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clementine-thedestroyer · 4 months ago

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Kinktober day 31: Gangbang - 141 x reader

Warnings/tags: F!reader, f receiving oral, PIV sex, ect. Over stimulating, light bondage.

Um…. Better late than never?

If you’ve been following me for a while, you know that I didn’t finish Kinktober remotely on time, but I guess if you can say one thing about me, it’s that I’ll keep trying.

Anyways, just pretend like it’s not August.

There’s a hand over your stomach, resting over the layer of fat covering the area as you try to take deep breaths. In, and out. All in an attempt to calm yourself.

Your hands are restrained above you, secured to the head board via a pair of handcuffs one of them got from god knows where. The four of them are all standing over you, watching you with varying degrees of patience for what’s coming next.

Over the years, you like to think you’ve memorized every inch of your partners. Where Price’s and Johnny’s hands were both large and calloused, John’s were always warm to the touch with thicker fingers, short, neatly trimmed nails, and a thicker layer of hair on the backs- while Johnny’s were almost always ice-cold with dry skin, bitten-down nail beds, and old, picked at hangnails. Kyle and Simon both had longer and slightly thinner fingers, but Kyle kept his nails neatly trimmed, often just slightly longer than Price kept his, while Simon’s nails were more often than not left unattended. Simon would rather just tear the ends whenever he deemed them too long than bother finding a pair of clippers. Both Kyle and Simon’s hands were rough from work like the other two’s, but Simon’s preference for wearing gloves left his a bit softer than the rest’s, which posed a stark contrast to the remnants of past injuries that decorated his hands like medals- scars and crooked fingers and swollen joints- all with a story to tell and a memory to stir.

At this point, you think you could tell blindfolded whose hands were on you, so even without looking, it’s easy to tell that the hand on your stomach belongs to Price.

His fingers ghost along your skin, ticking just enough for your core to jerk and your breath to hitch at the touch. You make the mistake of meeting his eyes, nearly shrinking back at the undeniable hunger to his gaze.

You jerk your gaze away, shifting on the bed as you try desperately not to squirm. You feel the weight of their eyes on you, their full attention devoted to watching, admiring, lusting over your body laid out for them.

Price’s hand pulls away from you as he takes a step back, tugging a cigar out of his pocket and clicking on his lighter as he speaks in a calm, authoritative tone.

“Alright, boys. Let’s take care of our girl.”

And with that, it’s as if a spell is broken. The other three all take a step away, shuffling around you in wordless understanding as Simon takes his place as the first between your legs.

“It’s alright love, ‘going to get you nice and stretched open so you can take us.” He says, pulling off one of the black leather gloves covering his hand and slipping his hands under your butt to lift your hips, tilting them up for a better angle. Wordlessly, Johnny grabs a pillow from the top of the bed, handing it to Simon to prop your ass up, which he takes with an unintelligible grunt.

After positioning you how he wants you, Simon bites the fingertip of his remaining glove, tugging it off before rubbing slow circles into your clit with the pad of his thumb.

You let out a needy noise, arching your back and trying to grind down onto the pressure on your clit.

You don’t do much more than turn your head into the warmth of his skin when Kyle and Johnny sit down- with Johnny moving behind Simon, watching with a slack jaw and hungry eyes as Simon rubs easy circles into your clit, and Kyle takes a seat beside you, pulling your head into his lap and tucking a wayward strand of your hair behind your ear. Already, you’re nearly too out of it to notice Price taking a seat in the dark, brown leather chair situated in the corner of the room and taking a long draw from his cigar, exhaling and filling the room with the rich smell of his favored brand.

A needy moan escapes you as Simon moves his touch lower, rubbing at your hole with two of his fingers but not pushing in. You try to arch your back to wiggle back down onto his fingers, whining softly when he only pulls his hand away.

“Be patient.” He says sternly, and you want to whine about it, but you’re distracted by Kyle’s thumb running over your mouth, pressing gently at your lips.

When you part your mouth for him, he smiles, running the pad of his thumb over your molars and the inside of your mouth as you struggle not to try and speak around his finger.

“So pretty.” Kyle coos, holding your head gently as he continues to distract you from Simon’s prep work.

“Right’ Bonnie lass she is” Johnny adds, nodding dumbly as his accent thickens to the strongest you’ve ever heard it.

Simon chuckles, “Careful, Johnny, you’re drooling.”

“Wha-?” Johnny’s head snaps up, looking around in confusion before he rolls his eyes. “Very funny.” He grumbles, settling back into his spot.

Kyle laughs, continuing to stroke at your hair and hold your head in his lap.

Without warning, Simon pushes a finger inside of you, curling it up and rubbing circles into the walls of your cunt in a way that mirrors his motions at your clit.

You moan, jerking your hips and squeezing around his finger as tight as you can to wring every bit of sensation you can from the digit.

Again, Simon chuckles, pausing his rubbing of your clit to lean down and lift his mask, pressing a soft, sweet kiss to the swollen bud.

The stubble lining his jaw pokes and prickles at the sensitive skin between your legs and you whimper, trying to squirm away even after he pulls away.

“You like that, princess?” Simon coos, slight condescension evident in his tone as he rubs at your thigh and works to stretch your enough to fit a second finger inside of you.

You whine and shake your head no.

“S’ scratchy-“ you mumble, wiggling your hips even as you’re held firmly in place.

Simon laughs, a deep, amused noise that you’re rarely allowed to hear in full force.

“Alright love, I’m sorry. I’ll make sure I’m clean shaven next time.” He says, before beginning to work a second finger inside of you and ducking his head down to give your clit a firm suck.

You can feel his triumphant grin against your skin when you moan and try to fuck yourself on his fingers.

“It’s fucking- yer hand.” Johnny practically whines, and you feel a surge of arousal move through you at the view he must be getting- of Simon’s hand pistoning in and out of you as your cunt seems to swallow his hand with each thrust.

