12313 · 2 months ago

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Love's Surprise Pt. 2 - Ridoc x Reader 🌶️

{Images are not my own}

Summary: You and Ridoc have been dating for months now, and it's your first Valentine's Day together? What does he think about the gifts you have prepared for him? Will you two enjoy yourselves?

Warnings: ‼️(MDNI) 18+ explicit content‼️, smut, oral female receiving, oral male recieving, p in v, smut with feelings, swearing, fem!reader, drug use/smoking churum, aphrodisiac chocolate consumption, established relationship, mating press (but no breeding kink usage), slight dom behavior, use of 'good girl', unprotected sex,

Part 1/2

Authors Note: This took me waaaay too long to write but goddamn was it worth it in the end. I just couldn't stop writing. I could've kept going but nearly 4,000 words is a lot man! I hope you all enjoyed this fic and had a great Valentine's Day! :)

Word Count: 3,917

I hastily locked the door to my room behind us, and Ridoc’s hands squeezed my waist from where he stood between me and my bed, where the remainder of his gifts still laid. At least the ones I wasn’t wearing. I turned in his arms and his mouth was suddenly on mine, as he gently backed me up into my door. His hand moved between my back and the door, making sure it was barely a caress, and effectively caring for my sore back.

My sore back that I’d forgotten was even there, but he hadn’t. No, he never forgot shit like that. Always acutely aware of how I was doing, what injuries I’d sustained. Even minor ones like bruises. My gods, I love this man. I love him. I love him. I love him.

Ever since we’d said it, the thought had consumed me, like I was finally allowed to talk about this grand secret I’d been keeping firmly locked away, even from myself.

He tugged my face closer as he wound a hand through my hair, and slipped his tongue into my mouth. I moaned as he deepened the kiss, and pulled him in, my arms wrapping around his neck as I arched closer. Always closer. I could never seem to be close enough to Ridoc.

“Love,” He panted, voice deeper than before, making my body warm. He detached himself from my mouth, though reluctantly. “Before I totally lose sight of the point of coming up here…” He grinned cockily. “And before I really get my hands on you…what exactly did you want to show me?”

“Well, two go together, and then I have a fourth…more permanent item for you.” I said, suddenly a bit bashful. The first two, I knew he would like, but the fourth? The fourth was definitely more…sentimental. And the fourth was the one I’d have to give him first.

“I’m a little confused but I think I like where this is going.” He chuckled, face softening. “Whatever you’ve got, I’m sure that I’ll like. No need to be nervous Y/N.”

Sometimes I hate that he knows me so well. I sighed before taking his hand and leading him to the bed. Gesturing for him to sit before sliding onto the bed myself and gripping the package box. I took a deep breath and opened it, quickly scanning the items left. The dozen little chocolates, the two churam joints, and then the item I was truly afraid of in this box. The little compass necklace I’d had Violet commission for me.

I delicately took it out, and handed it to him, face quickly turning crimson. He locked eyes with me, a smile creeping onto his face before he opened it, and his jaw went slack. On the inside was us, a remarkable drawing of us anyway, him holding me in his arms. I’d done the picture myself, and it had nearly brought me to tears as I’d seen it in its entirety for the first time. The words ‘To always be able to find your way back home’ were carved in the metal in scrawling cursive.

He let his fingertips gently skim the etching in the metal, and tears formed in the corners of his eyes for a moment, though never spilling out as he just stared. And stared. And stared. My heart began to thump wildly in my chest by the time his eyes met mine again; warmth and love and just happiness oozing from them. “I love you.” His voice cracked, and he fisted the compass, chain dangling, before he surged forward and wrapped me in his arms.

“It’s perfect. I don’t care about whatever else you’ve got in that magic box of yours. This?” He pulled back, gesturing to the compass. “This is perfect. I love how cheesy-“

“Hey!” I protested and he put his finger on my lips, shushing me.

“It is, but it’s so fucking perfect Y/N. But that’s us. I wouldn’t want anything different.” He whispered, before taking it and pulling it over his head, letting it fall onto his chest, a smile pulling at my lips. “Thank you.” He whispered.

