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eupheme · 3 months ago

Text

— from eden

old man logan x mutant!f!reader

rated e - 5k

tags: Logan timeline, sorta divergent/fix-it fic, angst, hurt/comfort, everyone is going through it, wound tending, dark thoughts/references to violence/death (aligning with themes in the movie), neurodegenerative disorders (Charles), multiple pov, established relationship, shower sex, oral sex, PiV, feelings

a/n: still on my druid!mutant kick - reader absorbs the sun via photosynthesis and can transfer that energy to grow plants. no features described but small details & a codename are noted in reference to her mutation.

Every day you wish you could do more. More for Charles. More for him. But the harsh sun eats away at you. You weren’t built for this heat.

You were meant for gardens. For Eden.

But you think… as your fingers trail through the earth, your life force flowing down into the greenery below - if something can grow here, in the desert - then maybe, so can hope.

Logan finds you in the garden.

It's generous to call it that. Carved out with old bits of metal, used like a spade. Scraping through dirt, packed and hard from the burning sun. Dust swirling around you - catching under your nails that are as tough as bark.

The only bit of green for a couple miles, at least. Incongruous to the climate - all you can see is desert around you.

It's only you that keeps it alive.

Your hands pass over each stalk and stem. The low thrum that used to come so easily, siphoning your life force to the roots below, comes slowly now.

Used to be able to make things bloom, just by feeling.

A garden had sprouted your first night together. Blooming lush - vines twining around the bookshelves. Wildflowers in your hair. Moss spreading out across the wooden floor, out and into the mansion.

Everyone had known you were in love.

It feels so long ago now. Another lifetime.

Now you can only tend them. You’re at your strongest in the rain, but it’s day twenty-three of sunny, blue skies. No more than a wisp of a cloud on the horizon.

It leaves you wilting. A half-broken lawn chair, dragged to face the packed-dirt road. Watching for him, as your face tips up to the sky. A slowly-recharging battery, one that hasn't been full in years.

But the sun is unforgiving. The tips of your fingers and toes darken - it's too much.

And not enough.

An eye cracks open, with the slam of a car door. There's a limp to his gait - a hand braced against the limo. Something you notice immediately. The way it takes him longer than usual to reach you.

That severe frown softening at the edges, but still holding a weight he's carried for years. A brown bag held out silently, the top crumpled from his fist.

Your fingers brush his, and you know he can see the burn. The mark between his eyebrows deepens.

"Don't push too hard, blossom," Logan rasps, "'Bout time to go in."

It makes your jaw grit, as you bristle.

You want to protest. Ask him "well, what in the hell do you think you're doing/?" He's the last person that should be lecturing you, as he shifts - a crimson glint of red near his collar.

But you don't. He doesn't mean it that way.

It comes out wrong, you've learned that by now. Misplaced anger - seeping into your roots like poison. Loving him so fiercely that it aches, to see him this way.

The Logan you knew and loved changed that day at the mansion.

"I will." You tamp the feelings down, burying them with the rest, "Let me get these started, and I'll be in."

He lingers, for a long moment.

You rip the seed packets open, scattering them across the earth you've prepared. Essentials, fit to feed Charles.

Carrots, beans, tomatoes, onions. Kale and fresh berries.

A packet of wildflowers.

There's a lump, lodged in your throat. You look over your shoulder, just as he disappears inside.

An inhaled breath, as you begin.

He knows you hate it, all the dust. The heat.

Knows you stay, for him.

Logan always was your sun.

"He's bleedin' again." It's muttered out, in greeting.

Caliban's eyes flick towards the back door, "Don't know if I've got enough peroxide to get it out."

Your smile is weary, "We'll figure it out. Always do."

A fine pair the two of you make. Only the mornings and evenings spent together, in your slow rotation of work-Charles-eat-sleep, and always just out of sync.

He tends to the smelting plant. An attempt at keeping things in place, keeping things running. Something simmering on the makeshift stove, as you empty your apron into the sink.

Outside is your domain - days spent with wind-whipped skin. The desert heat surrounding you.

"Could use some potatoes," Caliban offers, without thinking.

Peeling back the husk and silk on an ear of corn, fished out. Peering down at the kernels beneath - still hesitating, even though it's clean.

Your arms cross over your chest, head tilting, "Well, you're welcome to ask him."

It all comes out hushed, even though you know Logan is out with Charles. He gives shoots a reproachful look your way - he's already taken an earful. Doesn't need another from you.

He's been with you both for a year now. A second set of hands, as the seizures worses. You hadn’t wanted to admit you needed help - but Logan had saw right through you.

Charles’s space feels like a tomb.

Each minute you spend in that dome makes you crave another five outside. Too much for you to handle alone - something that still eats away at you.

Never felt like you were doing enough.

Carried the others with you, as he did. The shame of feeling like you should've done more. That you should have been there with them.

Buried beneath the rose bush that bloomed, when you had first told Logan you loved him.

You had thought that he had been. Had spent two years adrift, so certain he had been lost. That adamantium had not been enough to suppress the force of the seizures - that it ripped through the metal and took him from you.

It's why you cling now. Worried. Seeing how each day changes him, like it does you.

It's why you grow the vegetables for them. Even then, it's not enough. The suppressants they released still worked its way into the water and soil. You'd already ingested enough food to have it affect you.

Used to eat for fun, for pleasure. Haven't had a bite in two years now. Haven't needed to, haven't wanted to. Looking to the sun instead, even if it burns.

Now, you're just maintaining. Trying not to worsen, trying your best to keep them afloat, even if it costs you.

"Sorry." You mutter.

Easing into the routine of ladling out bowls. Chunks of half-stale bread, from the last time he baked. Hadn't harvested as much wheat this season as you would have liked. Pests chewing up a portion before you noticed.

The drought makes you hazy. Running on fumes for a while now. Same as all the rest.

Two bowls set on a plastic tray. A glass of tepid water in a chipped mason jar tucked in the crook of your arm. Fingers swirling in the liquid to cool them, before you're tilting it back - taking a swallow. Just managing to ease your parched throat.

"How is he?" You ask.

Caliban's eyes are slow to meet yours. He looks at you like he knows something you don't. Few secrets between you, except ones like these that he keeps deep. It always sends a twist in your belly.

Curling vines, weaving between your ribs.

"Logan or Charles, dearest?"

"Both." You sigh, "Either."

“Logan is… well. You saw him.” Caliban mutters. His nose twitches. A breath - as if he means to say something.

He falls silent instead, pivoting, “And Charles still thinks he's in Macbeth."

It makes your heart lurch, how so kind and sound a mind had changed. Not his fault and it only makes you love him more, after everything.

“Been asking about someone named Erik lately, too.”

You and Logan had agreed. It was better that Charles didn’t know, if he didn’t have to. That the two of you would bear it - shielding him like he had shielded so many for years.

But it never made the memories any easier.

His head inclines towards the trays, "You want me to take those out?"

Caliban knows you hate it.

You know the sun is still setting, sitting golden on the horizon.

A shake of your head, as the tray tucks under your arm.

“Thanks, Cal. I've got it."

The music comes first - 60s-era jazz, floating through the opened door. Voices come after, as you step into the shadows.

“-sorrow words, the grief that does not speak," Charles's reciting pitches louder, as his chair wheels in front of you, "Knits up the o-er wrought heart and bids it break-”

Logan stalks after, reaching for the controls.

"Enough."

"Thrice the brinded cat-"

The tray clatters on the top of an old desk. You step in front of them, arms spread wide, "Charles."

The chair halts, going still.

Something scrapes at your brain, when his hazy eyes meet yours. Fingers sifting through files. A dealer skillful hands, l shuffling through cards - snapping them back into place.

Plucking old memories from you like weeds. Dragging them to the surface, long buried.

He doesn’t mean to.

Doesn’t even know he’s doing it.

Your breath coming in a ragged gasp, eyes meeting Logan's. He doesn't need Charles powers to know what you're thinking.

Afraid that he'll see. What he’ll remember.

"Come on." Logan is hoisting him out of his chair. A grunt as he struggles, near dead-weight in his arms, “Enough poking around.”

Depositing Charles in his hospital bed, the last golden rays of sun streaking across the worn blankets. Logan just starts to move away, when a hand fists in his dark tie, dragging him close.

"You're not listening to me. No one listens to me." The words almost seem lucid, with how sharp his eyes suddenly shine, "Liberty, Logan. They're waiting for you. Eden-“

"No one is waiting for me." It's barked out.

Uneasy, tipping towards harsh.

Logan's patience has always ran thinner than a knife’s blade. It's love that keeps him here, you know that as well as you know your own name.

You have to step between them to break the connection. Hand wrapping around Charles' wrists - soothing, easing them down into his lap - as Logan fishes a bottle out of his pocket.

Slipping a needle into his arm. It's fluid, how you move together. Easier to help him together, then when you're alone.

It soothes the seizures. Thoughts slipping between his fingers, as he settles. The anger with it, as you bring dinner over to them. Your hand extended to take the pills that Logan shakes from a bottle.

"Take these, Professor." You coax, handing over a stained mug from the attached tray.

The chalky pills disappear, with the tilt of his head and a swallow of weak tea. Only then does it feel like you breathe. Letting your fingers drift across the makeshift herb garden he has sitting on the desk, something you tend together.

Eyes closing, as you concentrate. Pink petals blooming, plucked from the stem, and placed in Charles' open palm.

Logan's gaze a heavy weight - too tired from the day - you could already hear it in his voice. In the slow shift of his weight, as he eats.

"Only one?" The wizened fingers close like a cage around the flower, "You’ll have to work harder, Crescere."

The name is one that you haven't heard in years. It ricochets through you like a bullet, threatening to rip you open. You must show it in your face - a hand reaches to smooth down your back.

It soothes you, until an edge creeps into Charles's voice.

"If you cannot do more, how will you ever survive without soil?"

Logan goes stiff at the words. Breaking contact as if he'd been burned. A rough tilt of his head, as he pushes himself up.

“I’ll be inside.” It’s gritted out, through clenched teeth.

Leaving you alone, perched on the edge of Charles’s bed.

His mood already shifting, as it often did. The anger and confusion flaring. Melding with the medication that slows his tongue, dulls his thoughts.

“Crescere,” His eyes fix on you, while you watch the door creak shut. The moonlight has just started to stream in now, and it's just dark enough to imagine a breeze, “Have I told you about Eden?”

You tuck him in. The worn quilt tugged up high against his chest. A fingers smooth down to wrap in his - his hands frail with age, but his grip is still strong.

Tears prick your eyes, but you smile - your hand gently squeezing.

“Tell me again.”

His fingers fumble with the buttons. The black tie tugged loose, hanging against his chest. A hiss of breath, as sore shoulders roll. The dress shirt caught against his bicep, the sleeves still pushed up around his elbows.

There’s a hand against his shoulder. Your fingers slipping beneath the fabric, easing it down his arms.

“You gonna stop running from me?”

It’s soft, in the room that you share. A far cry from the mansion - all cozy, stained wood. Home.

Here, it’s sheet metal. Car batteries running a broken coffee maker, blankets stained with sweat. An industrial fan, slowly spinning where it’s mounted into the wall.

Wasn’t trying to run.

Just couldn’t shoulder your hurt, knowing he caused it himself. Knows that the heat eats away at you. Has watched how you struggle, though you hide it so well.

And the open seas - the sun and the salt water - would it be enough? Could you ever be happy, away in a place like that?

You’ve told him all you need is him. But pretty thing like you should be somewhere else.

Somewhere safe.

Knew he was too old for you, even back at the mansion - and that was when his hair was just starting to grey at the temples.

Now, he wishes he could convince you to go. Even if he couldn’t live without you.

But he knows your answer. That set of your jaw. Rooting you in place, unmoving.

It flickers in you here, as your arms wrap around him. Nose buried against the nape of his neck, as he exhales a breath that he’s held all day.

His muscles going lax as he leans into your embrace - letting you move him. Touch gentle as you guide him towards the bathroom. Fitting between spread thighs as he leans against the cracked counter, your fingers tracing the red-stained rips on the white tank beneath.

A cloth, wrapped tightly around his fist.

“Running to you,” Logan husks, “Just lost my way.”

You soften before his eyes.

Unwinding the wrappings to check the wound across his palm. Your lips pressed against scar tissue. Moving to backs of his knuckles, between the angry red slits.

Something in his chest lurches. Calming the beast, as his palm cups your cheek. Letting you lead him into the old ceramic tub, even though the space was narrow.

Lets you strip him down, knowing your eyes flicker over each scar. Looking for ones you missed, though you know them all.

Already knows what you’re going to say, when your gaze catches on the still-healing wound - a bullet beneath his collarbone. In his chest, through his bicep.

“Can’t keep taking hits, baby.” You fingers trace just shy of the wounds. Blood flaking, where he hadn’t washed well enough - two days spent in a shitty motel, each one thinking of you.

Need to shield yourself. Pick your battles.

He’s heard it all before.

Tried to earlier - wanted to gut the Alkali-Transigen fucker who had climbed into his limo. He is trying, even if it doesn’t seem like it.

All he got was a business card burning a hole in his pocket. A lie of omission like a lead weight in his belly.

Another tucked against his chest - the bullet nestled in the pocket of his shirt. Resting against his heart while he drives. Hidden, when he returns home.

It’s insurance - but it would still crush you to find it.

“I’ll ease up when you do.” He counters, though his voice softens, “Pushing too hard, sweetheart. We could stand to eat less, if you need a break.”

You sigh, as you lean into him. Face muffled against his chest, and he only just catches the words.

“When I used to imagine playing house with you,” You breathe, “I always thought it would be a little different.”

It makes his heart jolt.

Something tearing inside him, as his mouth presses against yours. A hand searching to turn the handle - the water stale. A weak spray that only reaches room temperature.

But it’s enough.

You wash the red from him. Swirling down the drain as you coat the washcloth with a sliver of soap. Careful in your movements, as your hair dampens.

As his hands catch at your hips, looking for an anchor.

A little huff when you fingers twirl - when he has to let go, to turn around. Soaping up his back, fingers raking through his hair.

The stress of the day sluices from him. Melts away as your lips press against his back, trailing across his shoulders. Nails tracing against his abdomen, as he leans into your touch.

It’s always been softer than he deserved.

And when your hand drifts lower, swirling soap against the dark trail of hair that leads down, he guides your hand the rest of the way.

A throb, at the soft inhale of your breath. Fingers that close around him, coaxing him to full hardness. His own scrape against the tile, as he props himself up.

Eyes half-lidded, as you nuzzle against his scars. Fist working him from root to tip - he can’t resist bucking into your touch.

His own hand wandering. Hesitant.

Afraid he won’t find you the same.

Reaching behind him, feeling the stretch of healing muscle and sinew as he cups the curve of your ass. A held breath loosened, when he hears the needy sound you make, when his fingers slip to trace between.

Teasing, drifting down to where you’re slick. Honeyed.

Always for him. Only for him.

His eyes fully shut now, as his fingers work inside you. Feeling the clench, the way your hand stutters.

Your breathing turning harsh, panting. His name whined out as your hand dips to cup him - the pressure coiling low in his belly. Hips nudging against his as he pets at your clit, smearing your skin with your need.

Turning, when he isn’t able to take it any longer. Always would be strong enough to do this - to hitch your thigh around his hip.

Lifting you enough to rub his flushed cock against your folds. Your nails biting red marks into his shoulders as he lines himself up-

The water cuts off.

The evenings rations depleted.

Your laugh is more of a whine than anything, but it’s still a sound he treasures.

His own lips curving, and it feels like the first time in days.

The words rasps out, coated with need.

“Let me take you to bed, honey.”

His skin is still damp when he lays you down.

Nestling you against the pillows - ignoring your soft protests of needing to take care of him, as he seeks out the honey between your thigh. Hands tracing up your leg, calf to knee. Up against smooth skin, until he can hitch one over his shoulder.

Letting him bury himself deeper. Tonguing at your clit. Down to dip inside you, a rough groan against your skin as his hips rut into the mattress.