The force behind the fingers fucking you intensifies and Simon’s tounge circles and rubs at your clit and Kyle pushes his thumb deeper into your mouth, holding your head still and using his thumb to press firmly down on your tongue, trapping the muscle against the bottom of your mouth.

You moan loudly, unable to cut off or muffle any of the sounds you’re making as your hips twitch and jerk.

Your cheeks burn as you realize you can already feel an orgasm beginning to build, each thrust feeling better and better as the feeling begins to build.

“Add another, Simon.” Price says from his chair in the corner. He’s leaned back in his seat with his legs spread comfortably. In one hand, he holds his burning cigar while the other lazily rests atop the tent in his pants as he watches the four of you in the bed.

Simon pulls his mouth away from your clit and sits up. You feel a third finger prod at your entrance, whining when it’s pulled away instead of pressed inside you alongside the other two.

“I’m trying.” Simon growls, looking up. “Garrick, get me the lube.” He adds, thrusting his hand hard enough into you for you to bounce and be shoved slightly up the bed.

You moan, trying not to drool around the thumb in your mouth, swallowing whatever drool had accumulated when Kyle moves his thumb to rest between your lip and the side of your teeth. He turns and uses his free hand to reach behind him and yank open the nightstand drawer, grabbing the bottle of clear liquid before passing it up to Simon and Johnny.

Simon’s hands don’t move from between your legs, instead, Johnny is the one to take the bottle and pop open the cap, squirting a generous amount onto where Simon’s hand is buried between your legs.

You moan as the slide of his fingers inside you turns 100 times sweeter, it’s almost enough to completely distract you from the stretch of a third finger being pushed into your cunt, and you can feel your orgasm creeping closer and closer with every thrust of Simon’s hand.

“It’s alright Bonnie, you’re almost there- Simon’s just got real gnarly fingers, not a good fit for pretty girls like you.” Johnny coos, rubbing his hand up and down over your tensed stomach in a soothing motion.

“Shut it.” Simon growls, decidedly unamused, increasing the force behind his fingers and going down to suck and lick at your clit until you’re twitching- hips jerking as you cry out and cum around his fingers.

You’re squirming your hips down and side to side to try and get Simon’s fingers deeper inside of you and drooling from both ends. From above your head, you can hear Kyle laughing, although you’re not sure whether at Johnny’s words or the pitiful display you’d just put on. Even Price is stifling a chuckle from his seat in the corner, looking down to hide his laughter even as his shoulders shake from the force of it.

Simon’s hands don’t still, even after the last aftershocks of your orgasm finally fade. Instead, he adds a fourth, continuing to bully your clit with his tongue and batter your inner walls until you’re writhing from overstimulation.

Kyle’s thumb goes back to pressing down on your tongue, and you let out what you're sure is an absolutely debauched sound as you squirm. It’s like you’re a doll stuck between them- made solely for them to poke, prod, play with, and bully. Your moans and cries only serve to spur them on further, and your squirming is easily negated by the strong arms that hold you in place.

You look pleadingly at Price, begging him with watery eyes to make Simon give you any kind of mercy, but he only laughs, his legs spread as he languidly jerks his thick, full cock and watches the four of you.

“Don’t look at me like that, Dove. I can’t save you.” He says, and you sob, looking up at Simon and tugging on where your hands are cuffed to the head board.

Simon switches from his mouth to using two fingers to rub circles into your clit, not missing a beat as he keeps pace with the hand currently fucking you.

“Simon- I can’t- it’s too much-“ You whine, only to be cut off by a hash slap to your hip.

“Shush. I’m almost done.” Simon responds, not looking up from where he’s meticulously stretching you open that last bit.

You open your mouth to speak, but Kyle shoves two fingers deep into your mouth, watching with a pleased grin as you gag and choke around the intrusion.

Tears that may be a bit more than reflex prick at your eyes, and just as it’s about to be too much, Simon pulls his fingers out of your cunt with a lewd, wet squelch.

“She’s ready.” He says, scooting back and wiping his hand on the side of your stomach, leaving a streak of cold wetness shining on your skin. “Who’s first?”

“ME!” Johnny yells, practically flinging himself forward. He scrambles between your open legs and yanks open the fly of his pants, freeing his drooling cock and giving it a few rough pumps before climbing on top of you.

Kyle has to move out of the way so as to not be crushed in the whirlwind of energy Johnny has become. He makes a teasing remark you can’t quite catch as Johnny captures you in a wet and messy kiss.

His hands trace the curves of your body, taking every opportunity to grab onto the pockets of fat you carry and squeeze. He gropes at your tits, ass, hips, thighs- anything he can get his hands on, all while kissing you as deep and hard as he can.

“Fuck, Bonnie- yer’ perfect.” He pants, giving your tit a particularly harsh squeeze. “I’m gonna take such good care of you.”

You can hear rumbles of “get on with it” from across the room and Johnny scoffs before sitting up, giving a slight roll of his eyes as he pats you twice on the hip.

“Alright, alright, the peanut gallery is getting impatient. Roll over for me, love.” Johnny says, and his face splits in a grin when you do exactly as he says, letting the chain of the handcuffs keeping your hands above your head twist as you roll on your stomach and get onto your knees. You keep your upper body against the mattress, sitting in an ass-up, face-down position that puts somewhat of a strain on your back.

The position prompts a deep groan from Johnny behind you. Your cunt is aching again. Johnny’s groping and kissing and practicing jumping your thigh had been enough to make you as wet and needy as you felt around Simon’s fingers.

“Fuck- Simon, you should’a opened up her ass for us too. Bet she could’ve taken two of us at once like that, yeah?” He asks, and you moan at the thought, squeezing around nothing as you press your hips back, silently begging for Johnny to hurry up and get inside of you.

The only response from Simon is a noncommittal grunt, but you hear a vague “we’ll see,” from Price.

Without warning, Johnny’s cock starts pushing into you and you moan, a warm, happy and content pleasure spreading through you as his cock easily slides inside of you.