“Your welcome Love,” I teased a small bit, using his new nickname. While his cheeks tinted (leaving me smirking), his eyes darkened, narrowing in on me.

“Say that again, and you won’t get to finish giving me your gifts, love.” I bit my lip, trying to fight back the smirk growing on my face. Something he easily clocked, eyes jumping from the box to me. “What else is in there Y/N? Anything good?”

“A few little things.” I said, playing coy, fluttering my eyelashes at him innocently. Something I knew would drive him nuts. “Nothing too special.”

He licked his lips, eyes trained on my mouth, before snapping back up to my own. “Oh?” He asked.

“Just a few aphrodisiac chocolates and some churam, you know, to help us ease into my last gift. After all,” I paused, sending him a quick wink, “I’m feeling very appreciative for your gift, Ridoc.”

“And this last gift you keep mentioning?” He asked, leaning in. I leaned back, out of his reach though, moving off the bed completely as I gathered my courage. The locket was the hard part. This? Giving in to my carnal desires for Ridoc? This was easy compared to baring my soul to him.

I positioned myself in front of him and his hands reached for me, but I swatted them away. “Patience.” He looked ready to argue, but I continued, making him pause. “Give me a minute to undress first, jeez. Gotta let me show you your present after all.”

I didn’t wait for him to respond before I unzipped my flight jacket. Revealing the baby blue lacy bra underneath, with the see-through white top over it, gently sitting on my skin in that delicate way that I knew would drive him mad. He licked his lips hungrily, eyes following my hands as I unzipped my pants before slowly pulling them down my legs, bending over in front of him. Suddenly his eyes were on my breasts, and I tilted my head at him questioningly, teasingly. My lacy panties were the same baby blue color, and nearly as see through as my top was. Once I’d forgone all unnecessary clothes, I stepped forward again, reveling in the quickness in which his hands found my ass and pulled me forward into him.

“Gods, love,” This time was a choked groan as he roughly palmed my ass. I could get used to this nickname, I really could. Every time he said it my core just ached in the most delicious way. “This color, this fabric-“ He kissed across my stomach, the fabric catching between his mouth and my skin, sending a jolt of pleasure through me that I hadn’t expected. “Fuck…it looks so good on you Princess.”

“You like it?” I asked and he smiled widely at me, taking my hand and putting it on his crotch, where his cock jolted with my touch, already more than halfway hard.

“I love it.” He said, “All of it. All of you. Good luck leaving this room for the weekend, because you aren’t going anywhere now.”

I whined. Fucking whined, at his words. Then, without thinking, dropped to my knees between his legs. His mouth fell slack for a split second before his mouth curved into a cocky grin.

“Oh, is that what you want? Me to fuck you senseless this entire weekend? Smoke and play with that pretty pussy you’ve wrapped up so fucking nicely for me? Feed each other chocolates until you’re begging for me to let you cum, over and over and over again?” He gently pushed back my hair out of my face, his thumbs lingering and stroking over my cheeks. “And you wanna kick it all off by shoving my fat cock down your pretty little throat?”

“Yes please.” I whined, rubbing my thighs together for friction, failingly trying to release the tension built there.

“Hands on my thighs please love.” My hands moved quickly, grounding myself in him as he leaned back, grabbing the box, and pulling out the joints and the bag of chocolate before tossing the box on the floor again. His eyes met mine, the dominating side of him shimmering just below the surface of his irises. The side of him I only got to see when it was just the two of us, alone and locked in our room together.

“Colors, you know them right?” He asked and I nodded, but his eyes narrowed. “Words sweet girl. I know you can use them.”

“Green, Orange, Red.” He nodded, but raised his eyebrow, urging me to continue. “Green for good, orange for checking in, and red for stop.”

“Good girl. Now, stick out your tongue. Don’t close your mouth until I tell you to.” He said and I obliged as he pulled a chocolate out of the bag, biting off half and eating it before setting it on my tongue. The chocolate let out a burst of flavor on my tongue, even more so than the s’mores had earlier.