He had you close already. You always unfurled for him, and that hadn’t lessened with his age. Automatic, in the way his fingers fit inside you, finding the spot that has your back arching as you cry out.

Stroking against it again and again, a groan caught in his throat as your fingers twist into his hair and tug.

Logan’s name a soft cry as he tastes you sweeten against his tongue. The tight pulse around his fingers, echoing where his lips shift to suck against your clit.

It’s only when you reach for his wrist does he stop, content to spent the night right here if you’d let him - make up for the time spent away.

Only then does he relent. His arm stretching out behind the pillows as he finally lays back, the tug of a smile as he watches you.

There’s a sweetness about you - all limp-limbed as your thigh lifts across his waist. Straddling him, as you lean - tugging supplies out of the end table.

Squirming, as his head lifts - unable to help mouthing at your breasts. A heady throb down low when he can feel your heart kick up a notch.

Always doing things out of order.

Each shift of your hips rubs your pussy against his cock. Slick and wet and warm, and he catches the curve of your lips.

The slow rhythm, as you pack padding against his wounds. Affixing tape to his skin, a kiss placed against one - as if it would help them heal faster.

His look heated, and he knows you feel it too. The hitch of your hips. The pressure when you grind down - your eyes blown dark when you look at him from beneath your lashes.

He can give you what you need.

A grunt, as a hand grasps at your hips. The loose supplies slipping from his abdomen, as he coaxes you into your knees.

His other hand wrapping around the base of his cock, tilting his hard length up to rest against your belly.

“Need you.” It’s gritted out.

On another day he might have swallowed it down. Let you come to him.

But right now, he can’t take any more teasing, wrapped in your soft touch. He’s already resisting the urge to drive into you, as you angle him against your opening.

The slightest pressure, as you start to give around him - opening up. And when you finally sink down flush against him, he forgets himself.

It’s now and it’s six years ago - all those evenings spent, entwined.

Fitting together, watching the way your brow still pinches as your body makes room to take him - the stretch as your hands curl into fists against his chest.

“Missed you, sweetheart.” It slips from him, when your hips fully meet his.

It only makes you squeeze more tightly around him, his breath caught in a low rumble in his chest.

Your own admission, as you dip down to kiss him, “Missed you more.”

Finding himself transfixed, in spite of the weariness. The ache in his bones that are now a part of him are forgotten in the way you watch him.

Eyes half-lidded, as you find your balance. Starting a slow grind of your hips, a look thrown his way when you feel his muscles string tight beneath you.

The lightest pressure of your palms against his chest, careful of his wounds.

“Want to make you feel good.” It’s a command, tinged with permission. It’s woven with love, and the thought of taking matters into his own hands ebbs.

“Always do, sweetheart,” Logan husks, “Every fucking time.”

Letting himself settle back against the mattress. Losing himself in the tight grip of your pussy. Your soft curves, as his hands wander.

Squeezing the soft flesh of your ass, urging you to ride him harder. Slipping up to tease at your tits, an upward flex of his hips when you cry out his name.

You once told him that you wanted him the first moment you met him. Now, he wishes he had met you sooner.

A year. A day. Even a minute.

The thought pulses in his chest, in time with his heart. Fingers skating over skin as you ride him. A flash of white when he thumbs against your clit, giving you something to grind against.

You’re molten around him. Soft and sweet and it’s all he can do to match the way you bounce on his cock. Feet planting against the bed to help can meet you, urging himself just that little bit deeper.

Melting just a little bit further, when you can’t help but lean down - needing his mouth against yours.

Flattening yourself against his chest, as your rhythm goes needy. Sloppy grinds instead of the sharp slap, taking him deep and keeping him there.

His thumb swirls, and your ragged moan breaks the kiss. Head dipping as you lean back - hips chasing your pleasure, rocking into his familiar touch.

Can smell how much you need it. How you drip around his cock, the coarse hairs matted with your desire.

Teeth clenching, and it only makes him fuck to harder into you, to loosen your tongue.

“Logan, fuck-” It’s whimpered, in that pretty tone that he loves, “Think I’m gonna come-”

The leash he grasps onto slipping between his fingers. A low heat in his belly burning brighter, a pressure ticking down with each slap of his hips.

“Know you’re close. Let go, baby. So fucking good for me-”

Something rasped out, as you flutter around his cock. Taking him deep, spearing him into your belly.

“Fuck, I can feel you coming on my cock.” It comes out ragged, his breath catching, “Gonna make me come, too-”

Your gaze is dark. Hands pressing harder against his chest as you find yourself again, riding him harder. Panting through it, as it tips towards too much - your orgasm still burning brightly.

He's surrounded by you, and he only wants more. Fingers pinching into your hips, driving himself into you.

“Wanna make you come,” You breathe, “Want to feel you tomorrow-”

It’s enough that he forgets himself. A hands tight against your hip, a sharp tug that pulls you flush. The other curls around the back of your neck as he flips you beneath him.

Your gasping laugh pairs with his snarl. An arm hooking under your knee - pushing, opening you up as he holds you in place.

Watching how your eyes glaze. Following the tug of your fingers, bringing his mouth down to yours. Your pulse thundering beneath his thumb, as his tongue licks into your mouth.

He tastes like you, as his eyes slip shut. You linger on his lips, smeared across his beard. A ragged moan as your hips lift to meet the sharp smack-smack-smack of his hips, and then his vision is going hazy.

Your name snarled out, twining with soft sentiments. Hilting himself just as the pressure reaches its peak, his cock throbbing as he spills with a growl inside you.

The tension easing with each flex of his hips, fucking himself empty into your warmth. Into your embrace, your arms wrapping around and keeping him close. The scruff of his beard scrapes your cheek, but you only hitch a thigh around his hips - nudging him deeper.

Logan would stay here forever, buried in you, if he could. It slips from him, then - rasped low into your ear.

“Fuck, I love you.”

He should tell you more often. Would tell you every day, if not for the guilt that twists in his guts each time you say it back.

But tonight, he can only lean into it. The soft whisper, as your lips drag against his cheek. You say it just like you used to. It still comes just as easily.

“I love you too, Logan.”

And when his breathing settles and his eyes open - his chest catches.

You're adorned with your devotion - hair dotted with alyssum. Forget-me-nots and primrose dappled across your shoulders, yarrow and heather blooming around your curves.

Had learned the names of them, long ago. They come back, as his fingers trace over each bloom.

You’re beautiful.

But you always have been.

Prettiest goddamn thing he’s ever seen.

He bites harder, when he’s wounded.

No more than a cornered animal. But the anger - it takes a hold on him. Leaving him to soften, when there’s a hand he knows.

Making words slip from him that he’d tuck inside, on a different day.

“I do it for you, blossom.” It comes out quiet, in the darkened room, “You know that right?”

You shift against his shoulder. Head cradled against his chest, ear pressed to his heart.

“We do it for Charles,” You breathe, half-asleep. Fingers splaying across his sternum, tracing against the dark whorls of hair.

His own brush over petals. Used to help pluck them from you, after stolen moments during missions. Would love the way your face screwed up - a soft veil of embarrassment washing over you. His own lips pulled in a smug smile, as he had tucked one behind you ear.

Logan huffs, the sound low. Almost a laugh.

“I keep going for you.”

His heart would keep beating for a long time, but he thinks it would stop if yours did.

You press yourself tighter against him. It’s mumbled against his skin, “Keep going for you, too.”

There’s salt against his skin, tears you can’t afford to shed. Silent, as the stars creep higher in the sky above you.

Should be out driving, right now. Can’t bring himself to leave.

So he holds you, until your breathing slows. Until the tension eases once again, sleep taking you.

You never were afraid of him. Only for him.

Never hesitated to crawl into bed beside him, even with his nightmares. Can still remember your insisting.

Clip the stem of the flower, and the bloom will fade. Skewer it though, and it will grow around it - oozing golden ichor until it heals.

It's supposed to be a comfort.

But Logan doesn’t know how to tell you that he’s afraid that he plucked you from the earth, long ago.

You just haven’t realized it yet.

Logan finds you in the garden.

Charles is out with you today. Tucked beneath the afternoon shadows of the smelting plant. He would laugh - does laugh - at your excuse of a garden. It pales in comparison to the mansion. The old ivy that crawled up the walls, across the sprawling grounds.

You laugh with him, because - what else is there to be done?

The sound dies, as the limo comes back early. A hand shades your eyes, as he steps out.

Still weary, though not as much as yesterday. Worry set in the lines around his eyes the grit of his jaw.

The reason revealed, when he steps to the side. A girl, stumbling out of the back seat of the limo.

Her eyes are feral, and there’s something so familiar about her that it steals your breath.

“Crescere.” Charles breathes - more lucid than you’ve seen him in days, “That is Laura. She’s the mutant I told you about. The one we have to help get to Eden.”

And for a moment, he’s the Charles he was a decade ago. The one you would have followed to the end.

Something blooms in your chest, at the sight of the girl.

The mutant, when there hasn’t been a new one in so long. A tight knot unfurling inside you, and it feels like a new beginning.

It feels like hope.

and then they all left to find Eden together and nothing bad ever happened again! 😌💖 I'm heading back to Trouble Will Find Me and Come On And Show Me after this, just was struck with this idea and wanted to explore it! thanks so much for reading!!

#logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #logan howlett x you #wolverine smut #logan howlett #james logan howlett x reader #xmen x reader #logan howlett x fem!reader #logan howlett x f!reader #old man logan

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dxxdhood · 11 months ago

Text

convince me

pairing: wade wilson x gn!reader

summary: deadpool forced me to write smut where the two of you act out the position you see in an,,,, ahem,,, erotic video.

tags: smut (18+), fingering, penetration, slight degradation, finger sucking, dom!wade wilson, sub!reader

wc: 1.2k

“Babe, listen, the mistake we made was going to White Castle sober.”

“Excellent defense, Mr. Wilson. You ever think about switching to a career in law?”

“Can’t, my tagline doesn’t transfer across professions. Calling yourself the Lawyer with the Mouth is like saying you’re the fanfic writer who’s horny.”

He manages to make you chuckle, as usual, even though you were supposed to still be annoyed about your frankly terrible dinner. But walking back into your apartment has you less inclined to hold grudges, somehow. It’s probably the promise of cuddling up in bed together. Either that, or it’s all the hilarious nicknacks Wade keeps dropping off in your living room. The fucked-up Pikachu plush where the eyes and cheeks are swapped is particularly getting to you.

“Wait for me in bed, alright?” you say.

“Oh?” Wade waggles his non-existent eyebrows. “Is this little cutie planning something?”

“Yeah, planning to spend an hour in the bathroom,” you shake your head and fail to hold back a smile. “Find us a good movie to watch while I’m out.”

To nobody’s surprise, you both end up on a site that starts in p and ends in hub.

“Nobody can get into that position,” your inner critic bursts out of you at the best of times.

You can feel Wade smirking from where his face is tucked into your neck, cuddling you from behind. “Well, in the words of Clue 1985,” he runs a scarred hand down your waist. “Sure, they can. Let me show you.”

He nips at your neck, kissing at the sensitive skin of your jaw. You exhale, trying to calm the burning sensation building in your gut, but you struggle to stay patient when he starts sucking a bruise into your collarbone.

“Wade!” you gasp, trying and failing to stop your body from grinding your ass against him. He responds in turn, moving closer to you, his hard cock slowly rubbing against your ass.

He flips over, now perched on top of you and caging you in, arms on either side of your head as he kisses you. Every time he deepens the kiss, makes you feel like you’ll never want to come back up for air, he fucks with you by biting at your bottom lip or scratching his teeth against your gums.

You bang your fists against the mattress a few too many times, understandably annoyed with his teasing, so Wade grips both of your wrists with one hand and holds them above you, plastering them to the headboard.

The action has you moaning into his mouth, and the bottom half of your body continues to move on its own, grinding against the air now. You feel so desperate, your face heats up thinking about how much of a mess you already are for him. Wishing he would close the new gap between your bodies, you arch your back off the bed, trying to feel more of his body against yours.

He giggles, watching you wriggle around. “Hold your horses there, cutie. We’re not even at the good part yet.”

Wade brings a hand up to your face, rubbing his thumb across your cheek. You’re so thrown off by the sudden show of affection that you don't even process him slipping a rough finger into your mouth.

“Suck,” he commands. And something about Wade only using a single word when he’s usually so noisy has you whining as you circle his finger with your tongue.

His big brown eyes are glued to your lips, watching them worship his finger like he’s all you’ve ever wanted. Around the time you start bobbing up and down his finger, he slips it out of you and pats your cheek.

“Good baby, such a good slut for me,” he whispers as he slides your shorts and underwear off in one motion. He slicks up the finger and you with a small bottle of lube and carefully starts slipping into your entrance.

“What? Where’d you even–” you snap your gaze sideways to your bedside table, which is curiously unopened.

He taps the front pocket of his pants, “Never leave home without it.” Did he really always have that in his pocket? At the fucking White Castle?!

He talks as he fingers you, pressing against your walls casually as if he isn’t making you lose your mind. “You look impressed, babe. Tell me you’re not impressed.”

“Oh my god, shut up!” you groan as he reaches deeper inside you, adding another finger and stretching you further.

“As you wish,” he pumps his fingers at a faster pace, gripping your hip with one hand and bringing his face to your chest so he can lick at a nipple. A spark shoots down your spine and you can feel him chuckle as your body starts to shiver.

His fingers are pounding against your insides. You can feel yourself throbbing around him, clenching and wanting more, so he adds a third finger and fucks you at a punishing pace. You bite your own lip to keep back what was going to be an embarrassing moan, but he nips at your nipple and you let out a small shout.

Just as he finally starts reaching at that spot in you that has you seeing stars, he slips his fingers out. You're going to berate him for throwing you off just as the pleasure was building, but he already has his cock placed at your entrance, so close to sliding in.

“You ready?” he whispers, and you nod so quickly you think you may have pulled a muscle.

He releases a breathy moan as he slides all the way in you, reaching right where you need him but still stubbornly not giving it to you.

“Wade, move!” you cry. He responds by smacking your ass and pulling you into his lap. You’re seated on his thighs as he throws your legs over his shoulders, folding you in half as he starts thrusting in and out of you. The position has you feeling so much closer to him, like he has free reign to stroke every part of you.

You grip onto his shoulders and try to interlock your ankles together to help you hold onto him as he pumps his cock into you faster. Wade moans so deep it sounds like a growl and you clench around him at the sound.

“Fuck!” he cries before kissing you, harshly making out as his hips continue to piston inside you. You can feel the vibrations of his moans against your own mouth, and it’s enough to make your muscles twitch around him again.

“Shit, Wade,” you whisper. “I’m going to–”

“Yeah, babe?” he says in between kissing you. “Go, do it. Come for me.”

You rip away from his mouth and release with a moan, your entire body burning as you quiver around his cock. He leans his head into your neck and bites down on the juncture between your neck and shoulder as he comes, filling you so completely you never want him to leave.

You finally come down from your orgasm and relax in his lap, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. Wade is still panting, but he keeps kissing across your face, smiling when you reciprocate and kiss his forehead.

“You’re making every thought that passes through my head sound like an ABBA song,” he whispers, eyes closed.

“That might be the closest thing to a love confession I’ve gotten out of you.”

#wade wilson smut #deadpool smut #wade wilson x reader #deadpool x reader #wade wilson x gn! reader #gn reader #dom character #sub reader #deadpool x gn! reader #marvel smut #marvel #deadpool #wade wilson #smut

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peachesofteal · 9 months ago

Text

Simple Math / Part Eleven

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 6k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI. Graphic depiction of domestic violence. This fic contains mature themes. Mention of pregnancy. Nurse!reader, hospital setting, medical inaccuracies. Bun is in pain, goes to a doctor. Dissociation. Lots of despair, fear, anxiety. The 141 reunites. Nightmares. Comfort. Tenderness. Angst. Welcome home.

“Knock knock.”