“Fuck!” Johnny curses, hips stuttering halfway as he squeezes his eyes shut, his grip on your hips turning bruising as he takes deep, panting breaths.

“Gonna cum before you’re even inside our girl, sergeant?” Price barks, his words degrading but his tone light and amused. Regardless, you feel the jerk of Johnny’s hips in response.

“No, Sir.” Johnny says through gritted teeth, taking a final shuddering breath before pulling out and beginning to fuck his cock into you.

You moan, already somewhat lost in the pleasure as your head turns to the side.

You find Simon standing near the edge of the bed, looking down at you with his cock out and an unreadable expression. You feel yourself drooling at the sight of his large hand roughly jerking his fat cock, and you feel almost compelled to put on a show for him- moaning messily when Johnny curses and doubles over, thighs slapping your ass as the room fills with the sounds of sex.

When you see Simon’s hand tighten around himself, you take it as a victory, making a show of letting Johnny keep you pinned in place. His knees rest bracketing you on the mattress, while his hands pin down your arms by the wrists and his cock forces you again and again deeper into the mattress.

You’re so close, and it’s almost enough- but you don’t come with Johnny. He tries, continuing to fuck you even after you feel his thighs shaking and his cum spurting inside of you, but after a moment of fucking you though his own orgasm, he curses, pulling out and panting out apologies as he strokes your hair.

You whine when he pulls out, feeling his cum beginning to drip out of you and flopping onto your side to ease the strain on your back.

“Fuck- fuck, I’m sorry Bonnie. ‘Sorry I didn’t make it good for you. I can take care of you, I promise. I’ll lick your pussy so good you’ll never wanna-” He starts, being cut off by Kyle shoving at his shoulder, rolling his eyes.

“You can do that later, mate. ‘Rest of us want a go.” Kyle says, nudging again at Johnny to get him to move.

“But-“ Johnny whines, looking desperate.

“Kyle will take care of her, Johnny.” Price says, and Johnny relents, moving so Kyle can settle between your legs, his hands running up the sides of your hips gently.

“Alright love, it’s okay. I’ll take care of you, how about you just roll onto your back for me, alright?” He says, gently guiding you to roll back onto your back.

You mumble something incoherent, needy and dripping. Your body aches from holding your earlier position and you nearly moan in relief when Kyle scoots you up on the bed so your shoulders can be bent.

A hand smooths over your stomach and a kiss is pressed into the inside of your thigh. Kyle is sweeter about it than Johnny, rubbing appreciatively at whatever parts of you he can reach as he pulls his cock out.

“Please, Kyle-” You whine at the sight, admiring his- fittingly- pretty cock as he guides the tip to your hole.

He laughs, smiling down at you while his guides his swollen tip to your hole.

“It’s alright, I’ll take care of you.” He says, pressing in slow and steady while petting gently at your still sensitive clit.

You moan in relief, relaxing into his touch as he starts to pull out and thrust back in, rolling his hips into you so his cock hits every right place.

Again, it’s slower- sweeter than with Johnny, but you find yourself enjoying it just as much. The drag of his cock inside of you steadily increasing in pace, Kyle’s undeniably handsome face smiling down at you, the stimulation to your clit- all making for a slow, building orgasm that feels less intense but longer and harder all at the same time.

“Kyle-“ You whine, letting your head fall back and shuddering as he sucks wet hickeys into the tender skin.

When you come, Kyle is quick to follow, groaning at the feeling of your cunt squeezing and pulsing around his cock and grabbing you by the hips to pull you as deep onto his cock as he could as he came.

“Fuckin’ hell-“ Simon growled, watching the two of you, eyes transfixed on how your head flopped lazily to the side, watching him with hazy, post-orgasm high eyes.

You hear similar sentiments from around the room, but you’re too taken by the sight of Simon jerking himself off- almost mean in how he tugs and strokes himself.

You barely notice Kyle pulling out- too distracted with the sight of Simon practically bullying his cock into an orgasm.

“You’re up, Simon.” Kyle pants, heaving deep, heavy breaths as he moves for Simon to take his spot.

“Don’t fucking think I need it.” He hisses through gritted teeth. “Our girl paints’ too pretty of a sight.”

You squeeze your thighs together with a soft moan at the feeling of cum oozing out from between your legs, struck by a sudden urge to keep as much of it in as possible.

“Wait- Simon, inside-“ You say, spreading your legs, silently begging with your eyes as you try to reach out for Simon, desperate to have his cum inside of you with the other two’s.

But it’s too late. Simon groans, shuddering as he catches his release in his hand and braces himself against the night stand.

You watch as some of the precious liquid oozes out of his cupped hand, whining needily at the sight of it going to waste.

“Fuuuuck, L.t.” Johnny drawls, watching Simon’s hand full of cum with almost as much need as you.

“You didn’t finish inside….” You mumble, your lower lip wobbling. You’re sensitive enough that even this feels like it’s enough to bring you to tears.

Simon laughs softly at your despair, glancing down at his hand full of cum before slapping it against your cunt with a loud squelch, earning a yelp from you and a laugh from Soap as your back arches and his palm hits your thoroughly worked clit.

“That better, love?” Simon coos, his tone condescending as he wipes a tear from your face with the pad of his thumb, leaving what was left of his cum smeared on your face.

Despite the mocking nature of his words, you find yourself nodding. You would probably thank him for smearing his come over your abused cunt if he asked.

Before it can go any further, Price is stepping forward. You’d been so absorbed in the other three that you hadn’t noticed him standing up until just now- when he’s towering over you and holding his cock out, already moving to situate himself inside you.

“Alright, that’s enough. Leave the poor girl alone, she’s still got one more round she’s gotta’ give us tonight.” Price says, lifting your legs to his sides as he slowly starts to push in.

You make a noise somewhere between a whimper and a moan, and with the first thrust, you’ve already lost it- your entire body is bounced with the slaps of his thighs against your ass and moaning like a porn star as you do.