He watched as the chocolate melted, dripping down the sides of my tongue slowly before dripping onto the tops of my breasts. He licked his lips then met my eyes again. “Eat it.” He commanded before leaning down and pulling me close, licking off the chocolate on my boobs as I ate what was left, moans tumbling out of my throat. His arms wrapped around my back, caging me in before letting me go again just as quickly, grateful for my hands still on his thighs steadying me.

He tossed the candy onto the bed and put one of the joints on the side table before pulling a lighter out of his pocket, and sparking it up. Three puffs in and he motioned me forwards, before tapping his finger on my mouth. Shotgunning. We didn’t smoke often, normally just special occasions, but when I showed him this on Christmas Eve he’d gone insane for it.

I pressed my mouth to his, gladly accepting the earthy smoke, letting it fill my lungs as he kissed me. I pulled back when I couldn’t hold it any longer, letting out the now stale remnants of the hit he’d taken. My body went fuzzy, a haze lightly slipping over me as that first wave of calm hit. He pressed the joint to my lips and I sucked in; this hit was more substantial, more raw, and suddenly my mouth was back on Ridoc’s as he gladly accepted my smokey offering. But when he pulled back I wanted more, the aching in my thighs coming back to the forefront of my mind as my attention was brought back to his cock, which looked like it was straining against the fabric of his pants.

“One more hit pretty girl, and a full chocolate, then you can have it, promise.” He teased, and my eyes snapped back up to his to see the playful look he was giving me, though his eyes were lidded now, and his smirk was lazy. Churam always hit him faster than me. He took his hit before passing the joint back to me, and leaning back to retrieve the chocolates again.

I took my hit, savoring it as he got two chocolates and plopped one in his mouth before trading me the other one for the joint. I ate mine as I watched him use his signet to turn the red hot end of the joint go black in an instant, and then swallowed, humming when done. He grinned as I lolled my tongue out, letting him see I’d eaten it. Then his hands moved in a flash, and the next second his pants were at his ankles, his hard shaft resting on his stomach, unable to stand on its own with the weight of him.

“Hands on my thighs Y/N, mouth only this time. Don’t worry, I’ll help you.” He assured, his hands making my hair into a makeshift ponytail, before consolidating it all to his left hand. He leaned back, resting on his right hand before nodding at me. “Go on now, ya’ wanted to suck it so fucking bad? Suck it then Princess.”

I dipped my head, kitten licking the tip, licking a few stripes up the side of him, letting all the drool I’d been swallowing back lube him up. And then I let lose, taking all of him to the back of my throat and gagging around him, and I moaned at the guttural groan he’d released. Then I was bobbing my head up and down, eating up every moan, groan and gasp he gave me, my fingertips eating into his thighs as I lost myself on his cock.

He tasted so good; salty, musky and that little bit that was just Ridoc, in the most delicious way. The way praise just dripped off his tongue with every bob of my head. The way his dick would jump every time I’d take him as deep as I could, itching to just get a little bit deeper. Gods, I would crawl to just lick this mans dick, which is more than I can say for any other before him. Much more. I’m lost in the way he tastes, sounds, and feels beneath me, practically writhing in pleasure as he struggles to stay still. I know he’s holding back, desperately trying to let me lead even though he wants to thrust up into me.

When I looked up I realized he had taken his shirt off, abs glistening in the low light and frost built up on the ends of the curls threatening to block his gorgeous eyes. Good, I’m not the only one losing myself here. His breath was coming out in pants, clouding in front of him before it’d dissipate just as fast. Then, his eyes met mine, and his control slipped as the grip on my hair tightened and he slammed me down, making me take his dick into my mouth in full tears springing to the corners of my eyes as I gagged.

Then he was thrusting up into me, the babble dripping off his tongue letting me know he was close.