“Bunny.” Johnny murmurs, lifting an arm, urging you close, a moon to a tide.

“Hi.” You bend, moving into the hug, pressing your face to his neck for a quick second before straightening.

“I miss ye.” You survey him, glancing at the monitor, the brace on his leg and hip, the disconnected fluid line. He’s doing well. You’re so relieved to see it with your own eyes, ribs rattling with a long exhale. Satisfied, you smile, tension bleeding from your spine.

“Simon says you’re terrorizing your night nurse.”

“Am not. She’s jus’ not gentle, or quiet. Wakes me up.”

“That’s her job.” He scoffs, waving you off. You settle in the chair at his side, and he takes your hand in his, lifting it to his lips, dotting kisses across your knuckles. His affection is freeing, sweet and easy, a warm breeze on a spring day. It overflows your heart with warmth until you think it might spill over, and you go with it, following his lead, even though your better judgement, the girl in the mirror, wails.

“Ye look good. Better. Swellin’ gone down?” He cradles your chin, turning your face from left to right, inspecting with a crystal-clear sapphire gleam.

“Yeah, my shoulder is still sore but… yeah. I feel better.”

“’m glad. Simon keepin’ ye off yer feet all day then?”

“Oh my god.” You laugh. “He keeps telling me to lay down. Or asking if I want to take a nap.” Johnny chuckles.

“Sounds right. He’s a bit o’ a mother hen, that one. He cares though, we both do.”

“I know.” You squeeze his hand. “And I missed you too.”

“He said ye an’ him had a nice chat the other night?” Your cheeks burn. Oh god. Did he… “I’m a wee bit jealous.” He complains, turning his nose up and away in a mock pout, and you roll your eyes.

You laid in bed all night and thought about these moments. Thought about Simon’s mouth on yours, his hand on your ass, squeezing and stroking. You thought about how he tasted, how he smelled, the way he looked at you, like you were a part of their world, a piece of them.

And you thought about Johnny. Johnny alone here, Johnny trapped in the hospital, healing, unable to leave or even get out of bed. How anxious he must be, being separated from his family, how frustrating it is to spend so long trying to get better.

You wanted to give him something. Wanted to make him feel better, see him smile.

Here goes nothing.

Leaning, standing, you dip into his orbit, lightly bumping your noses together. It takes no time until his good hand is around the back of your neck, crashing your mouth into his, and he breathes you in, holding you steady, tongue and teeth and lips swirling together in a ubiquitous, overwhelming haze. He tastes like summer rain, the feeling in the air before a giant storm, electric and blazing, brilliant glow transferring between the two of you, lightning striking a mountaintop. He nips your bottom lip, heat flooding your stomach, and you pull away slowly, his eyes jeweled and shimmering, brilliantly blue.

“Bunny,” You try to swallow a quiet giggle and fail. “I’ll have to tell ye I’m jealous more often.”

“Don’t take advantage.” You playfully scold.

“Me? Take advantage?” He pretends to be outraged, voice piquing higher, and you laugh again. “How can I take advantage when ‘m the one stuck here in this bed while ye two are at home, playin’ house, takin’ couch naps and gettin’ butt rubs. No one cares about Johnny, no-“

“Shhh.” You press your lips to his, silencing him, remaining in the kiss that’s long and soft and saccharine. He sneaks his tongue back between your teeth, mischievous and wild, every bit the man you’re drawn to, an attraction you can’t fight.

“Well.” Simon clears his throat from the doorway, brows raised, mask snug. “Hope I’m not interrupting.” You don’t know why, but you fly backwards, nearly stumbling, cheeks on fire. You feel like you’ve been caught doing something you shouldn’t, and that feeling, the pit in the bottom of your stomach, is all too reminiscent.

It frightens you.

“Whoa, hey.” Johnny tries to snag a finger around your wrist, but you step out of the way.

“It’s alright.” Simon moves inside fully, clicking the door shut behind him. “You’re not in trouble. Nothing is wrong, I was just kidding. That’s my fault.” You shake your head.

He’s not mad. Johnny is fine. Everything is fine.

You’re overreacting. You’re making a mess of this.

You shouldn’t even be doing this in the first place. What’re you doing? Who are you kidding?

“I’m s-sorry.” You stammer, hands wringing together anxiously.

“Ye dinnae have anything to be sorry about.” Johnny protests, still trying to reach for you.

Get it together. You have to get it together.

You close your eyes.

Deep breath. In and out. You can do it. Just breathe.

It works. You’re steadier, and you meet their watchful gazes as your eyes open.

“You okay?” Simon murmurs, moving very slowly to the other side of the bed where you’re standing, like he’s approaching a spooked, scared, wild animal.

“Yeah. Sorry. Just… had a moment. I’m fine.” Not entirely true, but that’s alright. You feel a little unsteady, a little unnerved, and Johnny frowns.

“Ye should sit.”

“I’m fine.”

“Bunny, please. For me?” He bats his eyelashes, and you want to groan.

But you lower yourself in the chair all the same.

Quiet falls over the room. It’s awkward and stiff, and you curse yourself for ruining the moment.

“Hey.” Simon soothes, reading your mind. “Hey, you’re alright. Everything is fine.” You nod, unsettled. He squeezes your good shoulder and dips past you, leaning to press a gentle kiss to Johnny’s brow, before dotting his nose and pushing their lips together. Their kiss is long, languid touch melting away to expose their connection, trust and love on full display. Delicate and rare, their affection makes your heart flutter, pulchritudinous whispers given to one another as Simon holds Johnny’s hand, stroking a familiar pattern into his skin, something similar to the way he touches you. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine. Wish they’d let me out of this bloody bed.” Johnny grumbles. You clear your throat.

“They’re waiting on your wrist. Once your wrist can support your weight on crutches, then you’ll be able to start PT and be released.”

“Ach. I know.” He’s frustrated, it’s clear. You know it’s not easy, being here, being separated, stuck in a hospital.

“It won’t be too long.” You try to reassure him, and he nods, still a little forlorn. “Here,” you stand with a burst of confidence, knocking his arm with the back of your hand as a direction, “scooch over.”

His eyes light. Simon laughs.

You fold yourself onto the edge of the bed, turned on your side, curled along where he’s the least banged up, careful of the sensitive graft lurking beneath his hospital gown.

“There. That better?” His good arm wraps around you carefully, settling on your ribs, a thumb tracing the wrinkle of your shirt.

“Aye, much better.” Your knees are bent, and cool air ghosts over your lower back, where your shirt has ridden up and exposed your skin. You shiver.

“Cold?” Simon murmurs, and you nod. He’s close, hovering, pulling a blanket up from the end of the bed to cover both you and Johnny. He tucks it around the two of you carefully and leans forward, pulling his mask down again to brush his lips across Johnny’s brow.

You watch in a daze. They don’t speak, but there’s something happening between them, something being said in their eyes as Simon holds his face briefly, and Johnny nods.

They both look to you, your bottom lip caught between teeth.

“Want one too?” Simon hums, cupping the back of your head. “Here.” He kisses you, lingering in it, heat of his naked mouth still a shock to your system.

Johnny is beaming, and cuddles you as close as possible, cheek resting atop your forehead.

They make you dizzy. All of it feels like some kind of dream, a world impossible, a fantasy suddenly turned real life. You’re on the verge of spinning out of control inside it, losing yourself.

It doesn’t help that everything you’ve done over these last few years, this identity, this life, the work that went into hiding and planning and saving and scraping, trying to stay unseen and unnoticed-

Was all for nothing.

“Bunny?” Johnny whispers, bringing you back to them. Simon is settled in the recliner, the same one from the ICU room, but his arm is stretched past your head, fingers playing idly in Johnny’s very long mohawk.

“Sorry. I’m here.”

“Where did ye go?” He tightens his hold, and you snuggle in closer, hiding away from everything bearing down on you, the pain and the panic and the doubt. You hide your face from it, refuse to acknowledge it, desperately trying to stay in this moment, hoping to just be… be here with them. In the sun.

“Nowhere.”

A day passes. Then another, and another, and another. Your face nearly looks normal, puffiness and swelling practically gone, and your neck aches less and less with each passing day.

Your shoulder, on the other hand, is a problem.

It never stops hurting. You struggle to get your arm through your shirts, can barely lift it, can't pick anything up, and it’s so sore, tender, and stiff, like it’s been dislocated or worse, broken. You’re worried, worried about going back to work without a full range of motion, worried about being in pain.

Worried about being even more permanently damaged than you already are.

Just another tally mark. Just another thing you must live with now, a permanent remnant of him, a forever reminder of just how foolish you really are.

You’re weak. You’re stupid. You’re damaged.

The pain breaks you down. It prevents you from sleeping, keeps you twisting and turning through a roil of dark dreams. It depresses you, sinks its teeth into your flesh and gnaws on the pieces touched by the sun, the parts of your heart still beating, somehow.

It reminds you of everything you’re desperate to forget.

It all comes crashing down one morning. The despair. The helpless feeling brewing in your stomach. The loneliness. It keeps you there, in bed, in agony, past breakfast.

It keeps you there, until you hear the creak of the stairs, a firm knock.

“I’m coming in.” Simon advises, trying the door, cracking it enough to stick his head through.

You’re crumpled in the middle of the mattress, pillows strewn about from trying to find a comfortable position, tears already dried. Your shoulder hurts so bad, and you don’t know why, don’t know why it’s not getting better, not healing.

“Hey, sleepyhead.” He sits at your side, hand resting on your hip, inspecting the worry lines, the frown tugging at your lips. “What’s going on?” Guilt swamps you.

“It’s nothing, my shoulder just kept me up, so I’m a little tired. That’s all.” You paste on your work smile, forced and believable, but he only shakes his head.

“Don’t do that.” He thumbs your brow. “I think you should see a doctor.”

“N-no.” You can’t. He doesn’t understand. They’ll want to take x-rays. X-rays lead to questions.

He never takes you at face value. Always pushing. Always digging, looking you over. “Why not?”

“It’s… it’s not necessary. I’m fine, it’s probably just a deep bruise.”

“You’d be experiencing less pain if that was the case.” You raise an eyebrow. He shrugs. “I know a little bit. We all have basic medic training, and I’ve been reading up, for when Johnny gets home.” He pats your hip. “Let’s make you an appointment.” You shake your head.

“No!” It’s too sharp, too insistent, and he freezes. You wince. “I’m sorry. It’s just-“

“You can’t go to a doctor.” He finishes, like he knows. “Tell me why, sweetheart.” You take a shaky breath.

You can’t. You shouldn’t.

Sunlight taps against the iron that’s encrusted around your heart. It knocks, wanting to be let in. It searches for weakness, places of opportunity, slivers of space where it can find its way.

Your mouth starts moving before you give it permission, like it knows this is where you’re headed, no matter how hard you fight, no matter how deeply the survivor’s logic is ingrained in your brain.

“It… it’s not safe.”

“It creates a trail.” He surmises, and you nod. For a wild moment, you wonder if he’s a plant. If they’re a trap, designed to get you to lower your guard, fabricated to encourage you to trust, to love, just so the jaws of Philip’s cruelty can close around you at the most opportune moment.

They wouldn’t. They’re not. You’re being ridiculous. You’re paranoid.

“We’ll make it under my name. Our primary is service member focused, and very discreet. You’ll be safe.” He makes it hard to argue, even though you want to. You should.

“I- I don’t know.”

“I can’t stand to see you in pain like this.” He rebukes, and then smiles softly, eyes lighting up. “Besides, I’m going to need your help. Johnny’s coming home on Friday.”

“He is?” You push upward. “Really?”

“Really.” He’s beaming, radiant sunshine spilling from his lips, and it makes you emotional, seeing him so happy, so weightless. “He passed a strength test on his wrist this morning. He needs a few days of PT in hospital, and then he can do it outpatient. His care team has signed off, and he’s ready.”

“Oh my god, that’s great!”

“It is. But I want both of you on the mend, not just one. Please.” It doesn’t take much more for you to concede, unable to find an excuse or a good enough reason, one he’s not able to combat.

“Alright, I guess.”

“Simon. Good to see you.” The doctor extends his hand and Simon shakes it readily, keeping his body positioned between you and the physician, one hand still on your knee.

He’s had a hand on you for the last half hour. You’ve been rattling on the exam table, shifting and fretful, disquieted energy spilling forth since he coaxed you into the car this morning.

“Dr. Fitch.”

“This is my patient?” He motions to you, and Simon stands to the side, concentrating, eyes focused above the mask. You give your name, and the provider repeats it with a warm smile.

“Hi, I’m Dr. Fitch.” You raise your good arm to shake his hand, and he pulls the rolling stool underneath him, taking a seat opposite Simon at your knee.

A warm palm flexes at your lower back. It’s soothing, comforting.

I’m here, it says. You’re safe.

“Simon says you’ve been having some shoulder pain?”

“Yeah, I had… I had an injury. Thought there was some soft tissue damage, maybe some minor bruising, but the pain is too persistent.”

“Mind if I take a look?” He points to the side you’re clearly favoring.

“Sure.” It’s not comfortable, to have another man’s hands on you outside of your job. There’s no trust there, no familiarity like there is with Simon and Johnny, and your body knows it, practically vibrating as he walks his fingers up your scapula. Simon stays close, still with a hand at your back, watching intently.

Dr Fitch holds your elbow, and slowly lifts your arm until you’re telling him to stop, pins and needles radiating through your shoulder and up your neck.

“I think we need an x-ray so we can really see what’s going on.” Your fingers curl, nails digging into your palm.

Fuck.

“I… I think I just need a sling, or an immobilizer for a few weeks. Give it some time to heal.” You try to protest, but he shakes his head.

“I can’t be sure of any of that, without an x-ray.” Oh god. You think you might throw up.

He’s right, though. You know he’s right. You know no good provider in their right mind would sign off on a treatment plan without knowing the extent of an injury. He’s not going to let you dictate what you need.

“Bun.” Simon murmurs, and you blow out a rough breath.

“Okay, fine.”

Dr. Fitch is grim when he reappears almost an hour later, throwing the films up for both you and Simon to see.

You spot what’s soured him immediately, and there’s a sharp intake of breath behind you, the tell-tale sign of Simon noticing it too.

“This side of your body has seen a lot of trauma.” The doctor says gently. He’s not unkind, but still clinical. The kind of provider you’d like you work with, you think. “These old injuries, your clavicle, acromion, even this break in your ulna, make your scapula a very delicate part of your body. I think an MRI would show a fair amount of cartilage damage in these areas.” He motions around your joint, and you close your eyes.

You can’t do this.

If Dr. Fitch sees your unease or panic, he pushes past it. “You have a rotator cuff tear. The good news is, it’s not surgical. I recommend physical therapy for injuries like these, along with activity modification and lots of rest. I want to do a corticosteroid injection for your pain as well. Today, if you’d like. You’ll need to rest your arm for twenty-four hours afterwards, make sure you’re not lifting anything or moving it…” He continues, but you lose track, lose focus, staring at the vinyl tile, weird grey and pink and green patterns all worked together to make some of the ugliest floor you’ve ever seen.

You zone out. Lose yourself. The films mock you, their ugly, horrific images hanging you out to dry, showcasing the truth, the reminders you’ll never be able to escape.

The pieces of you, changed permanently.

It’s hard to look at. Hard to think of.

You’d rather be considering survival. Counting your cash and researching new places to live. New communities to disappear inside, a new life to assume.

It’s easier to run.

You can’t look at Simon. Can't bear the shame. Can't believe he's seeing this, your nightmares on display.

You keep your eyes fixed on the wall.

The girl in the mirror is falling apart. She despises being confronted with your failings, your weakness, the results of your stupidity.

It’s far less common now, these mistakes. These slip ups.

But before… before… they indulged Philip in a beautiful game of cat and mouse. You made it fun, made it exciting. A wolf with his prey. Playing with his food before he eats. Before he strings it up and breaks its collarbone because he likes to hear it scream.