“Do you think that if we fuck it back into her enough it’ll take, Captain?” Kyle asks, earning a groan from Price.

“Fuck- don’t joke about that, Gaz.” He growls, his hands squeezing at your waist.

Vaguely, you can hear Simon say something about you already having “a belly full of cum,” and the other’s reactions to that statement, but you’re too lost in your head to understand what they’re all saying.

The only thing that mattered was the head of Price’s cock hammering into you- you were well and truly fucked dumb. Your clit was over sensitive and your cunt as a whole felt sore in the best of ways. You were too sensitive to take much more than a few minutes of Price fucking you like he was- thrust after thrust, bullying the same spot until the heat in your belly started to build and build until it snapped and you came with a cry, spasming around Price’s cock as he continued to fuck you. His own pace only started to falter when your moans turned to pitiful overstimulated cries- his hips twitching as he finally finished, burying himself to the hilt and gritting his teeth, groaning as he shot his load into you.

He remains draped over you for a moment, panting as he tries to catch his breath- stroking gently at your hair to keep you nice and floaty through your post-orgasm high. When you crack your eyes open, it's to Kyle unlocking your handcuffs and massaging the blood flow back into your hands while Price slowly pulls out of you, leaving you to whimper at the rough drag of his cock as it leaves you.

“Fucking hell…” Johnny groans at the sight of all the cum pooling out of you, his eyes wide and focused. Price is quick to catch his staring, patting Johnny on the shoulder as he speaks.

“Go get some water for her, alright?” He says, to which Johnny nods, swallowing thickly before standing up and grabbing a cup from the nightstand, going towards the bathroom to fill it up.

He nearly walks into Simon as he’s coming out of the bathroom with a wet washcloth. Johnny ducks to the side he sees him, barely managing to fit between him and the wall, which earns a raised eyebrow from Simon but not much else.

Price sits you up and leans you against Kyle, who’s perfectly content to hold you and coo soft praises to you while he pets at your hair and rubs your back.

You’re absolutely exhausted, and Kyle’s arms are more than comfortable enough for you to start to doze off in.

“You did so good for us, Love. So good.” Kyle says, wiping some of your tears away with his hand as Simon spreads your legs, making you perk up as he starts to gently wipe away all the cum, slick, and lube that’s smeared between your thighs.

No matter how gentle he is, the rough material of the washcloth is hell against the tender skin of an already sensitive area. You whine at the pain and try to close your legs, but your attempt only results in firm hands holding them apart.

John watches you squirm for a moment, still catching his breath as he watches Simon clean you up.

“Stop squirming.” Simon says, rolling his eyes at the whine you make in response, but ultimately continuing to work to get you clean.

Johnny comes back from the bathroom with a cup of water, standing to the side as he waits for Simon to finish before taking his place and working in tandem with Kyle to get you to drink something.

“Come on, you’ve got to drink some water before you can drift off.” Johnny says, and when the first bit of water touches your lips, you find yourself suddenly parched, draining the entire glass in a single sitting.

“Good job.” Kyle says, patting your head when you finish the water, pulling it to rest against his chest the same way you had been before.

You try to say thank you for the water, but all that comes out is a muffled, unintelligible noise. The moment your head’s back against Kyle’s chest, your eyes are closed.

After getting you situated, Simon folds the rag over to present a clean side and hands it over to Price, who thanks him before using it to clean the remnants of cum and slick off his cock, tucking himself back into his pants and zipping them up once he’s done.

“Alright, hand her over to me.” Price says, standing up and sitting down at the head of the bed, his back leaning against the headboard.

You groan softly as you’re passed from Kyle’s lap to Price’s, but you’re quick to settle into his arms regardless.

Around you, you can hear the sounds of the other three settling. You feel the bed dip as someone (or someones) lay down beside you, and someone pulls a blanket up over you.

“It’s alright love, you can go to sleep now.” Price says, patting you on the back and placing a kiss behind your ear.

You barely manage to acknowledge his words before you’re out cold.

Kinktober 2023 Masterlist

#fem!reader #smut #john price #johnny soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #task force 141 x reader #141 x reader #fem reader #john price x reader #john soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #kyle garrick x reader #Kyle Garrick #john mactavish x reader #tf 141

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jyoongim · 9 months ago

Note

Hiii

Alastor X human!reader where she is desperate to make a deal for fame and glory.

She tries to summon a demon, accidentally conjuring Alastor. Beside her feisty facade she’s quite innocent and naive. He’s intrigued by her and toys with her, like a prey,tricking her into him, she signs the deal. He’ll come back after 1yr to collect his pretty little prize…her body and soul. 🌶️🔥

Title: A Price to Pay

part 2

You frowned at the check your boss had handed you.

Too little. You looked at your boss, a nervous smile on your lips as a laugh bubbled out of your throat ”haha this is half of what i should be getting. That’s funny, where's the rest? Am i getting that in cash or some?” Your boss laughed “HA! No thats what you’re getting for the week‘

Your eyes damn near popped out of your head.

For the week?

This was your pay for the entire week?

Oh hell no!

You poked a finger into the mans chest “What?! The whole week? I’ve been singing my ass off in this shit hole for two weeks! Where are my commissions?” You were angry!

He gave a low laugh as he pulled out a cigar ”You think just because you’re my best in this joint that I wasn’t gonna get the Final Cut? You better take it before i hand your ass nothing”

You sniffled as you wiped at your runny nose.

The yellow paper with EVICTION stared at you as you felt another wave of tear hit you.

Why?

Why couldn’t you just make enough to stay afloat?

Why did you have to suffer?

Why didn’t fate grant you mercy?

You had been busting your ass for months trying to make enough money to just pay the damn pills.

You were the best singer on your side of town and that shit hole needed a singer almost every night and when big shots went there. The money wasn’t terrible, it beat standing out on the pier at night, waiting to be taken to gods know where.

You laughed dryly, you would gladly get pimped out if it meant that you could still afford food to eat.