“Fuck babe, how is that mouth of yours so fucking good?” Thrust. “Just as good as your pussy, I fucking swear.” Thrust. “Want me to cum down that pretty throat huh?” Thrust. “Fuck, love, you suck me so good.” Thrust. “So good’f’me, letting me fuck you how I please.” Thrust. “Fuck…babe…m’close.” Thrust. “Gods, don’t look at me like that, givin’ me doe eyes like I don’t have my cock down your throat, and giving me those pretty little tears.” Thrust. “Shit- I’m- FUCK!“

He hissed, thrust twice more and stilled as he painted the back of my throat, holding me to the base of him by my hair until he finished cumming and felt me finish swallowing around him, and then pulling me back off his dick hastily. He looked absolutely debauched, chest heaving, hair sticking to his skin and his fingertips were freezing where they’d started lazily stroking my cheeks again. It felt good on my too-hot skin, the aphrodisiac having hit me in full force now, leaving me aching and needing his touch. He licked his lips as he looked down at me, pleasure awash over his features as he scanned me with too-black eyes. He was already completely hard again.

“Fuck, Y/N, get on this bed now,” It was a growled order, not a request, “I need my mouth on you.” He wasn’t waiting though, already pulling me to my feet before him, and I hastily crawled over him and onto the bed, barely laying on my back before his mouth attached to mine. He easily gained dominance, tongue slipping into my mouth as his hands wandered my body, cooling everywhere they touched and sending my pleasure skyrocketing. Perks of being an ice user I guess, you’ve got built in ice fingers when you lose a large amount of control. I definitely wasn’t complaining as his fingers began rubbing over my clothed clit, pulling a gasp from me as his mouth pulled from mine and he looked down to his hand.

“Fuck babe, you’re fucking soaked.” He was right of course, but I was still about to complain, until he kissed down my neck and groaned when he reached my collarbone. “Gods, how are you this wet already?”

“Ridoc please…” I whined through the pleasure he was giving me, which felt so good yet not enough.

“Use your words Princess,” He chided, mouth nipping at my neck.

“Please, I need your-“ I let out a moan when he added pressure, “F-fingers, mouth, anything, just please, it hurts.” I whined again and he leaned back onto his knees, stopping all movement, making me pout.

“You asked so nicely, so good’f’me, always huh?” He mused before settling his head between my thighs and pulling my panties to the side. “My pretty girl asks for what she wants, so well, always such a good girl.” He mused before licking up what slick had collected from his words. He moaned and licked again, the vibrations making the pleasure heighten and leaving me gasping, hands threading into his soft locks as he kitten licked my cunt. “Fingers or tongue beautiful?”

“Both," I gasped and he chuckled darkly, making me clench around nothing.

“That’s my girl. Always so greedy f’me.” He sucked on my clit suddenly and harshly, making me cry out. “Ask and you shall receive Y/N.”

And receive I did. It was all I could do as he descended upon me. Mouth alternating between harshly sucking on my clit and then barely licking, while two of his ice cold fingers pumped into me, starting a punishing pace as he curled and prodded with his fingers, a harsh contrast to the overwhelming warmth of my dripping pussy. It felt so euphoric though, the only thing keeping me here and not on cloud nine were his eyes, dutifully holding my own in their gaze, and watching me absolutely unravel before him.

Between the aphrodisiac setting every nerve alright within me, the churam heightening my pleasure, and then just everything that was Ridoc, absolutely devouring me; the knot of pleasure in my core wound tighter with every second. Everything building, building, building, until I was right on that precipice, waiting for the fall, but never quite tumbling over.

Ridoc knew it too. In fact, the bastard was orchestrating it. Bringing me right there and then cleverly shifting focus, right when he knew I was nearly there, prolonging my pleasure and denying me it in the same breath. He was too skilled, and much too acquainted with my body at this point, not to know exactly what he was doing.

“Ridoc.” I warned, or moaned, not really sure. He hummed, acknowledging my plight but continuing to do as he pleased, bringing me right to the edge before denying me again. “Ridoc, please! Please let me cum, I can’t take anymore!”

“Almost love, you can take a few more.” He said, voice soothing but words near torture. There was no way, I was shaking now, and ready to continue begging for release some more. His eyes softened as they quickly scanned mine. “If you really need it, use your colors.” He reminded me. “Until then though, just a few more.” I nodded but whined anyway when he denied my next three orgasms.