Simon is talking to the provider, asking questions, receiving answers. You can barely hear him. You’re underwater.

The only thing that tethers you to the earth is the hand on your back, the warm, gentle, broad, grounding pressure.

There’s more conversation, and then Dr. Fitch is vacating the room.

Is it time to go?

You try to stand on autopilot, but Simon holds you steady.

“We’re going to do the steroid, for your pain.” He drifts into your line of sight, pulling the mask down. “Bunny, look at me.”

When you can’t, he follows your gaze.

The films come off the wall within the next second, ripped down by the long reach of his arm.

Gone.

“I have to go.” You whisper.

“You’re not going anywhere. You’re going to get this injection, and then I’m going to take you home and put you to bed.”

He doesn’t understand your meaning.

Or maybe he does.

Home. The word rings in your ears like a punch. It’s like you’ve been hit with it, burned with it.

Home.

He’s not forceful, but you still feel the pressure, the insistence. You expect to rail against him. To cower.

Instead, you slip inside it. Allow him to tell you what to do, to make the decision. You fall easily into him, and he holds your hand through it all, while the injection site is swabbed, when the needle goes in. He holds your hand out to the car, holds your hand as he buckles you in. He holds your hand as he tucks you into a bed larger and softer than the one you've been sleeping in. It smells like him and Johnny, soft sheets and pillows piled around you like a wall, false sense of security building every time you twitch, testing where is he is, if he’s left yet.

The last thing you feel before you drift off to sleep is your hand, still in his.

You don't know how long you sleep. You sail in the darkness, navigating turbulent seas, waking every now and then, sometimes alone... sometimes not.

The baby monitor blinks pale green, little circle fuzzy on the edge of your vision, appearing and disappearing throughout the day.

Sometimes the bed is warm. Sometimes it's not.

When it is, you seek him out on instinct, trying to crawl inside his ribs, frantic with your effort to hide, to run. He holds you through it, rocks you gently, tells you you're safe, says you don't have to be afraid anymore, he's here now. He'll take care of you.

There's a rope around your ankle, tied too tight, tethered to the ocean floor. It drags you down, rips you away from him, fills your lungs and silences you.

You didn't make it.

All you can see behind closed lids is those films. All you can feel is the phantom ache in your limbs, the remnants of a shadow, still living and breathing inside of you.

The girl in the mirror is silent. Nothing to say for once in her life, she weeps like her chest is being carved open, sobs and screams pouring out in a flood.

I know you'll be here when I get back, won't you?

The house is vibrant today.

Lou has been here, stocking the fridge, precooking some meals, and her husband is helping Simon rearrange the living room, moving pieces of the couch to be more accessible, laughing back and forth quietly. Occasionally, he stops into the kitchen where you’re seated next to Pen in her highchair, checking in, but never encroaching.

He doesn’t get too close, right now. You’re still underwater somewhere, lost in a current. You’re here, but not really, silently drifting like a ghost, watching and waiting for something or someone to shake you out of it.

Simon hasn’t yet, but he’s watching. Always.

He’s intentionally careful, loud. Announcing himself everywhere he goes in the house, telling you everything he’s doing.

You didn’t understand why at first. Didn’t realize you hadn’t spoken in eight hours, and then ten, then twelve.

Trapped in a tomb of yourself, locked away with the girl in the mirror.

Guilt burns like a wildfire.

This should be a happy time. A wonderful time.

But all you’re doing is making a mess of their life.

Lou, thankfully, doesn’t push you either. She’s content to let you sit there, next to Pen. She keeps an eye out, glancing over at you occasionally, but your placating smiles seem to satisfy her.

Simon steps in front of the counter, ducking his head down to catch your eyes. “I’m going to pick Johnny up.” Somewhere, in the pits of hell, excitement blooms. Happiness tries to sprout. “Do you want to come?” Definitely not. They’ll certainly clap him out, and there’s no way you can be there for that.

“No, I’m… okay.”

“Okay. Penny is coming with me, but John and Lou are staying here. Kyle is coming by. If Johnny’s feeling up to it, I’m hoping to do dinner all together.” Acid is tossed around, tempestuous in your stomach. Lou smiles around his side.

“Want to watch something while we wait?”

“Sure.” She disappears down the hall, saying something to John, and Simon slowly pulls Pen from her chair, kissing her cheek and nose before cradling her to his chest. She’s not a small baby, but in his hold, she’s tiny, soft and delicate, content in her dad’s arms, still a little sleepy from her afternoon nap.

“We’ll be back soon.” He whispers, turning to go.

Your hand whips forward instinctively, out of control.

It latches onto his.

“Simon. I’m… I’m sorry.” You’re sorry you’re ruining everything. You’re sorry you’re fucked up beyond belief, you’re sorry he had to see all that in the doctor’s office, you’re sorry, you’re sorry, you’re sorry.

He squeezes. “Shhh, hey. There’s nothing to be sorry about.” He shifts, still holding Penny, but stooping down to crouch at your knees, his own popping with effort. “It’s okay, if you have to go somewhere else for a little while up there, as long as you're not lost in it.” He motions to your head. “Nothing has changed. We’re still right here, everything is alright. Huh, Penny girl?” He bounces her, and she shrieks out a giggle, reaching for his face. He kisses her hands like he’s trying to eat them, rumble in his voice making her squeal, and he catches your faint smile. “There she is.” He kisses your forehead. “We’ll be back soon, okay?”

“Okay.”

You hear Johnny before you see him.

There’s a scrape of crutches, his voice animated, talking to his baby, Penny giggling wildly outside on the walk. Lou and John exchange a comfortable smile, and she manages to get the door open before Simon can get his key in the lock.

“Welcome home!” She exclaims, and Penny squeaks, clapping excitedly. She’s wriggly, wanting to get down immediately upon crossing the threshold, but Simon holds her firm, turned around so Lou can snap their picture.

“Ach, Price, can ye do somethin’-“ Johnny laments, but the captain only laughs and looks on.

“Hey! Come on, you’ll want this, later. I promise. Look over here.” They’re picture perfect, Penny cradled between them, Johnny’s hair moved out of his face, his posture a little slouched because of his hip and leg. His head rests on Simon’s shoulder, an arm stretched across his middle, right under Penny, who glows from her perch, the center of attention.

An ache unfurls in the middle of your chest, a sore spot, growing, spreading through your body.

They’re so lovely, it hurts. This moment is beautiful, a homecoming, a story of survival and perseverance. Johnny’s strength and determination. Doing something you know a lot of people initially doubted.

The dark spot of pain passes, fleeting.

Johnny’s eyes find yours. “Ye goin’ make me hobble all the way over there?” He teases, and you shake your head.

The two of you can only give half hugs, but you make it work, holding onto him, fingers fisted in the back of his shirt.

“Welcome home.” You whisper in his ear, and he pulls away, notching his forehead against yours. His eyes glitter, heavy, trembling breath filtering through his nose, and he kisses you slowly, so painfully slowly it’s like you’re the only one in the entire house, in the whole world.

“You too, bunny.”

Dinner is lively. Kyle arrives shortly before it’s time to sit down, greetings and warm wishes passed around as everyone gets settled, Penny positioned in highchair between the guys with mashed potatoes and peas already scooped onto her tray. Johnny’s on your left, with Lou on your right, and Simon sits at the head of the table, across from who you realize now, is his old, or kind of still, boss.

He looks perfect there, half turned towards Pen and Johnny, radiantly smiling at his partner and daughter, trying again and again to catch your eye. Johnny's knee stays steady against yours, fingertips occasionally brushing your thigh, and the two of them try to draw you in, pull you towards them, over and over.

Conversation flows easily. They’re all talking, laughing, swapping stories, poking at one another. Kyle tells you about a time he fell out of a helicopter, and they all tease Johnny about nearly dying this time, or a different time, you can’t be too sure.

“Ye jus’ wish ye had the natural ability I do.” He sniffs, and Kyle chortles, struggling to swallow his food.

“I’d probably be dead, mate.”

“’Cause ye cannae handle it!” He retorts, and Simon laughs, causing Penny to giggle too, and then the entire table erupts in it, attention redirected, cooing at the adorable girl with mashed potatoes smeared on her face. Johnny and Simon fuss over her, a perfect family in unison.

There’s a whining, buzzing noise in the back of your head. It’s an off-key tenor, annoying and coarse, like the snag of rough skin texture against a soft sweater.

What are you doing here?

The world, this room, these people, spin and spiral around you. Talking, laughing, loving. Making connections with each other, feeling the warmth of love and friendship, of happiness.

The buzzing gets louder.

You’re vaguely in it now, still seated but not here, not anywhere. You’re drifting, falling away, slipping behind walls and layers, hiding.

The girl in the mirror approves.

What makes you think you have any right to be here? What makes you think you could ever possibly belong here? With them? With their friends? Their family?

You’re an intruder.

You’re risking their safety. You’re making a mistake.

Lou boasts a sharp laugh, and you nearly flinch.

You don’t belong here. You’re supposed to be alone. It was supposed to be okay, to be alone.

You’re selfish.

Simon reaches for Johnny’s hand, stretching across Penny’s spot, eyes heavy with love. There’s so much in his expression alone, dedication, devotion, borderline obsession bleeding through, and he holds Johnny like he’s holding his lifeline.

You’ll never be loved like that, known like that, cherished and protected… like that.

And why should you be?

You’re standing before you announce it, trying to hold yourself together. Both guys look to you, Simon’s expression changing from amusement and love to worry and concern, while Johnny mirrors it, and tries to grab your hand.

“Ye alright?”

“Bun?”

“I’m fine, just… uh. My stomach.” You lie, motioning away from the table, like it makes any sense. You excuse yourself quickly, apologizing, and practically run up the stairs.

The guest bathroom door locks, and you slide down against the tub, slumping over to rest your cheek on cold tile. “Fuck.” You whisper, rubbing at your cheeks. What is wrong with you?

You lay there long enough that your shoulder starts to hurt. Everything aches, your heart too, and wipe your cheeks over and over, trying to regain control of a sinking ship.

God, you really, really hope they aren’t mad you bailed.

The bed is your only option, your only salvation, and you sink into without fuss, burying yourself beneath a pile of blankets, hiding yourself away from the world.

At least when you sleep, you can’t think.

At least when you sleep, you can’t feel.

“Philip, please.”

“You made a fucking fool of me tonight.” He grips your upper arm so tight it feels like he’s cutting into your flesh, branding you, burning you down to the bone.

“No, I- I wasn’t trying to, I swear.”

“I think you were, spitfire. I think you wanted to see me sweat, didn’t you? Wanted to play a little game, huh?”

“No!” you’re crying, chest heaving with giant sobs, and his fist tightens in your hair, dragging you down to the ground. “No, Philip, stop. Stop!”

“Shut up.” You’re crawling on your knees, trying to keep pace, trying to stay in stride with him as he tugs, practically pulling you down the hallway to the bedroom.

Once he gets there, he jerks you upwards.

The hardwood floor is the next thing you see as your face crashes into it.

“S-stop.” You’re barely audible, buried in sobs. He mocks you.

“Stoooop, babe. Stop please.” Your arms cover your head, trying to protect your delicate bones there, your skull, your nose, your cheeks.

His foot rears back.

The world goes cold.

“NO!” you jerk your knees up to your chest, rolling away. “No! I’m pregnant!”

You think he’ll be happy. You think he’ll be pleased.

Instead, it’s raw, concentrated fury you see lining his face, lightning and thunder gathering in his eyes.

“You’re what?”

You come to trembling, coated in a cold sweat.

It’s okay. He’s not here. He’s not. You’re safe.

You clasp a hand over your mouth to ward off the volume of the sob, nausea rising until you’re almost gagging.

It’s okay.

You can do this. Get it together.

Time ticks away, but the agony of your memory, your nightmare, doesn’t fade. It settles in your bones like a sickness, infecting your mind and heart, keeping you from closing your eyes.

You can’t go back there. Not in real life. Not in your dreams. Not ever.

You would die before that happened.

Johnny and Simon sleep down the hall. You wonder if they’re wrapped up together, if Johnny is comfortable, if their room is cozy and homey, bed heavenly and full of love.

You could…

No.

The clock on your phone reads three in the morning. You feel like you haven’t slept at all, but every time you try to close your eyes, dread spreads, tenebrous and sticky, clinging to every synapse in your logical brain.

You eye the door.

You could…

Should you? Would they be mad? Would they welcome you? Would they even answer?

You don’t know how you convince yourself to do it, to drag your weak will down the hall and knock on their door, but you do. You’re a child the whole way, padding up to a parent’s room in the middle of the night, looking for salvation and sanctuary, desperate for comfort.

It takes almost no time after your timid little rap for the door to swing wide, Simon standing behind it, little lamp flicked on where Johnny is half sitting up, mostly still asleep, rubbing his eyes.

“Hi.” You whisper, distracted by Simon’s naked chest. He’s wearing sweatpants, but they’re slung low on his hips, soft tummy with wispy light brown hair peeking out above the drawstring. You think you’re staring, and you force a blink, trying to appear normal.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“N-nothing, I just… I had a nightmare and…I… I can’t…” the rest doesn’t come out, laying heavy on your tongue, trying to organize itself so it doesn’t seem so intrusive, or weak.

He doesn’t make you feel bad. Or guilty. He doesn’t even ask, he just steps aside, motioning to bed, clicking the door shut behind him.

“Take the middle.” He whispers, and you crawl across the expanse, timidly smiling at Johnny, who’s still yawning. He’s got his bad leg and hip set up on a bunch of pillows, and the spot next to him is still warm.

“Hey pretty girl.”

“Hi.” He pats the empty space, shoving the blankets down to the best of his ability to let you get underneath them.

“Bad dream?” He drawls, slow and sleepy.

“Yeah.”

“C’mere.” He tries to tug you closer, but Simon scolds him softly.

“Johnny, easy. Your graft.” He turns, sliding, encouraging you to settle on your side, with him at your back. “There we go. That’s better, hm?” It is better. So much better. Warm and safe. Blocked in on either side by them, your hand resting on Johnny’s sternum, grounding yourself with the rise and fall of his breathing, Simon nestling you into his chest, heavy arm slung across your ribs to hold Johnny’s hand.

It's so nice, tucked between them like you belong there, things start to spiral a little bit, doubt and worry fueling a cycle of second guessing. You shift restlessly, and Simon rubs your hip, soothing whatever he senses amiss back to neutral, lips humming just above your ear. “Close your eyes, little bunny. We’re here. You’re safe.”

#peaches writes #simple math #ghoap x reader #ghost x reader x soap #ghost x soap x reader #simon riley #john mactavish #simon riley x reader #soap x reader #john mactavish x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #ghost x reader

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nekomanager · 1 month ago

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YOUR FRIENDLY NEIGHBOR ♡

- ONE of THREE -

you caught your neighbor and crush KENMA streaming more than just his games {1k+ words} a repost from my old blog; belated happy bday kenma kitty! dedicated to @suosteacup

🔖neighbors, masturbation, voyeurism, exhibitionism // comment on the reply section to be tagged in the next part 🫶

It was raining hard and you’re on your way home. Just like the usual, you paused in front of your neighbor’s house—a sneaky attempt to get a glance at him.

Your cheeky smile was replaced by curiosity when you saw that his gate was left open. You weren’t really planning to go inside, but you noticed that a box was resting in front of his house and was being drenched by the rain. It was a package for him. Concerned, you went through the open gate.

“Kenma?” You called out as you entered his home. It was dark and you were nervous. It was your first time to set afoot in his abode. “I think you left your gate open and you also have an important parcel left outside.” You definitely didn’t want him to accuse you of burglary or trespassing.

“I…I guess I’ll just leave it here.” You said as nervousness ate you up and maybe he wasn’t even able to hear you as it’s heavily raining outside.

You were about to leave when you heard a faint noise coming from one of the rooms. Your head immediately turned to the direction of the sound. “A…Are you okay?” You asked.