Why was life so cruel?

You had worked so hard and it felt like it was all for nothing.

You could hear your momma in your head

”You wanna dream big? Then never let life beat you down. Take it by the balls and make your dream a reality”

The next thing you know, you found yourself pulling out your mother’s old grimoire and drawing symbols on your bedroom floor.

what the hell were you doing?

You used to scoff at your mother when she did spells.

Because magic wasn’t real…right?

But it felt like you had no other option as you threw some herbs into the small fire pot.

Momma used to tell you about all types of things that were possible with a little magic. That you always had friends on the other side who could help if you knew what you doing.

And you indeed had no fucking clue.

But you were tired, angry, and desperate and wanted to do something about it.

This was your life!

You felt your body tingle as you chanted the incantation.

The room turned cold and the fire from the candles blew out. The building started to shake as you spoke the last verse and suddenly you were thrown back from an explosion in the middle of your pentagram.

You watched in terror as the floor glowed red and rising from the smoke was a very large demon.

You panicked as it began to stand, gulping at its full height.

Oh what did you just do?

—————————————————

Alastor blinked as he stood. Fanning the smoke away from his face, he grimaced once he saw the pentagram, candles, and herbs. Who dared? His ears perked at the sound of heavy breathing. He turned his head and red eyes caught sight of a mortal woman standing against the wall, eyes wide.

He took a step towards her, head tilting as she cowered away. He huffed as he got to the edge of the protection boundary. He gave her a smile, sharp teeth glistening with narrowed eyes

“Hello my dear”

——————————————————————

You took in the tall demon that stood in your bedroom.

He was dressed like one of those fancy gents.

Red and black tailored suit with a cane.

You watched as he curled his lip when he saw your protection boundary. You felt your body freeze as his eyes met yours.

Red.

Glowing red.

He was rather handsome looking for a demon.

He reminded you of-

“Deer” you squeaked, causing Alastor to tilt his head, ears flicking.

oh come on! You can’t be scared of something that you’re in control of!

”Hello my dear” you heard him say. He stood on the cusp of the salt boundary giving you his full attention.

That smile of his was very uncanny.

You shivered.

You found your nerves and puffed your chest out

”Hello demon-sir”

”Alastor” you blinked at him “w-what?”

He never lost that smile “The names Alastor. Pleasure to meet you” you were at a lost for words. Alastor took your silence to look around, your spellbook caught in his attention before he took you in.

You cleared your throat “I summoned-” “conjured” “You to um make a deal?” You said uncertain

Alastor smirked “oh reallly? And what makes you think Ill make a deal with a human like you?”

You frowned ”You don’t have a choice! I summoned YOU here you have to do what I ask!’

He laughed darkly “Oh my dear that isn’t how things work” he looked back at the salt ”lets chat”

You didn’t trust him, but he seemed friendly girl don’t do it

you inched close and with a sweep of your foot, dusted a bit of the salt to let him through.

Alastor stepped through and now you were being towered over.

Alastor took you in.

what a small thing you were. He was sure you had no idea what you were doing or dealing with.

But if it was deal you wanted, he will grant that.

”What do you want?”

You wrung your hands nervously as you spilled your sad excuse of a life and your far fetched dream.

You felt a surge of determination as you finished your little rant “That’s why I need a deal! I deserve to rise to the top! I’ve worked my ass off for years and nothing! Why-Why should I settle for this? My life deserved to be full of glamor and money! I deserve that right? Right! S-s-so what do you say”

Oh what an innocent thing you were.

Such a fire that had nowhere to burn.

Perfect

Alastor feigned mulling it over, your face dropping as he walked away from you.

”A deal works both ways my dear”he started as he turned back to you “What will you give me in return?” His smile stretched across his face as his calm facade faded.

You gulped but you were not gonna back out “Ill give you anything j-just please I don’t care what I have to do!”

He was in front of you in a flash, making you take a step back nervously

“Anything?” A clawed hand squished your cheeks hard as he leaned his face to yours

”prove it” he purred

You blinked. How the hell were you suppose to do that?

Nothing in this world is free. Your momma taught you that and your warning bells were screaming.

His thumbs was running over your lips and you opened your mouth to suck it.

You could die right now. Was this worth it? To give up your dignity to a demon?

Alastor growled and in a swift motion, you were on your bedroom floor, heart thumping in your ears as you looked up at the demon on top of you.

Alastor’s free hand swiped down your body, tearing your clothes to shreds, leaving you naked.

You felt a soft heat curl in your stomach.

Alastor laughed darkly as he took in your naked form. His hand dipped down and thumbed at the small bundle of nerves, causing you to jolt.

Oh he was going to have fun with you

”One year.” He said as he dipped a finger into your tight heat.

You gasped around his finger.

”You’ll get your fame. You’ll have riches and power beyond your imagination. A top star. It’ll all be yours. But in one year you are mine. Your soul and body. Do we have a deal?” He was slowly fingering you, relishing in the softness your cunt offered as it squeezed around him.

Your body and soul in exchange for glory.

Did you still want this?

”yes” you whimpered

A green glow emitted around the two of you. Alastor eyes glowed and his antlers grew as he plucked his thumb from your mouth and slammed his lips onto yours as he rubbed your clit as he slammed his fingers into you.

”mmmhmm hmmm!’ You cried into his mouth as your orgasm hit you.

Your cunt clenched around him, creamy slick drowning his hand.

Your body buzzed as he retracted his fingers, watching in bliss as he licked your cum off his fingers.

”Oooh such a sweet cunt” He Purred at you as he scooped you up into his arms to lay you on your bed.

”Ill always keep close watch my dear, so don’t think you can back out of this” he said, you blinked sleepily as you felt the coldness of a necklace clasped around your neck.