He wrapped an arm around the back of my thigh and pressed down on my stomach, then curled his fingers and sucked harshly on my clit, and then I was cumming. Without warning, so sudden, and making the heat in my body skyrocket until all I could feel was white-hot pleasure as I cried out Ridoc’s name. The only word I could form was his, all I knew was him.

I’d barely come down when he sat up, looking over my body as he sucked his fingers clean. Then he grabbed my hips, and used one of his hands to scoop up my release and pump it over his length, before pulling my underwear to the side again and aligning it with my entrance. He looked as feral as I felt; despite both of us having found release once already, all I could think was more, more, more.

His cheeks were pink, and eyes lidded as he watched himself push inside me before they snapped up to mine when I let out a breathy sigh as the first few inches of him sunk inside me. Loving that first delicious stretch as he slowly, lazily, thrust in and out, sinking in a bit deeper each time, until he’d stilled and completely bottomed out within me.

Full. Complete. Whole. Thats all I could feel beyond pleasure.

Ridoc must’ve too because he rested one hand on my cheek as the other hand wrapped around my back, cradling me. “Fuck Princess, this never gets old.” He whispered against my lips as he began lazily thrusting again, pace slow and savoring. “You’re so tight, and soft, and warm. Fuck, I love you.” He groaned before picking up the pace, slow and lazy thrusts turning hard and punishing. Causing me to cry out and wrap my arms and legs around his back, bringing us closer. Bringing him deeper.

I wanted to say it back, I really did, but I couldn’t with his relentless pace, never giving me a second to breath. With the way he pushed deeper, reaching places only he had ever delved. Taking parts of me only he had ever possessed. Pleasure built until I was gasping, and maybe begging?

I didn’t know what was leaving my mouth exactly, but Ridoc was sweetly smoothing my hair and cooing out something soothing as he continued to fuck me into my mattress without reprieve. Words no longer registered in my brain, just him and this bottomless hunger for pleasure that never seemed to be satisfied.

Not until he’d had enough nonsense and he folded me into the meanest mating press nearly folded in on myself, still thrusting harshly, barely missing a beat, even though I could tell by his shaking hips that he was close. Five thrusts and then I was sent flying over that edge again screaming something I couldn’t understand, absolutely ripped apart by pleasure, tears streaming down my face the moment I came. A few more thrusts and he stilled inside me, warmth filling me as the pleasure dulled into oversensitivity. He released me, but stayed inside as he leaned down and kissed me, before wiping my tears away.

“How are you feeling beautiful?” His voice was soft, like it always was when I began crying from the overwhelm that came with that intense level of pleasure.

“Green.” I gasped out. “But….need….a….break.”

“Me too. Smoke, have some refreshments, then go again?” He asked, before quickly pecking my lips before I could answer.

I nodded. “Yeah. I love you.”

He grinned like the Cheshire Cat, ear to ear and entirely too smug. “I know, you screamed it when you came around my cock. Good thing I love you too, cause that would’ve been embarrassing otherwise.” He gave me another kiss to pacify me. “Now lets refuel, because I’m not nearly done with you yet."

~ Want to be added to the tag list? Just comment or message me! :)

@xadenswhore @littlemissmelodie @jobroho @worldsanna @uneducatedraccoon @nicksolemnlyswears @binksbrewcrew

#fanfic #fourth wing #ridoc gamlyn #ridoc x reader #iron flame #onyx storm #ridoc fourth wing #ridoc smut #ridoc #ridoc gamlyn x reader #smut #smut with feelings #ridoc gamlyn smut

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punkshort · 1 year ago

Note

i’m the anon who asked about the request! if you decide to do it, i’d absolutely wait forever😂 it’s very angsty tho, so the idea was for outbreak joel who doesn’t get the happy ending. reader who was head over heels in love coping with his death, maybe flashbacks to show the moments of reader seeing him die? idkidk the idea is very vague, sorry if it’s too sad!! if so maybe reader seeing him die was just a terrible nightmare & he’s there waking them up & helping them through a meltdown?

i’ve been craving for some emotional torture for wtv reason😭😭 thank you for even considering requests!🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾

Thank you for this request! It's my first one, so I hope you enjoy it. Also, I had to take the out you gave me and make this a nightmare because I am a big ol' softie and I won't apologize for it, but I will apologize for taking so long to write it 😂

I hate when you're right

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: After a heated argument with Joel, you finally convince him into leaving Jackson so you could explore a store for new clothes, and what happens could change your life forever.