Worried, you walked with light steps, approaching were you thought the sound originated. You turned right and saw a light that seemed to be coming from a computer screen. You came closer just right before the door and what you saw shocked you. Your heart felt like it stopped momentarily.

Your eyes were wide and so was the way your mouth hung open. Kenma...

In his screen, appeared what it seemed to be a chatroom. You saw hearts and dollar signs popping as it rang.

Everybody knew that he was streaming his games and was into cryptocurrency, but you never thought he’d be masturbating on-screen and gain profit from it.

His pants pooled on his feet, while his eyes were trained on his lap with one of his hands wrapped around his cock. All of this was being captured by his webcam.

You knew it was wrong to stay here but your feet were glued to the ground. You couldn’t take your eyes off the way he pumped himself. The way his chest rose and fell made you heave in return and so were his long fingers and the intricate veins in his hand. Add to that, the smooth skin of his dick and the little blush on the tip with a bead of pre-cum almost spilling out.

You gulped.

He moaned. The way his sweet voice melodiously hummed was making you feel things you’re not supposed to.

“Aaaah…aaah…mhmmnn…” He kept on breathing and moaning that your face heated up at the sound of him.

Another ringing came from his computer and he briefly looked at it.

Kenma’s eyes became darker as he moved his hand faster along his cock. His head leaned down, eyes ferociously focused on his dick and cheeks bright red. Beads of sweat now started crawling down at the side of his face.

Attempting to muffle the sounds, he bit his lip hard.

You squeezed your thighs together.

A surge of heat and want began bothering you in between your legs. It was pulsating down there completely in sync with the way your heart was beating in your ears.

Reflexively, you ran your tongue in between your lips as the sight of him masturbating in front of you and eliciting those crazy sounds was making you so dry and thirsty for him. Your head was swimming in the thought of sweeping your tongue across his length, swallowing him whole and making him lose his mind as you took a taste of him.

Yes, you had a crush on him but you never thought of him in this way until now. You thought Kenma was cute since the very first day he transferred in your neighborhood. His dirty-dyed long hair, mysterious aura and piercing gaze caught your breath the very first time he locked eyes with you. All about him rendered you smitten and weak for his charms and now he also had you fucking wet for him.

“Aah, aaah, fuck…” Kenma moaned.

You whimpered. Your hand immediately flew to your mouth, trying cover any sound that would involuntarily come out from it.

You weren’t supposed to watch this. You weren’t supposed to be here. This was so wrong. This was so dangerous yet you wanted it. You wanted it all. You wanted all of him and all that he could show.

A lot of ringing sounds came to his computer and his movements became more and more intense.

“Mhmnnn….aah aaah…What? More? More? More?” He chanted as he pumped faster and now not only was he moving his hand, but he’s also grinding his hips briskly and aggressively against it.

You felt your knees melting. Your pussy throbbed as you imagined yourself sliding up and down that pretty cock of his and him fucking you so damn hard like that instead of his hand.

“Fuck! I’m close…I’m close!” He raked a hand through his hair, stopping at the top as his head snapped to lean backward, his mouth surrendered open in that sexy ‘O’ and eyes tightly shut. Hazy fog clouded your eyes as he breathed deeply through his lips. “Aughhh! I’m coming! I’m co-“

You’re sure you came to just by watching him as you felt liquid wetting your panties and perhaps leaking across your thighs. His cum richly overflowed through the tip of cock and how you wanted to feel that spilling so hot inside you.

You caught up with you breathing and so did Kenma. With his head still tilted backward and eyes closed, he rested his hand on his forehead then let it slump down as he inhaled and exhaled. You wondered who could be the person behind his thoughts as he did that. With a performance like that, there must be someone behind it. You couldn’t help but feel a slight pang of jealousy.

His eyes opened and you started to feel nervous. He stared off to the ceiling, until his feral gaze slid over to your direction. You froze in place certain that he found you out.

#kenma smut #kenma x reader #kozume kenma x reader #kozume kenma smut #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #hq smut #hq x reader #kenma imagines #kenma drabbles #haikyuu kenma #hq kenma

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veronicaphoenix · 6 months ago

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to hold you, to heal you | n.s.

Summary: Noah is exhausted. It feels as if he's failing at everything, including at being the boyfriend his girl deserves. She's there to reassure him that that couldn't be further from the truth.

Tags & trigger warnings: angst, implied poor mental health (self-doubt, anxiety, depression), mentions of sex, fluff, comfort, just pretend live 2024.

words: 1.9k | my works

to hold you, to heal you — noah sebastian x fem. reader

The house was shrouded in quietness, the calming fragance of incense lit half an hour ago still lingering in the air.

Noah had gone to bed an hour earlier; he was exhausted.

Silently, she made her way to the bedroom, careful not to disturb him.

He lay on his side of the bed as she entered, back turned to her, the covers barely draped over his bare torso.

The temperatures had risen in the past two weeks, making the house uncomfortably warm. They should've swapped the covers for summer sheets, but neither could muster the energy to change them just yet.

She tiptoed to her side of the bed and slipped under the covers, nestling herself right behind Noah, wrapping an arm around his stomach and pressing her chest to his back, her cheek resting against his shoulder.

It was often that they found each other like this: her spooning him. They loved to intertwine their legs beneath the sheets, and he loved to drag her hand to his chest, right where his heart beat. He wanted her to feel it, to feel how his heart’s rhythm transformed from a relentless dance to a gentle pulse at her touch.

She nuzzled the tip of her nose against the nape of his neck, delighting in the feel of his soft locks, growing longer by the day. His hand found hers and guided it to the spot where his heart resided. She focused on his heartbeat for a while, on his breathing. She let the warmth of his body transfer to hers, despite the heat already filling the room.

Cooconing him like that felt like a promise that would eventually break. When he was in her arms, she felt as though she could shield him from anything, everything. She could just keep him caged, safe and sound tucked against her body, much smaller than his yet capable of safeguarding him. She so desperately wanted to keep that promise…

Yet, she was aware that those we love eventually slip, one way or another, no matter how much we try to ease their fall.

Nobody is extempt from hurting.

And now Noah was hurting. Her promise hadn’t lasted.

She tightened her grip unconsciously when a wave of anger and sadness washed over her, her muscles pressing against Noah’s, her heart wanting —needing— to break through the skin and find Noah’s, merge with his, beat as one.

Love is always a constant battle of trying, trying, failing, trying, trying again, and sometimes, making it right.

Tonight, she would make it right. She would heal him one way or another; take some of his pain and store it in her own chest, in her veins, in her bones.

Blinking away the tears, she pulled back slightly, just enough to see his back. It was dark, but the moonlight filtering through the curtains revealed the faint lines of his tattoos. Unable to stop herself, she traced the designs with a gentle finger, following every curve and sharp edge.

Noah shivered beneath her touch, his muscles tensing.

In less than a minute, he turned onto his back, his hands seeking her. He grasped her and positioned her astride his lap, his hands resting on her hips while hers landed on his chest. He wore nothing but black boxers, and she was clad in his t-shirt and cotton panties.

Under the moonlight, she found his October eyes.

“Hi,” she said softly.

“Hi,” Noah replied.

“Did I wake you?”

“No,” he answered, their voices mere whispers in the night. “Couldn’t sleep,” he explained, a hint of resignation in his voice.

It was soft now, not the rough, visceral one he used on stage for some of Bad Omens’s songs. This was the voice she loved the most, the deep raw timbre that was yet so delicate, both tender and masculine, holding harmony within a quiet power. Every time she heard her name uttered with that voice, that tone so soft yet demanding, she melted in his hands.

“The voices?” she guessed.

Noah nodded, letting out a heavy sight that he’d tried to contain, his gaze falling. She hated seeing him so conflicted, but there was only so much she could do. She didn’t know what else to do beside be by his side, engulfed in the dark of the after hours and surrounded by white noise.

With nothing more than a hmm, she brushed some hairs away from his face, and spent the next few minutes tracing her thumb along his forehead and then down his left eyebrow, trying to push some of his worries away. His eyes closed momentarily, and his own fingers began to move in a soothing rhythm where they touched the skin of her thighs. The weight of her on top of him always felt delightful, a comforting pressure.

But the sensation lasted only a few seconds. He grasped her wrist, holding her hand away from him.

“You deserve someone better than me.”

His words caught her off ward, making her frown and shift back a little, trying to discern his expression in the dark.

But he looked resolute, no ounce of doubt on his face as the words seemed to fill the space they were in, threatening to suffocate them.

“Noah—”

“You should be with someone that doesn’t spend most of the time away,” he began, “someone who isn’t locked in the studio whenever he’s home. Someone who doesn’t take time off to get his mind straight instead of choosing time off to be with his girl.”

She was tempted to snort. He was being silly. Yet, she knew it wasn’t the time to take his confessions lightly. He was suffering, and her job was to ease that pain, even if it meant going through the same conversation they’d had many times before.

“Is that what the voices told you?” she inquired softly.

She was met with silence, the room charging up with his unspoken words.

“Noah,” she said, her tone determined as she tried to capture his full attention. She freed herself from his grasp and leaned forward, resting her forearms on his chest and reaching the sides of his face with her hands. He hadn’t shaved in the last three days and a little stubble was growing. “I love watching you work,” she said. “It’s what makes you happy, and I’d never do anything to keep your happiness away. Same goes for your health. You need this. There’s no arguing about it.”

He didn’t seem convinced by her words, his hands falling to the sides of her body, resting apathetically on the mattress. He felt defeated.

“Noah, baby,” she insisted, calling his name softly and touching his chin with two fingers. Look at me. Listen to me. “You’re driven by passion, and that same passion is the one that led you to me, so please, don’t say that I don’t deserve you. I deserve no one but you.”

She waited for her words to sink in. There was a little crease between his eyebrows now. He was still doubtful, torturing himself needlessly.

“I want you happy and healthy, and taking time off isn’t something you should feel guilty for. I’m proud of you for it. And I’ll be happy if you decide to stay locked up in the house for a month. I’ll stay here with you because a healthy Noah is my favorite Noah.”

Under other circumstance, he would have made a joke about that, probably a dirty one about her favorite Noah. But that night, the truth was that he didn’t feel like laughing. As much as he loved her smile and her little laughs, there was a demon on his shoulder reminding him of all his failures and all his weaknessses.

She was so sweet to him, though. Always making an effort to knock off that demon and step on the devilish creature, turn it to dust with her fierceless light.

His hand instinctively rose to her cheek, his thumb moving in a slow, almost reverent motion that stirred her heart. She leaned into his touch, her own hands cradling his face and keeping him safe, enveloped in her embrace.

She missed him. She had missed him terribly over the last few months. The entire year, in fact. But she was stronger than her own demons. She watched from afar as her boy made his way up, as his band grew, as their artistry gained recognition beyond the walls of their homemade studio with each passing day. She watched Noah’s tireless dedication to reaching out to the world with his music, his stories, the worlds capable of creating on his own. She watched as he poured his heart and soul into it, and how time began to consume him, both day and night.

Until he could bear it no longer.

She touched her lips to his. She kissed him for a brief moment. Soft and slow, emphasizing her presence, her connection to his very soul. And he responded delightfully, breaking the contact just for a few seconds, keeping the kiss a ghost, his lips hovering over hers beyond touch.

Inhaling his fresh breath, she wanted him to kiss her again. She wanted to let herself drown in the kiss.

When he did kiss her, it was the most achingly slow kiss he had ever given her. It was a kiss that said, “I’m tired. I need slow. I need time to stop. Please, hold me.”

And she would hold him. Any time. Always.

As her body relaxed on top of his, he cupped her entire face in his hands, keeping their mouths locked together. She tasted divine, and he cursed every second he had to pause to take a breath before diving back in with a little sigh.

When she shifted on top of him and he felt her core hovering right where he should’ve had an erection, he felt instead another failing.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, withdrawing from her, his hands slipping away, turning his head so that his cheek pressed to the pillow. He exhaled with defeat.

“Sorry for what?” she asked, disconcerted.

“I’m not… I’m not in the mood for sex right now. I’m sorry.”

“Why do you have to be sorry for that?” she questioned, her confusion deepening. “I’m not here to demand that from you,” she added. Far from it. It pained her that he thought she needed that every time he kissed her. It pained her to see him punishing himself again for simply not feeling up to it, as if there was something wrong with it. “In fact, I just hoped I could just hold you all night.”

Noah looked back at her, somewhat taken aback. Not the reply he had expected.

He was definitely not his usual self.

“Would you let me?” she pleaded, blinking.

It took him a moment, but finally he relented, placing a hand behind her head to pull her down so that she rested against his chest. With each steady rise and fall, she smiled through watery eyes, hoping that tonight she could keep her promise: to hold him, to heal him, if only until the sun rose again.

She had just closed her eyes when his voice filled her ears again, soft, delicate, vulnerable.

“I’m so afraid, that the walls that I have made have locked me in. I’m not okay. But I can try my best to just pretend…”

He was singing to her.

If you or someone you know is struggling with mental health & well-being, you are not alone and there is always someone willing to listen and help. Reach out and keep fighting. There's always a light at the end of the tunnel.

#noah sebastian #bad omens #noah sebastian one shot #noah sebastian x you #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian fluff #bad omens cult #noah sebastian fanfic #noah sebastian fanfiction

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ponderingmoonlight · 1 year ago

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How JJK men act in and after a fight

Pairing: Gojo x reader, Megumi x reader, Nanami x reader

Word Count: 4,1k (a big baby)

Warnings: obviously hurt in every part but also a loooot of fluff, Megumi being as inexperienced as he is lol, Nanami's part is pure fan service, you're very welcome

Notes: I consider writing part ll of that with Choso, Geto and maybe Toji. If you're down for that, just leave me a comment or a like <3 as always thank y'all from the bottom of my heart for the love and support you give me, I truly don't deserve it <3

Part ll with Geto, Choso and Yuji can be found here

Tags: @ifuckfictionalmen @sanicsmut

Gojo Satoru

“So you think I’m being ridiculous? I saw the way she looked at you and how her hand brushed against yours way too often”, you hiss, whole body trembling in pure rage.

“Oh, so every woman that touches me is apparently into me, now I get it”, he sarcastically remarks.

You bite your tongue, desperately trying to stop yourself from crying. Why is he not able to understand that you don’t feel comfortable with that situation at all? You told him over and over, especially when she completely ignored your presence on your first meeting. How does he not see all of this?

“You…You transferred money to her. A lot, actually. And all of that after she completely ignored me when you introduced me”

“Just like I do for you-“

“I’m your wife, moron!”, you scream on top of your lungs.

Satoru’s face is twisted in annoyance. He thought he’d come home to your loving arms, cuddling on the couch after a stressful day. But this? You stormed into him the second he opened the door, holding up bank statements. Over the past weeks, this happened way too often, interrupting your otherwise very peaceful marriage in a way Satoru can’t take any longer.

“So what? We’re colleagues, (y/n). You are my wife, why don’t you get that I am forced to work with other women from time to time?”, he questions.

The way he rolls his blue orbs at you sends you over the edge completely.

“So colleagues transfer money, hold deep eye contact and touch each other oh so casually when having a conversation? Don’t fuck with me, Satoru. I told you over and over that it bugs me, that I’m concerned. And you do absolutely nothing about it.”

“Maybe if you’d stop acting like a bitch!”, he cries out in frustration.

Your heart sinks immediately when is words hit you with full force. Even though your relationship with Satoru does get pretty heated from time to time, he never called you names. Never.

Not until now, when it comes to that woman.

You need to get off his sight, away from his stinging presence. Without saying another word, you storm into your shared bedroom and lock the door behind you before he’s able to follow you.

“Maybe if you’d stop acting like a bitch!”

His stinging words repeat themselves over and over in your head while you can’t hold back your tears any longer. This is so unfair. Why is he too blind to see the way she hunts after him, that she wants him to be more than a simple colleague? All you want him is to understand how uncomfortable this situation is for you, that you feel somehow betrayed.

“Open the door, (y/n)”, his clear voice is heard from behind the door.