“One year my dear”

Your world faded to black.

pt 2 coming soon..hehehe

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mutantsclaws · 3 months ago

Text

no ashtray in sight.

logan howlett x trans man reader

warnings: smoking ( cigars & joints ) . pain & pleasure .

it was late at night in Logans and your apartment, none of you could sleep from being too hot outside in the night and the fact a small fan barely brought coolness, it was hell. Smoke was exhaling from both of your mouths, Logan usually smoking his cigars while you went with your joints. His arm was wrapped around your hip, while you laid your head on his shoulder comfortably. Your joint was coming to an end, seeing there wasn't an ashtray in sight, you thought to yourself ‘why not put it out on him? he has regenerative healing after all, it wouldn't hurt him’ so while he was talking, you put out a joint on chest. That earned a groan that was torn between pain and pleasure, his head leaned back and smoking exhaled around him. When you were done with it, you simply put it on drawer, his eyes glanced at you. The burnt mark on his chest, quickly recovers, looking like you didn't do it in first place. “Seriously?” you heard him say with roughness in his voice and you nodded while laying on your back and placed another joint in your mouth. He moved his hand more comfortably around you which ended on the hem of your boxers. You lit up your joint, enjoying the smoke that filled your lungs. As night went on, you both talked about random things and you put out your joints on different spots on his body which he would huff, groan and let tiny moan out. “Am I your personal ashtray, bub?” Logan asked with a raised eyebrow as he watched you put out your last joint for the night on his thigh. “Yeah.” You replied, smiling to yourself as finally moan left his mouth.

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gladiatorcunt · 9 months ago

Text

MARLBORO REDS - ANAKIN SKYWALKER

cause good men die too, so i’d rather be with you

summary: mechanic dilf!anakin x gender neutral kindergarten teacher!reader

wc: 8.4k

cw: “soft” dark content, made padme’s death vague on purpose, anakin has the vibes of a married father of 4 hitting on you while you’re waiting on their table at olive garden, daddy kink, anakin imagines killing someone, MALE MASTURBATION (the most graphic fantasies are skull fucking and anakin kinda hoping you’ll tear when he puts it in), bra mention (reader does have a fem style but i’m nb so that’s how i see it and men can also have a fem style), it’s not mentioned but anakin is going through cigarette withdrawals, anakin’s canon typical inability to be in a healthy relationship, possibly predictable plot twist (?), i wanted to be a lot grosser, anakin is 42 and he’s depicted as such, age gap (reader is in their early 20’s), this takes place in the U.S.

requests are open (read the rules first)

block & move on if uncomfortable

do not repost or translate!!

The exhaust fumes transported him for a moment, somewhere tropical with a cigar in one hand and a tit in the other as a wet body slid adjacent to his. His hard-earned vacation went up in flames as a shrill car horn hunted down his eardrums. Anakin snapped out of it and stared through his brittle bangs with dead eyes. You can’t teach an old dog new tricks, how to act like a normal human being one of them.

"Alright, that should be everything. Since we just needed to rotate your tires and do an oil change, we're looking at about 142 dollars."

"Thank you so much, I'll just go pay at the front desk. Have a good one!"

Anakin sighed and gave a half assed wave that she didn't even see. He has nowhere near as much spunk as he did back in the day, but his energy is always shot to hell long before he sees his last customer of the day. Luckily it was just a routine maintenance type of thing, he would've just bashed his head in with a wrench if it was anything more.

Puddles of blood trot after said customer, he’s amazed that they can drive so well considering they have a bullet in their head.

There’s no bullet or rivers of blood in actuality, but a man can dream.

His knee joints creaked as he got out of his squatting position. He groaned from the effort while smearing his fingers in more grease trying to wipe them off on the pants of his overalls. The whole workshop smelled like garbage and he probably smelled even worse. His trusty grease rag was subsequently discarded on top of his portable tool tower. He noticed that a tub of lighter fluid was on its side so he prevented that big mess waiting to happen and screwed the cap shut, picked it up, and set it back on the shelves in the storage room. He had to remember to leave one of his employees a post-it notifying them that they were almost out.

His sleeves were shucked up his soft muscular forearm to check his watch. His eyes nearly popped out of their sockets like moles in a whack-a-mole machine when he saw the time.

SHIT!

It was 4:30, the time he's expected to be at Alderaan Apples Elementary to pick up his twins. He didn't have the time it would normally take him to drive 20 minutes back to his place for a 10 minute shower, and then drive 30 more minutes to be at his kids' school. He normally didn't work that late, since he owns the shop he can choose his own hours. But Anakin lost track of time obsessing over work and now he'd have to embarrass his kids by showing up covered in it. Their teacher would probably be there to chew him out, but in his defense this really didn't happen all that often.

That teacher being arguably the biggest reason why he hated that they’d see him looking how he did right then. They're awfully pretty, with a chest that he's pictured slapping and sucking while their thick ass recoils from bouncing on his uncut cock. They had just moved to their average sized town at the start of the year, they told him at the parent teacher conferences at the beginning of the school year. Something about yearning to get away from their lackluster small town but also being too afraid to venture out into any kind of big city on their own.

They were making the cutest little gestures when they were shyly talking his ear off too, shifting their thighs together as they swayed and never letting their eye contact stray too far away from their freshly polished mary janes. Anakin was very careful about remembering everything he could about Luke and Leia's first real school year. Hell, he was more scared than they were. But there was just something in the way this new teacher did their best to soothe any worries the kids might have.

"It's okay, we'll be going on this new adventure together. And I'll do my very best to be there for you every step of the way. I hope you can be brave and look after me too!"

Luke nodded timidly but with a newfound sense of determination. Leia shouted an affirmative, being more extroverted in comparison to her brother.

Their teacher was young, somewhere in their early 20's. Most likely having flown into town right after getting their degree. It made something in his gut swirl and simmer, imagining their delicate finger tracing his crow's feet and tugging on the gray in his hair. Their head nestled gently in between his squishy pecs, some of his muscle definition was lost with age but he had a feeling you'd like how much the slight softness of his belly highlighted the muscle underneath.