Warnings: major character (Joel) death - but it is just a nightmare - don't read if you think that will still upset you, angst, language, violence, descriptions of blood/gore/death scene

WC: 2.5K

dividers by the one and only @saradika-graphics

You knew it was childish. You knew it wasn't essential. But you also desperately wanted to feel more comfortable, and was that really such a crime? To want to feel like yourself again? To want to wear clothes that you liked? That fit you properly? Jackson was well stocked with essentials, clothes included, but the clothes the men picked up on patrol were... utilitarian, to say the least. They grabbed the biggest and the warmest clothes so that it afforded more people the opportunity to use them, but you were beginning to grow tired of tucking men's oversized shirts into your pants, the material bunching up at your waist and twisting around as you walked, constantly trying and failing to feel comfortable in your own skin.

You thought Joel would be more open to the idea of heading outside the walls on your day off. You even teased him with the promise of picking up some new underwear, but he didn't fall for it. He fought you tooth and nail the whole evening, his voice lifting over yours angrily to explain how there's been an influx of raiders the past few weeks, that everyone agreed to lay low until they passed through, not wanting to draw attention or pick any unwanted fights. But you persisted. You always did, and you eventually wore him down when you threatened to leave without him.

Why was it such a crime to want to feel comfortable? It was just two people, you could lay low and go unseen, no problem. You've done it countless times before.

You had hoped he would have gotten over it by morning, but you were wrong. He hardly made eye contact with you during breakfast, skirting expertly around you in your kitchen, mumbling under his breath as he sipped his coffee and only shooting you angry looks when your back was turned.

The air was crisp and the woods were peaceful. You thought that would surely turn his mood around. He always appreciated being out with nature, living off the land. As much as he loved living in Jackson, he couldn't deny that part of himself that felt useful, that felt a sense of accomplishment by surviving out in the wild.

"C'mon, are you really gonna act like this all day?" you teased as you held up another shirt against your body before determining it was the right size and then tossed it in a pile with the others.

He was standing at the storefront window with his arms crossed and his jaw clenched. "Don't know what you mean."

You rolled your eyes and looked around the store, spotting a table of underwear with a grin. You lightly skipped over and tossed to the side the pairs that looked far too dusty so you could look at the ones underneath. Clearing your throat, you held up a pair of bright red stain underwear. He turned around and you saw it: it was fast, he hid it well, but you still saw it. That all too familiar excited look in his eye.

"Don't you like them?" you asked with a playful pout. He furrowed his brow at you like he was annoyed, and maybe he was, but you still saw the heat beginning to crawl up his neck.

"They ain't practical."

You gave him a defeated sigh and strolled over to your pile of clothes, your fingertips daintily holding the undergarment out to him. "No? Then what are they?"

His eyes shifted from yours to the red material in your hand and you saw his throat work as he swallowed.

"Useless," he croaked, and you narrowed your eyes at him. You got a little closer, letting the soft fabric glide against the back of his hand when you dropped your arm to your side.

"Oh, yeah?" you said breathily, and you watched his eyelids flutter at your tone. "Then I guess it wouldn't matter if I brought them home and let you rip them off me."

He stepped forward, a growl emitting from his chest, low and deep, when at the exact same time, you both heard shouting outside the store. Swiveling both your heads towards the glass storefront, your blood ran cold when you saw six heavily armed men advancing towards you.

"Shit," he muttered, his arm pulling your shoulder down just in time to avoid the cascade of bullets that rained down upon you. You laid face down on the rough carpet, covering the back of your head with your eyes squeezed shut, waiting for the shooting to stop. Joel tugged on your arm and you opened your eyes in a panic.