Satoru knew he overdid it the second he saw the devastated look on your face. No matter how ridiculous this whole topic is, you don’t deserve his anger towards you. Mei isn’t more than a colleague for him though, a woman he has worked with on missions for years. She surely doesn’t like him like that, it’s simply impossible-

His phone vibrates in his pants, making him take a look at the screen.

What do you think about dinner tonight? Just the two of us.

He signs at her message, realization hitting him like a wall. Fuck, what did he do? The countless times her touch brushed over him, the messages she sent him not work related at all every night and how she always avoided the conversation when it came to you flood his mind uncontrollably. How could he make you feel this way? You told him over and over that you feel uncomfortable with this situation, asked him for compromises. And now…

Now he made you feel unwanted, delusional and dumb. You are his wife, the love of his life, the one thing that keeps him going in this world full of madness.

“Can you let me in, (y/n)? I’m sorry…”, he hushes against the closed door.

You can’t catch your breath, dry sobs hunt your body down when a new wave of sorrow washes over you. Does he even love you? All this time you thought you were the love of his life, his pride. But now…It feels like he chose that woman over you, that he cares about her opinion and feelings more than yours.

“I’m coming in”, he softly announces.

Of course, a simple closed door can’t keep him out if he doesn’t want to.

The second he lays his eyes on your crumpled on the floor figure, his heart completely breaks. Instantly, he kneels down in front of you and embraces you in his arms while your sobs make him hate himself even more.

“I’m so unbelievable sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t mean it like that at all. It’s just that in my world, there’s only you and no one else. I never understood how you even get the idea of me liking another woman because this scenario is ridiculous to me. I shouldn’t have lashed out on you like that. I’m so so sorry…”, he mumbles against your ear.

Despite his words still haunt your mind, you can’t help but let yourself fall at least a little into his inviting arms, tears staining his uniform.

“I will talk to her and make clear that you are the one and only for me, I promise.”

It’s impossible to stay mad at him for long. You wrap your longing arms around him, forehead pressed against his.

“So you understand my point?”, you mutter.

“I do and I’m sorry for making you feel this way. You are the only woman in my life and I love you more than anything else”, he reassures you once again.

You definitely won’t get him away this easily. After all, words mean nothing without action. But this is a step in the right direction and for now, you can definitely live with that.

“Now, please stop crying, I’ll call her right away and we’ll watch your favorite show and order some food after, what do you think?”

“Only if you pay”, you sniff.

Megumi Fushiguro

“Oh, where are you going?”, you question when your boyfriend Megumi gets up from the bed so early in the morning that it’s still dark outside.

The last few weeks were like a trip to hell and back, it seems like your relationship consists of Megumi going on missions while you have to stay behind. Before this night, you haven’t seen him for one whole week and while you do understand his responsibly as a jujutsu sorcerer, you can’t help but feel hurt.

“On a mission of course”, he remarks dryly.

Your eyes begin to burn as your heart sinks. It’s like you don’t know him anymore, as if he’s only the shell of the man you used to love. Is he so sick of you that he doesn’t want to spend a single day on your side? Is all of this on purpose? You can’t hold back any longer.

“You’re always leaving me”, you blurt out.

It shouldn’t bother you. After all, you’re a jujutsu sorcerer yourself. Despite being Shoko’s trainee you should be aware of the fact that this job is a mess and means you have to dedicate your whole life to it.

But still you can’t help but fell hurt. Hurt because your boyfriend doesn’t even smile anymore when he returns, hurt because he comes and goes without saying a word, hurt because you feel like you lost him.

“What was that?”, he grumbles.

“Do you think I do this on purpose?”

“I just feel like you’re never here. And I miss you.”

“Not all of us have an easy job like you, (y/n).”

You swallow hard. Wow, that is new. And extremely painful. Even though you aren’t out there fighting, you still have a lot to do, working your ass off so everyone survives, day and night ready if something happens. This is just not fair.

“You think my job is easy? Stitch yourself up next time, then”, you hiss and cross your arms over your chest.

“Don’t come at me. You started this whole thing!”

“Yeah, I ‘started this whole thing’ because you are my boyfriend and I love you, and I…I fucking miss you! But fine, if you don’t feel the same I’ll just leave.”

It’s ridiculous and you know it, mind screaming violently, begging you to stay. But your heart can’t. This was simply too much. You can’t stay here with a boy that treats you like this.

“If you leave now-“

“Then what?”, you interrupt him immediately, cold eyes glaring at him while your hand rests on the door.

“You’ll leave? You leave every time, Megumi. See you around…Or not.”

And with that, you leave him standing in his room alone, staring at the door like an idiot. What the hell has gotten into you? Since when are you acting up like that? He doesn’t know you like that. But still, your words do make him wonder if you’re somehow right…

He shakes his head violently. No, you’re being ridiculous. Maybe you need to sleep in and you’ll figure this out as soon as he returns.

But one things for sure: Megumi definitely won’t make the first move.

And so days pass until finally weeks begin to pass without both of you saying a single word to each other. Every time you see him you feel like dying inside, heart screaming at you in agony to stop your stubbornness, to approach him and say sorry. But you can’t. You simply can’t over the fact that he let you go like that, not even looking your direction when you cross each other. It’s like he doesn’t know you anymore despite all the nights you shared with each other, despite the intimate moments you’ve had.

No, it seems like he doesn’t care at all.

“Hey (y/n)!”, Nobara greets you.

“Hey, I’m in a bit of a rush”, you explain briefly, already on your way to assist Shoko in an autopsy of a curse.

“It’s just…(y/n), are you and Megumi okay?”, Nobara mutters, her face twisted in concern like you’ve never seen before.

You stop in your tracks, a new wave of grief washing over you. No, nothing is okay, absolutely nothing to be exact. You want to scream it into her face, break down crying, let all your feelings out. But instead, you just gift her an empty smile and say:

“Sure.”

‘Sure’ as if he never raised his voice at you, ‘sure’ as if Megumi would care about you feeling lonely and missing him, ‘sure’ as if you actually meant something to him

“I mean it’s none of my business but…You guys haven’t talk for what feels like an eternity, you are no longer there and I’m just worried that he messed things up with you, y’know…Well, let me know if I can help you with something, okay?”

She gently places her hand on your shoulder while you have to force yourself to not shed a tear. Oh, if she only knew. If she only knew that the last weeks were absolute hell, that you feel like dying inside. But this is something you and Megumi have to deal with alone. Even Nobara can’t help you with that.

You say goodbye to her and walk towards the laboratory, tears still stinging threatening in your eyes. How much you long for talking to him, to tell him how much his words really hurt you. But you can’t bring yourself to make the first step. After all, you tried to talk this out multiple times only for him to not even listen. No, this time he’ll have to make the first move if he wants you back.

If…

“(y/n).”

That voice. That oh so familiar voice that makes your heart skip a beat.

“Megumi”, you breathe out, slowly turning around to face him.

There he stands, scratching his head while looking at your feet, eyes not meeting your gaze.

“How…how you’ve been?”

Even a blind man would see the blush creeping up his face…Is he embarrassed? Painfully awkward silence hangs between you two as all you can do is stare at him, your blood slowly but surely boiling up. Is he really asking you how you’ve been after not talking to you for weeks, ignoring you every time he saw you?

“You have some fucking nerves”, you spit at him, closing the gap between you two with a rushed movement.

“You’re not talking with me for weeks and now you’re asking how I’ve been? I’ve been miserable, Megumi. I felt like dying every time you ignored me!”

Fuck, don’t cry. Don’t let him see how you really feel. Your trembling hands frantically wipe away the threatening tears, eyes darted towards him.

“I just couldn’t, (y/n). It’s just…I…”, he stumbles over his very own words, fingers over and over running through his hair.

“I was able to see it until I thought about it. I’ve been a horrible boyfriend, (y/n). So horrible that I thought you’d be better off without me. But I’m simply too selfish to let you go. I’m sorry for not making time for you, I’m sorry for treating you like shit, I’m sorry for making you feel like I didn’t love you when in reality, all I was able to think about was you and how much I missed you sleeping besides me”, he suddenly blurts out, leaving you completely speechless.

This is everything. Everything you longed for, ever single word you graved so deeply. Did this thick silence really change the way he sees your relationship now? A look into his sorrow – filled eyes is enough to realize that he’s telling the truth, making your heart jump up and down.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“Because I know I’m not the boy you deserve and I’d fully understand if you’re having enough of me. I just wanted to let you know that I can see it now and that I want to give you what you deserve if you let me.”

The glistening in his eyes literally begs you for a second chance while your very own heart screams at you. Of course you want him back, Megumi is everything you ever wanted. But he’ll have to show that it’s really different this time.

“Promise me something”, you announce.

He tilts his head to his side, brows furrowed in confusion.

“What?”

“Promise me you’ll stay with me today, that we’ll spend time together. No mission, no obligations.”

“I’ll stay as long as you need, as long as you want me around, (y/n). This time without you hurt like hell, I simply don’t want to let you go again”, he hushes, his tender fingertips brushing over your arms.

“That sounds good…”, you mutter, resting your head against his chest.

God, how much you missed that feeling. Even though your relationship had its ups and downs, you always admired the way Megumi was able to calm you down in an instant with a simple touch of his hand.

Maybe you will figure it out now. And maybe him not having time for you stays in the past forever.

Kento Nanami

“Fuck”, you hiss through gritted teeth.

You’re on your way home after a pretty ugly mission. And even though Shoko already stitched you up, you feel like dying. Everything just hurts, it’s hard to even walk.

The thought of your husband at home makes your guts turn. Not because you don’t love him or aren’t longing to see him, but because of your recent conversation.

“It can’t go on like this, (y/n). You’re always injured and it’s starting to concern me. Maybe I have to talk t-“

“No”, you interrupted him immediately.

“Please don’t. I’ll be careful from now on. I promise.”

“Fine. But if this happens again, I’ll have a talk with the elders.”

And it happened again. All these missions one after another really took their toll on your concentration. One moment of unwariness was enough to sweep you off your feet, thigh sliced open in the nastiest way you’ve ever seen. Shoko told you it will take some time to heal entirely, but if Kento gets to see this…

“Maybe I should call Nanami to pick you up. You really can’t walk like that (y/n).”

“No, please don’t!”, you begged Shoko for dear life.

“I don’t want this to cause trouble. It’s fine, really!”

“You almost died, (y/n)”, she remembered you dryly.

“And I will definitely die if you tell him. Please Shoko.”

She signed.

“Fine. Just be careful and visit me tomorrow…”

You swallow. A fight seems inevitable if you won’t hide your wound from him.

You take a deep breath, keys trembling in your sweaty palms. Fuck, why does this have to ache so badly? Shoko gave so some pain killers, you shouldn’t feel a single thing.

No, focus. Pain is only in your head. But Kento is very real.

With one last stolen glance at your injured leg you open the door, forcing a smile on your face. Where is he? Your heart beats out of your chest, hands so sweaty that you have to wipe them on your coat.

“Kento?”, you shout into the quiet living room, closing the door behind you gently.

“There you are, sweetheart”, his voice coos out of the bedroom.

Your breath hitches, eyes wide open at the sight in front of you. There he stands, your loving husband. Dressed in nothing but his pants, bare chest immediately captivating you. Oh god, he looks so delicious that you feel like fainting, hungry eyes roaming over his tight muscles as if you haven’t seen him like that hundreds of times before.

“Where have you been? A mission like that shouldn’t take this long.”

He begins to approach you elegantly, staring at you with a small smile on his delicate lips.

“Y-yeah…Still had something to…y’know…say…to Shoko”, you stutter.

Why does he have to look so absolutely delicious? And why does your leg suddenly feel so…wet?

“Are you alright? You seem a little unfocused today. Did you get hurt?”

His eyes scan over your body without any mercy, forcing you to hide your leg behind the other.

“Don’t worry, I’m fine”, you press out.

No, you’re anything but fine. The way your other leg brushes against your injured one makes you see stars. You feel like fainting and throwing up at the same time, sweat running down your forehead uncontrollably. You need medication – now.

“I planned something very excited for us today. Something you might like”, he purrs, closing the distance between your bodies.

His hand grabs your waist passionately while your mixed emotions take your breath away. God, how much you love the way his arms wrap themselves around you, knowing exactly that this leads you directly into the bedroom.

But that means…

“Oh yeah?”, you chuckle nervously.

That means he’ll see the wound you’re so desperately trying to hide.

“Absolutely”, he breathes against your ear.

Oh god, this is so good…No, it’s not good at all. You need to get away from him, out of this misery, into t-

A toe-curling scream escapes your lips before you even realize what is happening, body stumbling backwards.

“(y/n)!”, Nanami mutters, eyes wide open.

He squeezed your leg like he always does and just the way you like it. Why on earth are you acting like that? That haunted look on your face almost makes it seem as if he hurt you.

Lost in thoughts, he looks down at his hand.

His blood-smeared hand.

It slowly dawns to him. No, it isn’t because he did something you don’t like. It’s because you’re injured again. And you decided to lie into his face about it.

“What is this?”

Your husband’s voice sounds as unpromising as you imagined it in this situation, eyes widen in horror while you’re still panting in agony.

Fuck. Your heart drops immediately by the sight of his blood smeared hand. Kento is an outstanding smart man, too clever to be considered an idiot by your actions.

“You promised me to stay safe. And that you lie to be about being injured...”

“(y/n), look at me”, he insists, grabbing your chin.

His eyes seem to stare right through your soul as he glances down at you, jaw tightened.

“I can’t believe you lied to me.”

“Only because you’d freak out”, you reply in your own defense.

“Like I should! I told you over and over to look out for yourself, to skip a few missions before you get seriously hurt. And what is that, huh?”

He points at your wounded leg, blood now soaking through the fabric of your skirt.

“You are severely injured. Just like I predicted.”

You feel like a child being scolded by her parents. Even though Kento never raises his voice at you aggressively, you can tell by the way his whole body tenses up and that glistening in his gaze that he’s absolutely furious.

“I am able to look after myself. I know what’s best for me”, you remark annoyed.

Fuck, you’re so damn tired. All you want is to bandage yourself up and go to sleep.

“Yes, I can see that.”

Something about his sarcastic tone and the way he stares down at you while shaking his head makes you snap.

“I’m a grown woman, I don’t need you to look after me like a damn child! Mind your own business, Kento!”

“You are my business. You are my wife. It’s my responsibility to take care of you!”, he barks back.

“But I don’t want you to take care of me, I want you to leave me alone!”, you spit into his face, making him drop his shoulders immediately.

God, you want to take that back straightaway, knowing damn well how your comment hurt his feelings. But at the moment, all you can think about is a warm bed and finally some rest.

You drag yourself into the bedroom and let your trembling body fall onto the mattress. This is not fair, right? After all, you aren’t a child anymore, you are able to look after yourself…right?

You close your eyes, the disappointed look on Kento’s face lingering through your mind. It wasn’t fair to snap at him, though. He is your husband, always caring about you. No, he certainly doesn’t deserve you to treat him like this.

Three soft knocks on the door.

“Can I come in?”, his damped voice questions.

“Sure”, you mumble.

You can’t even look at him when he enters the room in silence, elegant steps leading him to the bed where he sits down next to you. Suddenly, he begins to rip open a package of bandages, catching your attention.

“What are you doing?”

“I take care of you. May I?”

His gaze wanders to your skirt, eyes asking you for permission to pull it up.

“Sure…”, you mutter, a slight blush creeping up your face when his fingers brush over your panties.

“How did this happen?”, he asks softly while his skilled fingers remove the blood soaked bandage.

“I don’t know exactly. Wasn’t paying full attention and got hit by a curse.”

“I see.”

Despite all the things you said to him, despite the way you hurt him a few minutes ago, your man kneels in front of you and caresses your wound with so much affection that it doesn’t hurt at all. Your eyes wander over him, how his gaze is focused exclusively on your thigh, skilled fingers working wonders.

“I’m sorry for lashing out and not telling you”, you let out, not able to hold in your bad conscience any longer.