The cliche apples in the blouse their teacher was wearing seemed to have Anakin in a trance as he zoned out. He grunted in acknowledgement when he needed to and slipped every form and newsletter he was given into his satchel. When it was time to head home, Luke and Leia clung to their teacher's legs. Anakin rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly and bent over to pry them off. He explained how sorry he was, being a single dad meant that whether or not he meant to, the kids still looked for a mother figure.

He'll never forget the way your eyes widened by a fraction, flicking up to make eye contact with his feigned nonchalant stare. You seemed.... happy to hear that he was single. But that could've just been an old man getting wrapped up in the delusions that he still has it.

"I'm so sorry to hear that, Mr. Skywalker. I'm sure you don't need me to tell you how hard it is to do what you do everyday, but let me just say that I think you're doing an excellent job."

He thinks you'd do even better.

By the time he had finished reliving that fond little memory, he could spot the street sign for the street the school was on. Ruffling his hair, he made a sharp right turn and slowly pulled into the parking lot. His black chevy truck performed beautifully like always so he gave her a solid pat on the hood. He turned on his heel, immediately seeing his children hugging either one of your legs. He was only 10 minutes late, it wasn't any better but he would never make his kids feel like he abandoned them. He never wanted them to go through what he had gone through when he was their age.

He adjusted his collar and made a last ditch effort to wipe his fingers off on his clothes. He heard a quiet cough. He shot his head up to catch your unamused eyes. A wry smile appeared on his face as he jogged over to you. When he reached the three of you, he immediately crouched and placed a hand on Luke and Leia's shoulders.

"Dad's really sorry, okay? He just lost track of time but he rushed over here as fast as he could as soon as he realized what time it was."

Luke peeked out from behind your leg, "Like the Flash?"

"Yes, Luke, like the Flash." Anakin chuckled, slowly opening his arms wide in the hopes that his kids weren’t too mad at him.

Thankfully he was instantly overwhelmed by two bodies slamming into him, almost knocking him onto the ground and tumbling down the concrete steps. Luke was clutching onto him so tightly and Leia was giggling up a storm. He stood up and gently ushered his kids into holding one of his hands so they could stand beside him.

He cleared his throat a few times before finally addressing you.

"I'm so sorry, I don't know if you overheard but work was really hectic today and I didn't want to waste more time cleaning up. Please just think of me how you did before, I won't look like this tomorrow."

You sighed, shaking your head with a small smile. Your blouse had a floral pattern today, blue covered in peonies and apple blossoms. Your pants were some kind of plaid thing but you make them work so well. Anakin had to actively keep his eyes from eye fucking your wide hips and oggling the expanse of your butt in the tight pants. Just thinking about how little must be left to the imagination made his cock ache in his overalls. But he restrained himself, he was going to ask you out when he was in a much better and.... cleaner state. He pushed the thoughts down and settled himself down with daydreams of the near future.

"It's alright, Mr. Skywalker. I understand your situation, so long as it doesn't happen frequently and the children don't have to wait too long, we won't have a problem." You gently admonished the older man, not hiding the protective tone in your voice but still looking up at him with bashful warmth in your eyes.

Stars, the way you were already so protective over his kids made him even harder. He briefly wondered how you'd be with their younger siblings. The image made his heart flutter and a wide smile stretched his lips. He shuffled from one foot to the other, praying to whatever God is out there that he's able to hide his boner in his baggy overalls. He still had quite a few years before he even wanted to think about having the birds and bees talk with the kids. He adjusted his overalls quickly and reached out a greasy rough palm to you.

"I swear this won't happen everyday, thank you for being so kind. I definitely won't forget it." He murmured with a wink that was open to interpretation.

You bit your lip as you leaned forward to slip your smooth palm into his. A sharp shiver traveled up Anakin's body and butterflies erupted in your stomach at the contact. You clicked your heels together and shook his hand, the weight of it made certain kinds of thoughts pop into your head that you'd rather not deal with at the moment.

Reluctantly Anakin pulled his hand away, making sure it lingered more than was necessary or appropriate. He put his back to you and double checked that Luke and Leia had one hand in each of his and their other hands on the strap of their backpacks. Luke had one with planets on it while Leia had one with dinosaurs. He looked down at their feet to make sure that they were going slow and steady on the steps. They reached the bottom of the steps and walked across the parking lot to Anakin's truck. He opened the back seat, lifting Leia first and waiting for her to settle in before nearly throwing out his back bending down again to help Luke in. He buckled them up and made sure their seatbelts were fastened properly. He took a few steps back and gingerly closed the backseat door on Luke's side. His back was screaming at him on the trip around the back of the truck, it especially burned when he haphazardly threw his door open and climbed up into the driver's seat.

The drive home was the same as it was everyday. Leia excitedly told her father all about every single detail of her day and Luke needing less coaxing to talk about his as the school year progressed. Luke was upset when they ran out of apple juice at lunch because that meant he had to have grape. Leia bragged about the rock she painted during craft time. Anakin listened intently, no matter what kind of depraved shit he felt for their teacher, he wanted to take extra care that both of his kids felt heard and appreciated at the end of the day. He responded with jokes and questions to keep them talking, it distracted them from realizing how long the drive was to the house.

They pulled into the house's garage half an hour later. Anakin was about ready to collapse into a pile of bones in his recliner. Luke and Leia ran like bats out of hell through the door and up the stairs to their bedrooms. He could hear the sounds of them putting their backpacks on their hooks and unzipping them to go through the jungle of papers they stash in them.

The fridge was fresh out of Dr. Pepper so Anakin grumbled and got a can of bud lite from his locked minifridge on the counter. He managed to make it to the couch before he let himself fall face first onto the cushions.

The pitter patter of tiny feet bounding down the stairs yanked him from sleep so he sat up and leaned his cheek against the arm of the couch.

"Dad! Dad! Dad! Look!" Luke blurted out, shoving some kind of paper in his dad's smushed face.