"Follow me!" he shouted, army crawling towards the registers, and you dutifully followed behind, your heart racing wildly in your chest.

Once you made it, the counter offering some, but not much, safety, the both of you pulled out your guns and double checked your ammo.

"Alright, when they stop to reload-"

"I know," you said, cutting him off. You've both been in this situation before. You knew what to do.

Holding your rifle upright and against your chest, you breathed deep, trying to steady your hands until the bullets slowed and you heard more shouting. Joel nodded to you and you both sprung up from the floor, pulling your rifles against your bodies in sync and lining up your targets.

Patience is a virtue. The amount of ammunition they wasted on the two of you was laughable when you each caught one of them between the eyes, leaving four against two.

You thought you would be able to get another shot off but Joel tugged your arm and you slinked back to the floor as a shower of bullets rained over you once again.

"You good?" he asked, and you nodded, gasping for air. Your hands began to stabilize when the shock wore off. You were in the zone.

Pressing both your backs against the small counter, you remained calm and waited out your attackers. Glass shards tinkled and scattered behind you. Bullets pinged against the metal shelving, ricocheting into the drywall.

"Assault rifles for two people? Really?" you muttered, more so to yourself, but Joel heard you.

"Told you this was a bad fuckin' idea," he said angrily.

When there was another brief pause, he looked to you again and nodded. At the same time, you rose up and took aim, firing on your attackers once again. Joel made his shot, you didn't. Three down, three to go.

"Fuck," you grumbled, reloading your rifle even though you still had rounds left.

"Focus," he scolded.

The men sounded like they were getting closer. Their voices were louder. Clearer. The shots were deafening. You prayed they weren't inside the store, because you hadn't planned an exit strategy. Without warning, Joel stood up and fired a shot. You heard a man scream and then a loud thud. It sounded like the man was just on the other side of the counter.

"That's not the plan," you seethed at him when he dropped back down next to you.

"Didn't have a choice, he was 'bout to jump us," he sneered.

Two against two.

When the shots slowed down, you held your breath, looking at Joel from the corner of your eye. He held his palm up to you silently, signaling for you to stay where you were. You heard boots crunching slowly against glass and your heart leapt into your throat. They were in the store.

You shot Joel a panicked look but he just shook his head, focusing on their footsteps, calculating how far away they were.

"Come out now and no one gets hurt," a man's deep voice called out. He was close.

Joel clenched his jaw and flared his nostrils. You knew that look. It was the look of a man who was about to do something stupid. But before you could stop him, before you could reach out to him and hold him back, he stood up and took aim.

One shot. That was all you heard when Joel slumped to the floor next to you, clutching his stomach as dark red blood poured from the wound. Your eyes went wide and you saw red. Without thinking, you stood up and shot, taking one of the two men down with a yelp. The remaining raider ducked behind a display, and you dropped your rifle in favor of your handgun. Crouching low to the ground, you inched forward, careful of any broken glass that would give your position away. When you were on the other side of the display, you heard the man's labored breaths. He was scared. He was out of his element. And you had him right where you wanted him.

Silently tucking the gun in the back of your pants, you slid your hunting knife out from your ankle holster. You took a deep breath and lunged forward, driving the knife deep into the man's chest.

He dropped his gun and clutched weakly at your hands, but it was no use. His blood poured from the wound when you yanked your knife out with a grunt, and you watched as his hands slowly slid back down to his sides, his eyes still wide open and staring up at the ceiling.

You smirked, feeling victorious for only a moment before you remembered Joel. Dropping your knife, you rushed back to his side, only to find his face pale and his hands stained dark red.

"Joel!" you cried out, pressing your palms against the wound, hoping to slow the bleeding. His eyes drifted towards you, softening when he saw you were alive and unharmed. That you were going to make it.

Panic consumed you. Your heart was slamming against your ribs as you fumbled with your backpack, trying to find your first aid kit through the tears.

"I love you," he whispered, and you shook your head.

"Don't start with that, you're gonna be fine."

"Baby," he said weakly, and you choked back a sob.