“I understand that I put you in an uncomfortable position when I threatened to talk to the elders about this and I’m very sorry for that. But it can’t go on like this, (y/n). This is the 5th serious injury within three weeks and I’m truly worried about you. I don’t want you to end like-“

He stops himself from finishing that sentence but oh you know exactly what he means and it shatters your heart. Without hesitation, your fingers grab his face gently, eyes locking with yours.

“I love you, Kento. And I see that you’re right. I’ll talk to the elders tomorrow myself about that”, you assure him.

A small but precious smile appears on his face, free hand caressing your cheek with so much affection that you have to hold back a tear.

“You’re my everything, sweetheart. Let’s stitch you up and go to bed.”

2K notes · View notes

nottsangel · 2 years ago

Text

Rafe Cameron as your boyfriend

pairing: rafe cameron x fem!reader

warnings: fluff, angst, nsfw at the end

nav. // m.list // taglist

the relationship

so. fucking. protective.

everyone in the outer banks knows that you’re his so they all know better than to touch you

if you’re at a party together, he either has his arm around your waist or he will keep an eye on you from the other side of the room, making sure no one makes a move on you

“rafe, please, I can take care of myself!” he would simply let out a chuckle as his grip on your waist tightens

“come sit on my lap, pretty girl” he says as his gaze is focused on the random guy that keeps checking you out

will walk over to him afterwards, “look at her again and I’ll kill you, alright?”

spoils you so much. doesn’t let you pay for anything

randomly texts you “buy yourself something nice, princess” after he transfers money to you

wheezie and sarah are like sisters to you

“rafe, can I please please record a tiktok video with y/n?” “god, wheezie, just leave us alone for a second, alright? we’re busy” but you’re already getting up and making your way to wheezie as rafe rolls his eyes and lets out a sigh

you’re the only one he truly trusts and cares about

affection

his hand is always on your waist or lower back

he doesn’t really like physical touch in public unless he feels threatened. he will make out with you in front of everyone with his hands on your ass if that’s the case

has trouble expressing how much you mean to him in words so he mostly does it through physical touch; lots of making out, hugs, hand holding, cuddling, forehead kisses etc.

plays with your hair while you’re cuddling <3

arguments

manipulative.

arguments can get very heated and he can say a lot of hurtful things to you. he has a very short temper

he will leave the room, slamming the door shut but will eventually come back after a few hours, crying and apologising to you

“please, just… don’t leave me. I can’t live without you, baby, please”

arguments with rafe are extremely mentally draining, but he is aware of his flaws and tries to do better for you

“I…I’m sorry baby. I love you, you know that, right?”

nsfw

always in control

if you’re in public together and he eyes you up and down with a smirk, just know that he’s horny and he’ll take you to the car or a public bathroom for a quickie

does not care who hears or sees you. all that matters to him is that everyone knows you’re his

“scream my name, baby. let them know who you belong to”

buys you so much lingerie. he loves going lingerie shopping with you and watching you try it on before he buys you everything you want

lots of degradation, hair pulling and choking

“my pretty little slut. you look so beautiful with my cock in your mouth”

loves fingering you with his rings on so you can feel the cold metal against your cunt

marks you with hickeys all over your body

“rafe, please. everyone will see them there” “I know, that’s the point”

can edge you for hours. especially when you’ve been misbehaving

“my poor baby. you wanna cum? then use your words and beg for it”

breeding kink!!!

fingers you after he came inside of you to keep it all in

immediately falls asleep after sex while his arms are wrapped tightly around you

comments and reblogs are very much appreciated since they keep me motivated to write more!!

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🏷 tags (join here): @vxntxque @goingbackt0505 @locker42 @wanturvideo

#❥ ari’s works #rafe cameron #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x fem!reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x reader #outer banks #rafe cameron imagine #outer banks smut #obx smut #rafe cameron hcs #obx #rafe cameron headcanons #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron fanfic

5K notes · View notes

hihomeghere · 3 months ago

Note

Could you do prompt 30 & 50 for Arthur, please and thank you ^_^!

Hope you enjoy! Word count : 1.7k Prompts : #30 I just want to be yours. #50 We need to talk about last night Warnings/tags : unprotected piv, cursing, talk of sex workers in the time period, friends with benefits

The agreement you had with Arthur was pretty straightforward. You were close friends, friends who also knew each other more intimately than friends should. Your agreement had begun after a rough job the two of you had gone on. Both full of adrenaline and anger after almost everything had gone wrong. Breathing hard, hiding from the law in a tiny cabin, tension was high.

It’s not like you hadn’t noticed him in that way before. He was a conventionally attractive man. Tall, muscular, ruggedly good looks.

And you both needed some relief, and you certainly weren’t complaining. As much as he put off a tough guy facade, he was nothing but caring. Making sure you reached your peak multiple times before he did.

You knew you worked well together in the field, you didn’t know it would transfer so gracefully to the bedroom. Reading each other's minds and body. The small twitch of his lip when you pressed your nails into his biceps. The way his brows knit together when you tugged at his honey brown locks. The primal groan that ripped through his chest when you locked your legs around his hips.

It worked. The two of you always worked well together.

“Hey.” His hoarse voice pulled you out of your daze, setting the gun you were cleaning next to you.

“Yeah?” You asked, laying down your rag on your pistol. He shuffled from one foot to the other, his hand gripping his gun belt. His hat tipped low on his brow. “Need me?” You asked, leaning back on the crate you were sitting on. The sun beating down on the both of you, though his brim shaded the upper half of his face. For having this arrangement for so long, it surprised you how shy he was when he would ask.

“Need ya.” He nodded, holding his hand out for you to take. As much as you tried to deny it, your heart skipped a beat at the thought that he needed you. You, no one else. Even if it was only to scratch an itch.

You took his hand, letting him lead you into the trees. His heavy steps paved a way through the brush near camp. You had to admit you were giddy, a smile spreading across your face as he led you further away from the noise of camp. Following him anywhere he took you like a lovesick pup. As much as you tried to deny it, you were falling for him.

It was wrong, so wrong. You were breaking the first rule, no attachments. But Jesus, how could you not fall for him?

You accidentally walked straight into his broad back, not having noticed him stopping.

“Eager?” He chuckled softly, smirking at you over his shoulder. You scoffed, your cheeks heating up.

“You’re the one who asked.” You hummed, trying to hide your growing embarrassment.

“Yeah yeah, alright.” He mumbled rolling his eyes playfully as his large hands found purchase on your waist. He walked you backwards until your back rubbed against the bark of a tree. Successfully pinning you between him and the birch. His knee immediately nudged its way up between your thighs. You let out a soft gasp, which he quickly swallowed as his mouth covered yours. He pressed his knee up against you, grinding against the most sensitive part of you. You couldn’t help but moan softly into his mouth, electricity shooting through your veins as he rubbed against you. He made quick work of his gun belt, dropping it to the grassy floor. Your hands threaded through his hair, something you had learned he loved, giving it a small tug.

He groaned into your mouth, which gave you the perfect opportunity to slip your tongue inside.

It wasn’t some sweet embrace, it was the clashing of tongue and teeth as he rocked you back and forth on his knee. Electricity shooting through your body as he bumped against your clit.

“Shit- c’mon Arthur.” You moaned feeling wetness gather in your bloomers. He moved down your jaw, leaving open mouthed kisses in his wake. He pulled away, his deft fingers worked on pulling himself out of his pants. While you shimmied out of your bloomers. His calloused hands landed on your waist, turning you around. He flipped up your skirts like you were some common whore, but you didn’t mind one bit. You pressed your backside against him as you leaned against the tree, feeling the hard line of his cock against you.

He spit into his hand, the sound obscene and yet so arousing. You waited, his body nearly engulfed yours as he leaned over you, his hand on your hip. He guided the head of his cock between your folds, pressing into you with a groan.

“Always so damn tight.” He muttered through gritted teeth, pulling you back against his chest. You thought you would get used to being filled by him by now. But every time it felt like you were being stuffed, feeling every ridge and vein of his length as he bottomed out. Giving you a breath or two to get used to his size before pulling nearly all the way out and slamming back into you.

Your mouth fell open as a cry left your lips, Arthur’s hand quick to muffle the sound. Those noises were for him only. It was like he was made for you, you knew that was a dangerous thought to have but you couldn’t help it. The way he rubbed up against those delicious spots inside you so effortlessly. Taking you to the precipice of pleasure as moans fell from you unabashedly.

Like a lightning strike, your orgasm hit you fast and unexpectedly. Holding onto the trunk of the tree as your legs nearly gave out from under you.

“Feel too damn good girl-“ He choked, driving into you with a near bruising pace as your walls fluttered around him.

“Shit-““ he bit down on your shoulder as he quickly pulled out. A low moan leaving his lip as his seed painted your backside. Panting, he pulled your bloomers back up and over your ass, his hand trailing reverently up your shaky legs. You hummed to yourself, basking in the afterglow as he returned the two of you to your prior state. You stood back up, using the tree as leverage as you turned to look back at him.

A beautiful flush had crawled up his neck, that you were just itching to reach out and kiss. But you didn’t, because you didn’t do anything afterwards. You hardly looked at each other afterwards. Like it would break the spell of the arrangement. That you would realize you were toeing the line between friends and something more a little too closely. So instead you leaned up against the tree and watched him buckle his gun belt low on his hips. He strode over to you, his hand finding your hip as he placed a kiss on your forehead before walking back towards camp.

You wouldn’t realize until you were getting ready for bed, that he had slipped a bill into your skirt pocket.

You left your tent in a damn near rage the following morning. Shame and disgust mixed inside you as you searched for Arthur. Did he really think he could treat you like some… some working girl? You weren’t selling yourself to him, just like he wasn’t selling himself to you.

The arrangement had worked for so long and he just had to go and ruin it?

You found him near the coffee pot, along with some other gang members.

“Arthur.” You said, your tone cold as you stood next to him.

“Y/n.” He replied, sipping his coffee. You didn’t miss the way Mary Beth side eyed Tilly. Although you couldn’t give two shits who knew you were pissed.

“We need to talk,” you said in a low tone. He raised an eyebrow giving you a questioning look. “About last night.” You huffed. He nodded, tossing the rest of his coffee out onto the grass before motioning for you to lead the way. You walked over to the edge of the trees, his footsteps heavy behind you.

“Well go on, out with it.” He said with a sigh, his hands resting on his belt.

“What the hell is this?” You asked, holding up the five dollar bill, “I ain’t offering you any services.” You hissed stuffing the bill back into his front pocket.

He recoiled, his eyes narrowing as you stuffed the bill into his shirt. “I know that.” He huffed, “I ain’t- I didn’t give it to you as payment.” He said clenching his jaw as he pulled the money out of his pocket.

“Then why the hell did you give it to me? No- why the hell did you hide it in my pocket?” You asked, narrowing your eyes.

He sighed looking down at his feet, “Damn it, Morgan.” He muttered under his breath, shaking his head. “I just- I just keep takin from ya.” He said, running his hand through his hair, “I just wanted to give you somethin’. Somethin’ for puttin up with the likes of me.” He hung his head, clenching his jaw.

“You think I’m just putting up with you?” You scoffed, your frustration at a boiling point, “I don’t want your money, I don’t want anything from you, I just want to be yours!” You cried, feeling hot tears sting your eyes as the damn broke, unable to hold your feelings back.

His head snapped up, his eyes locking onto yours as his mouth fell open.

“W-what?” He asked, his voice hoarse as he stared at you in disbelief.

“I don’t-“ you sighed crossing your arms, “I don’t want anything from you. I just want you.” You said, biting your lip as you stared into his cool blue pools. Arthur was frozen, for a moment it looked like he had stopped breathing. Then his brain finally caught up, he took three steps and pulled you into his arms. One hand on your hip while the other cupped your cheek, pulling you into him as his lips crashed against yours.

You froze, but only for a moment before you reached up, cupping his cheeks as your lips moved against his.

“Darlin,” He whispered, pulling away from you as the biggest grin spread across his face. “You’ve had me for a long time.”

Prompt list

#Arthur Morgan #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #Arthur Morgan x reader #Arthur Morgan smut #hihomeghere #writing prompt #rdr2 x reader #rdr2 arthur morgan #rdr2 arthur #red dead redemption

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90ekz · 10 months ago

Note

ive head this nagging thought in the back of my head that satoru has some kinda random spot on his body that’ll make him instantly pop a bone. I DONT KNOW JUST WORK WITH ME HERE PLS 🙏 i love your works btw 😘

✧ sweet spot, ft. satoru gojo

✧ tags: mostly fluff, whiny satoru, ‘baby’ as a nickname, did i say mostly fluff already??, dry humping, overstim, loser satoru cs he’s mushy and in love

✧ an: this idea is now living in my head and not paying rent, thanks a lot anon :/

satoru usually just does his own hair care, and he’s very meticulous about it. he wants everything to be clean and pristine—not that you weren’t capable of doing that for him, he’s just very, very dramatic. he didn’t even know this spot was sensitive until… literally now.

he’s standing in the bathroom as you brush your teeth, absentmindedly rubbing his hand over his growing undercut. he figured it was time for him to cut it anyway, but his arms were very sore from some training he’d done with the kids yesterday.

“babe.”

“y’esh?” he chuckled at your mouthful of the minty paste, and just waited for you to finish brushing. when you finally did, you turned to face him as he brushed his thumb over the white pooling on the corner of your mouth.

“can you cut my hair today? ‘arms are so sore.” satoru whined, his finger still tracing your lip lazily.

“have you washed it? i don’t need your lice transferring to me—ouch! okay, okay, plug in the clippers!” you giggled as he pinched your lip. the clippers rested on his side of the sink, and he plugged them in wordlessly. you stood behind him, lightly brushing the area with the small brush you know is the most comfortable for him. satoru sighs lightly as you do this, and his shoulders relax.

he didn’t know exactly what it was, but your hands felt different than his. you made him so sensitive usually anyway, but this was weird. his cheeks were heating, and everything was tingling, not just his neck.

and then you did it.

the clippers worked in upward strokes as you trimmed the hair down, and suddenly your thumb brushed over some magical pressure point of his. satoru felt pleasure shoot down his spine like he never had before, and a almost girly squeak slipped out before he could stop it. your eyes go wide and you remove the clippers from his neck. satoru is deathly still, and you watched color bloom over his cheeks in the mirror.

“…you okay sato’?” the nickname drips off your tongue like honey—so effortless, so intimate, and he hates that you decided to use it right now. he can’t take it. you’ve never called him that, and he can hear the amused tilt in your voice.

satoru gulps, because he doesn’t know what to say. how does he say that he wants you to keep going, to keep brushing over that exact spot so he can pinpoint exactly what that feeling was just now? he’s never felt anything like that when he cut his own hair…

he settles on a weak little “i’m fine, baby,” because frankly? he doesn’t trust himself to say any other words right now.

you give him a little smile in the mirror before your hands start working again, and you finally start getting somewhere with actually cutting his damn hair. he doesn’t feel anything out of the ordinary happen anymore, and now he’s finally cleanly shaven again like he likes. you did an exceptional job, and satoru peppers you with kisses as a reward.

he mostly stops thinking about it after this.

yeah, maybe the thought lingers in the back of his head for a few hours after, and maybe he stands in the bathroom rubbing his thumb over the back of his neck for a little longer than considered normal, but it was fine.

except for when you call him down to finish watching the movie you’d started earlier, and he’s laying on your chest as you run your fingers through his hair. satoru isn’t even paying attention to what your hand is doing as he yaps about the plot of the film, and you listen.

“he’s a piece of shit! i mean, he stayed with his side piece on the plane, and made his wife drive in the snow? fuck mike ‘till it’s backwards.” satoru spits, his attention fully focused on the movie’s plot.

unlike you, who’s mind was still in the bathroom, cutting satoru’s hair.

you haven’t stopped thinking about the little noise he’d made as you’d accidentally pressed your finger over the nape of his neck, right where the hair started. he sounded so weak—so vulnerable, and you decided right then that you needed to hear much more of that.

your mind was now solely focused on one thing, and your hand was moving just as it was in the bathroom. you twirled your fingers around strands, until finally threading your fingers through his hair and giving a small tug. this tore a stuttered breath out of satoru, and you smiled. he’d gone a little more rigid against you, and his commentary had stopped as you payed so much attention to him. he was losing focus of the movie, too.