"Hold on," you told him, still searching in your pack.

"Look at me," he said, and your hands stilled for a moment before you dragged your eyes back to him, your lower lip trembling as you took in his deteriorating state.

"I need to-" you began, but stopped to take in a shaky breath. "I need to patch you up and get you to the horses."

"No, you don't," he said softly, and more tears spilled from your eyes.

"Yes, I do. I gotta-"

"I ain't gonna make it, sweetheart," he slurred, and you could see by the amount of blood he was losing that he was right. But still, you pressed your palms against the gunshot wound, your fingers slipping through his thick and sticky blood.

"Don't say that. I can't do this without you," you whimpered, and closed your eyes for a brief moment. You felt his fingertips weakly grip your chin and you forced your eyes back open.

"Yes, you can," he said as firmly as he could. He was so pale and weak and it was making your stomach turn.

You shook your head, about to argue with him, but he stopped you.

"You keep goin', you hear me?" he said, and still, you shook your head from side to side, small sobs slipping past your lips. "Don't let this world win. You... go on and keep fightin'. Please. Be happy, baby. For me."

"No!" you cried out, spittle dripping from your lips now, mixing with your tears. "I won't! I-I can't!"

"You can," he repeated, and gave you a weak smile. "I'm ready, baby. It'll be okay."

You squeezed your eyes shut tight, the tears leaking out, hot and angry on your cheeks as you sobbed over him, clutching his hand in yours so tightly, like if you squeezed hard enough, you could give him your lifeforce. Give him your breath. But moments later, his grip weakened and when you opened your eyes, his head slumped to the side and his lifeless eyes stared off into the distance.

"Joel!" you screamed, sitting up in bed, drenched in sweat with tears still streaming down your face. You looked to your side, where he normally slept, but he wasn't there. Panic squeezed your throat, your chest fucking hurt, but you flung the blankets off you and ran towards the door. Still not hearing any sounds, you raced down the stairs, almost tripping in the process but you had a grip on the railing to keep you steady.

When your eyes finally landed on his familiar form stretched out on the couch, his back to you, you allowed yourself to breathe a sigh of relief.

Reality came back to you now. You had your fight about leaving Jackson, but he won and you slept apart. You never left. He never got shot. It was all just a horrible dream.

You stumbled over to the couch, your tears unstoppable, the nightmare too vivid, too real. Your trembling hands clutched his shoulder as you fell to your knees on the floor, shaking him awake.

"What?" he grumbled, clearly still pissed off about your fight.

"I'm sorry!" you sobbed loudly, and when he realized something was wrong, he whipped around to face you.

"What happened?" he asked, his voice still thick with sleep.

"I-I had-" you began, then you hiccupped, cutting yourself off. His face was etched with concern as he forced himself up and cupped your face.

"C'mon, talk to me," he urged, the fear in his eyes reflecting back to you as you looked at him, still not sure what was real and what wasn't.

"I had a nightmare," you finally managed to get out. "About our fight. That we... we went out like I wanted and-and-" you collapsed into another fit of sobs, your shoulders shaking violently.

"Hey, it's alright," he soothed, pulling you up and into his lap and rubbing your back. You pressed your tear stained face into his neck, inhaling deeply, grounding yourself. He was alive. He was here. Everything was fine.

"I'm sorry," you whimpered, your throat still tight but your tears were slowing down. "I'm sorry we fought. I don't wanna go out anymore. I don't need new clothes, it was stupid, I'm sorry."

"Shh, it's okay," he said, pulling you tightly against his chest, "I'm sorry we fought, too. I just wanna keep us safe."

"I know, you're right," you said, pulling back a bit and wiping your nose with the back of your hand. "Will you come back to bed?"

"Yeah," he replied with half a smirk. "'Course I'll come back to bed, baby. Don't cry, it's alright."

You let him lead you up the stairs and to your bedroom, your side of the bed still damp with sweat but it didn't bother you. Joel was safe and sound and in your arms and you didn't care if you had to wear a potato sack for the rest of your life, as long as you had Joel, nothing else mattered.

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