“b-babe,”

“hmm?” you hummed back, fingers now traveling from his hair to his lower neck, tracing small circles there. you knew what you were looking for, but why not tease a little first?

satoru couldn’t answer you if he tried—every word in his throat dies as you press down onto that spot once more, and he’s slamming his hand on-top of yours to make sure you don’t move it. he isn’t sure why he does that exactly, but why does it matter? why does anything matter when you’re touching him like this?

he can’t do this, just one press on his spot has his dick rising and stiff against your thigh, and even you can hardly believe it.

“sato.” you grip his hair to pull him off your chest, just enough to look at you. he whines from the mixture of the nickname and the sting of his scalp.

“b-baby, please.” satoru breathes. you know what he’s asking for, and you figured you’d done enough teasing for a while. you grin, rubbing your thumb back and forth over the pressure point back and forth, up and down, and you wouldn’t be surprised if he came just from this based on the sounds he was making. he hovers you, his arms barely holding his body up, and he’s heaving into your neck.

“breathe, satoru.”

“mmph—i will! i will, just please don’t stop,” satoru whines, his hips grinding down against your thigh. sure, this whole thing is embarrassing as hell, but he couldn’t help the cheeky grin that stretched across his face as you indulged him. as you ran your acrylics over the sensitive part of him, he dropped his head back into your shoulders, and his own started to shake violently.

he was laughing.

you were shocked by this, but you didn’t dare stop. at some point, you couldn’t help but snort a little as he grasped onto you. it was cute—the way his giggles melted into moans, the way he couldn’t control himself or his emotions in the moment. there were no coherent thoughts forming in his head except for fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.

and you loved it that way.

#gojo x black reader #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #jjk satoru #jjk x reader #jjk x black reader #black reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen satoru #satoru x black y/n #gojou satoru x you #satoru smut #syno’s picks 💌#this idea is so funny to me #imagine just lightly touching the back of his neck bc you just like doing that and you’re a physical person and he just moans like LMAO #this also kinda goes into my touch starved gojo agenda but that’s a later convo 🫡

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hannahbarberra162 · 5 months ago

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Note: As you can tell, graphic design is my greatest passion. I'll try to make this fancier at some point. For now, sorry, this is what you get. I mainly hang on Ao3, which I am adept at using because it looks like it was made in 2004 and never updated (compliment).

I don't have an upload schedule, I post what and when I can. I love interacting with everyone, leave me an ask or comment if you'd like.

Ace never dies.

Master List

Unposted WIP List

One (and Two) Shots

Sir Crocodile and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day and on Ao3 (Croc x secretary reader, fluff and smut) and in French

Squace of Hearts, part 2 (Ace x childhood friend reader, angst and fluff)

Who the Deuce? (Ace x Deuce, angst and fluff)

Once in a Blue Moon (Were panther Zoro x reader, angst and fluff, smut)

Best in Show (Law x GN!Reader, all fluff no smut, Halloween special)

Princess Treatment (Benn Beckman x OC, Rivals to Lovers, Slow Burn)

Chapter 1

A Negative Outcome, (WBP / Marco & reader, not romantic, dark, kidnapping)

But then starting in part 2 (Thatch / Reader, whump, caretaking, morally gray Marco) part 3

Emperor's Prize (ABO, Alpha Shanks x Omega Reader, angst, hurt / comfort, yandere, WIP)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

The Crocodile's Gambit (Croc x Reader, no Y/N, fluff and angst, WIP)

The Crocodile's Gambit Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Heat Transfer (Yandere WBP x NagaReader) No Y/N, angst, fluff, pet-ification, WIP

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Not My Monkey (Reverse Trope, Isekai reader, platonic strawhats, Reader x Jinbei)

on Ao3

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Under the Microscope (Yandere Sabo x F!Reader) no Y/N, WIP

On Ao3

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

Part 8 Part 9

hOrnithology for Beginners (18+ / MDNI) Marco X Reader (no Y/N) mostly silly fluff, a little angst, complete

On Ao3

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7

Can't Fix Fix A Broken Heart (18+ / MDNI) - Yandere Whitebeard Pirates, finished, check the tags.

On Ao3

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10

Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15

Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20

Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25

Chapter 26 Chapter 27

Country Mouse, City Mouse (18+ / MDNI) - Sunshine X Grumpy with Mihawk, fluff, complete

On Ao3

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10

Struck Twice By Lightning (18+ / MDNI) - Second Chance Romance with Shanks, Complete for now

On Ao3

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10

Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14

#master list #master post

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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 1 year ago

Text

Gold Dust

Pairing: Modern Aemond Targaryen x f!reader Warnings: Public use of an app based sex toy, smut. Word count: ~1.8k

Summary: Aemond's office Christmas party is the last thing either of them want to attend, however, he comes up with an idea to make it fun for both of them.

Author's note: Can be read as an addition of this series, but also works as a standalone. Day seven of the Smuffmas prompts - "sharing a drink and toys". No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Aemond edit in first picture is by @kyloremus.

It’s been six blissful months since her and Aemond moved in together. Having decided his own lofty high rise flat no longer felt like home - in truth, it never had - he’d offered a swap with Mysaria, and she’d leapt at the offer.

Aemond’s flat was paid for outright, so there’d be no expenses incurred on her part, beyond standard bills and utilities. She suited the space, adding a touch of glamour to the modern matte black and chrome surroundings. Her jaw had dropped when he’d handed her the deeds, his grandfather’s law firm already having handled the necessary paperwork and transfer of ownership. Aemond didn’t want rent, he simply wanted to live with the woman he loved. The simple act of Mysaria giving them a space to be by themselves was payment enough in his mind.

The security of the smaller, more homely feeling flat which she now shared with him had been trickier to negotiate. The landlord had snubbed Aemond’s initial offer to buy it from him, insisting he’d make more in rental payments from it than he would if he sold it. Some moderate pressure applied by the legal team of Otto Hightower, and an offer well above its current market value had soon seen to that, so now they were homeowners of a place that was theirs.

Mysaria’s old room had been turned into a home office, a space where either her or Aemond could work from home if and when they wanted to, aside from that they had made no further changes. The cosy little space was where they had shared their fondest memories, and every aspect of their relationship was woven into it.

She shrugs off her coat, hanging it up by the front door, and sighs in relief as the warmth of the central heating prickles her skin. She stoops to ruffle Vhagar behind the ears, a reward for the elderly doberman having reluctantly left her bed to greet her, before walking through to the living room. The blankets on the sofa are exactly as she’d left them the previous evening, and she eagerly retreats back into her nest, snatching up the TV remote from the coffee table.

“Good day?” Aemond asks, propping himself against the door frame as he emerges from the home office, the faintest smirk of amusement playing upon his lips as he looks at her.

She regards him with a warm smile, her features softening instantly despite how tired and irritated she feels. “Horrid, thanks for asking. Do we have any wine left?”

“There’ll be wine at the party, I expect,” he says, moving to sit next to her and brushing a chaste kiss against her temple.

“What?”

He narrows his eye at her, drawing back to look at her carefully. “You forgot, didn’t you?”

She groans as realisation dawns upon her. “Shit, your office Christmas party. Do we really have to go?”

He sighs, nodding and interlocks his fingers with hers. “Ordinarily, I’d give it a miss, you know I loathe parties, but my grandfather has called in more than a few favours for me this year. I owe him this.”

An hour later, and she steps out of the bedroom, hair and make-up finished and a slinky silk dress hugging her curves.

“Beautful,” Aemond breathes quietly, pressing a lingering kiss to her lips.

She smiles bashfully, feeling her skin heat up beneath the weight of his compliment as he pulls away, and watches with curiosity as he moves past her to rummage around on the top shelf of their wardrobe.

“What are you doing?”

“Your outfit’s missing something,” he tells her, pulling down the Lovehoney box, a glint in his eye as he turns to her.

“Aemond, no!”

The app controlled egg vibrator had been a drunken purchase on her behalf, that she’d regretted the moment it had arrived. Upon discovering it, Aemond’s reaction had been much more enthusiastic, kneeling between her spread legs and watching in fascination as she’d whimpered and writhed as he’d played with the settings using the app on his phone.

It had been fun at the time, but she’d considered it impractical and tucked it away, hoping he’d forgotten about it. It’s clear now that he hasn’t.

“Oh come now, darling, it’ll make the evening much more fun for both of us. Consider it an early Christmas gift to me.”

It doesn’t take much persuading, and soon she is sitting in the back of a black cab next to him, her coat pulled tight around her against the chilly December air, made colder still by a distinct lack of knickers, which Aemond had insisted she leave behind.

She is acutely aware of the feeling of the egg enveloped snugly inside of her, its presence, though discreet, making her feel as though she brandishes a scarlet letter that their taxi driver must be aware of.

“No!” She mouths desperately at Aemond as he pulls his phone from his pocket, thumb hovering over the app.

He flashes her the briefest of grins, tapping once on the screen. A mild singular buzz reverberates through her, causing her to clasp a hand over her mouth to muffle her squeal. Aemond eyes her carefully, poking at the inside of his cheek with his tongue before pocketing his phone once more.

Tonight was going to be interesting.

They step into the office, already bustling with people, chatter and light classical music fill the opulent space which is decked out in rich, mahogany furnishings and forest green upholstery, ever the indication that the Hightowers come from old money.

“There they are!” Aegon greets them loudly with a grin, arms spread and half drunk flutes of champagne clutched by the stem between each of his fingers. His shoulder length blonde hair is tousled, and his white shirt is open by three buttons.

“How long have you been here?” She asks, taking in his bedraggled appearance.

“‘Bout twenty minutes,” he slurs around a mouthful of vol-au-vent.

Otto steps up behind him, placing a ring clad hand upon his shoulder. “I tell you where you might like it, Aegon, on the terrace; outside.”

She watches with amusement as the older man leads him away.

“I’d better give him a hand,” Aemond mutters quietly, the warmth of his palm leaving her lower back as he moves to follow. He nods towards his older sister. “Good to see you, Hel.”

She smiles warmly at Hel leaning in as the two peck each other’s cheeks. “How are you doing?” She asks fondly.

“Starving!” Helaena complains, pulling her sheer turquoise wrap tighter around herself and waving away a tray of canapés that’s being offered around by a member of serving staff. “Not a single vegan option here, everything’s either got salmon in it or is slathered in cream cheese.”

“You could always sneak off to grab something?” She offers sympathetically.

“Aeg said there’s a kebab shop over the road. I might see if he’ll grab me a falafel wrap later. Anyway,” she continues, snatching up two flutes of champagne from a passing tray and handing one to her. “How are you?!”

“Yeah, really good!” She grins. “Aemond mentioned we might fly to New York for New Year’s, go and see Daeron. I’ve not met him yet and I– oh!”

She bows her head, biting back the quiet moan that tries to escape her, as the egg inside her vibrates incessantly. Her head snaps up, making eye contact with Aemond, who stands in a corner with his phone out, a sly smile upon his face.

Bastard.

“You alright?” Helaena asks, eyebrows pinched together in concern.

“Mhm…just...champagne bubbles…they go right up my nose!” She feigns a laugh, embarrassment making her skin feel hot.

Ever the dutiful girlfriend, she does her rounds of the office, speaking to colleagues and family members alike, though every interaction is thwarted by sudden and persistent vibrations between her legs.

After an hour of polite chit chat with Alicent, Criston, Otto and several other party guests, she leans back against the wall next to Aemond’s office door, needing a breather from socialising, but also feeling lightheaded from the intermittent throbbing in her core.

The door swings slowly open and Aemond steps out, a crystal tumbler of amber liquid in hand.

“Having fun?” He asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Mmm,” she narrows her eyes, “you clearly are. What’s that you’ve got?”

“Laphroaig,” he tells her, swirling the liquid in his glass. “Thirty six year old The Wall Peat, to be precise. Grandfather would never offer this around to the guests. Lucky for me I know he keeps it stashed in his bottom desk drawer.”

“Lucky indeed,” she purrs up at him.

He grabs her hand, pulling her into his office and closes the door behind them, before backing her up against the desk, until she perches on the edge.

“Let me see,” he whispers, pushing her dress up above her hips.

His free hand applies gentle pressure to her knee, spreading her legs, and she watches the bob of his throat as he swallows thickly, taking in the sight of the arousal that coats her centre.

“Fuck,” he mutters darkly. “The idea of you walking around making innocent small talk while you’re soaked is driving me mad.”

She giggles, clenching around the egg that’s nestled within her as she sees his gaze darken. Aemond pulls out his phone again, changing the setting to a constant vibrate, before setting it down on the desk behind her.

Mewling helplessly, shockwaves of pleasure ripple through her as Aemond’s thumb swipes against her sodden folds, spreading her open to watch intently.

He takes a sip from his glass, and she gasps as he grabs her forcefully by the hair at the back of her head, crushing her lips against his and letting the whisky pass from his mouth to hers. She moans quietly, the intensity of the burn of the liquid that slips down her throat and the throbbing ache between her legs making her feel dizzy.

She is devastatingly close, can feel the pressure building to boiling point, and she whines, pressing her face into the crook of Aemond’s neck, fingertips rumpling the fabric of his black button down shirt as she grasps his biceps for purchase. “Fuck, Aemond, I–”

“It’s alright, I’ve got you, let go,” he coos.

She bites down on the juncture of his neck to muffle her pleasured cry, earning her a startled grunt from Aemond. Her body spasms around the toy, climaxing with a force that makes her toes curl inside of her high heels, before going limp against his chest.

He settles his glass down and strokes her hair before pulling back. His long, dexterous fingers wrap around the cord of egg, and despite how gentle he is as he tugs it free, she still hisses with overstimulation as it leaves her body. The sudden feeling of emptiness is alien to her after having spent most of the evening with it inside of her.

“Can…can we go home now?” She asks tiredly, as he wraps the toy in tissue and deposits it on the desk.

“Hmmm, not just yet,” Aemond tells her, taking her hand and guiding it to palm over the erection that strains against the confines of his suit trousers. “I’m not quite finished with you yet.”

Chapter five || Series masterlist

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wonustars · 11 months ago

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𝘋𝘰 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘙𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘛𝘪𝘮𝘦 ? (Teaser)

𖦹 pairing: yoon jeonghan x reader 𖦹 wordcount: 15k+ (this teaser: 643 words)

𖦹 genre: enemies to roommates to lovers, slowburn, angst, fluff, smut (mdni 18+) (none in this teaser though)

𖦹 summary: your first day at your new university you spill coffee on an unsympathetic asshole. unfortunately for you that unsympathetic asshole becomes your roommate. 𖦹 in other words: you and jeonghan get off on the wrong foot, but through forced proximity and a snow day in due to a storm, you learn that your roommate is more than just the campus playboy.

𖦹 tags: non-idol!au, uni!au, e2l!jeonghanxreader, campusplayboy!jeonghan, roommate!jeonghan, afab!reader, bestfriend!booseoksoon, joshua is jeonghan's accomplice in everything, reader is the only one who knows how to cook, jeonghan is king of the sassy man apocolypse. (more will be added in the full fic) 𖦹 smut tags/warnings will be added in the full post.

𖦹 taglist form. you can also comment or send an ask but the form is preffered! :) thank u

𖦹 note: this jeonghan fic idea has been cooking in my head for a longgggg while now. idk when it'll be out but cosidering i'll have more down time, i'd say by the end of this month? but it really depends so sorry in advance if i take longer than that lol. i've also decided to make a google form for anyone who wants to be added to the tag list (you must be 18+ though, and i will check if your age is in your bio), as well as a permanent one if you'd like! anyways see you all soon! mwah - anna.