Anakin grimaced but made himself sit upright. He reached out and took the paper from Luke, holding it at a good distance away from his face and at a downwards angle so he could read it properly.

"What's this, buddy?"

"It's a paper for the party, Dad! The Valentine's day one that's um.... this Friday, i think.” Luke nervously wrung his hands in his striped shirt as he spoke. “I want to get something for my teacher too…”

Anakin rubbed his shaved chin as he read the paper. Luke was right. It was a newsletter informing parents about the Valentine's Day party each class would be holding on Friday. There would be no working or classes and instead every class would have an all day party for both the children and their parents. Students were allowed to bring any snacks of choice, but they had to bring a box of valentine cards for their class and give one to every student in their class.

"That must be nice, having no school for a day. Well, i'll be there on Friday and tomorrow we can go to the store and get the supplies for you and your sister."

“And we can get something for my teacher?”

“Of course Luke, that’d be a very nice thing to do for them.”

"Okay! Thanks, dad, love you!" Luke cheered, bouncing on his feet and kissing Anakin on the cheek while giving him a second long side hug before running back upstairs.

The next day the Skywalker family was back in the truck on the way to the biggest local supermarket in the area. It wasn't too far, just in the next town over. They could've gone to the smaller store back home, but the kids liked having options and liked car rides that were like little road trips. (Why they hated the longer drives when they were to school but liked them in situations like this, Anakin could sympathize.

Anakin shut the radio off when they pulled into the large parking lot of the supermarket. He put his car in park and turned the engine off. The wind chill smacked him right in the face as soon as he stepped out of his seat. He rubbed his hands up and down his arms to warm himself up and walked over to get Leia and Luke out of the car as quickly as possible without freezing his ass off. They did the standard routine of holding their dad's hands while they crossed the parking lot. Anakin was telling them to look both ways to watch out for any cars that were coming as they walked along the crosswalks. Mercifully they weren't in the cold long before they entered the store.

The bright white LED overhead lights made Anakin want to pass out but he followed closely behind the kids that were already running themselves ragged all over the place. He reminded them what they were here for and his arms were pulled to their breaking point all the way to the card aisle. There were so many options of valentine card packs. There were Bluey ones, Spiderman, ones that looked like the cootie catchers you fold and pull apart, et cetera.

Luke ended up choosing Spiderman ones that came with pencils. Leia chose a kitten design for her cards.

Anakin almost fell asleep on the ride home. He let the kids pick out drinks from the little displays in front of the registers so they were miles away in sugar rush land. He made a note to pop a couple ibuprofens before he went to bed. Some days are easier than others but since his wife passed away when his kids were newborns, he’s never known what it was like to be able to depend on someone else to always be there to help. His childhood friend Obi-wan stops by every so often to stay over, his mom and step-dad babysit when he stops being stubborn, but that’s once in a blue moon. The sunset casts light onto the sunspots and hair on his arms. He rolled both of his sleeves up because his body typically runs hot and global warming making the temperature 65 degrees in the middle of February does him no favors.

The McDonald’s they drove through got the kids happy meals wrong three times, something that was clearly a sign of the apocalypse.

He had to remind Luke and Leia not to run too fast as they clammored out of the truck with his assistance and bolted to the front door. Anakin sighed his millionth sigh of the day and clamped a hand on Leia’s head to steady her as he searched his rusty old keyring for their house key. His steady hand inserted the key into the lock, ushering his kids inside with his free hand while he pushed the door open. His long legs moved at a sloth like pace, Leia and Luke ignored him and shot up the stairs like two little rockets.

“Guys, slow down. Marshmallow feet, remember?” He reminded them and leaned around the corner so they could hear him, shaking his head in exasperation when all he gets in response is a couple “Okay, dad!”s.

The white and orange ibuprofen bottle stored in one of the many dark wood cabinets over the fridge beckoned him with a come hither motion. He’s little more than a slave to his baser instincts so he dutifully heeded the call. The cabinet creaked when he cracked it open but he couldn’t give less of a fuck as he dove for the pill bottle and shook out a few orange pills. He exhaled in relief in a way that would suggest he was smoking weed when his adams apple bobbed as the pills hit his stomach.

With that mindless task out of the way, Anakin slowly journeyed up the stairs to get Leia and Luke ready for bed. He kept a stern eye on them to ensure they brushed their teeth, used their mouthwash properly, and washed their faces. After the kids completed their bedtime routines, he tucked them into bed while humming a lullaby Obi-Wan had taught them when he held them as infants. He gave them their time to say goodnight to their mom, Luke looked at the glow in the dark stars on his ceiling when he said it and Leia clutched her stegosaurus plushie when she whispered her goodnight.

Anakin didn’t contribute but he warmly kissed his twins on their foreheads and tucked the corners of their comforters around their shoulders.

His heavy work boots thundered against the hardwood floor of the hallway as he walked out of their room and down the carpeted stairs to the den. He unhooked the buttons holding up his overalls on his shoulders and shimmied his ruined overalls down to his ankles. His hairy thighs expanded as he stepped out of them so he could kick them to the other side of the room. He was left in only his boxers and a white tank top that would never be white again. So he flexed his arms as he took that tank top off too. Grease stains were all over his body but he could at least take a shower now.

His boxers joined the towels from yesterday’s shower on the floor as his soft cock flopped out. He gave it an absentminded stroke that injected something molten into his bone marrow. He bent over to reach the faucet and turned the water on. The shower didn't start until the water babbling over his thick calloused fingers was hot enough to cook a lobster in.

He rolled his shoulders back as he stepped into the shower. His mouth dropped open in a silent exclamation and his neck popped as his head lolled back. The onslaught of boiling hot water pin pricked his skin in a pleasure-pain sort of way that made his thoughts temporarily quiet down.

His cock gave a couple twitches but Anakin elected to wait until he had at least washed his hair before he rubbed a much needed orgasm out.

3-in-1 shampoo that smelled like some dior cologne was all up in his hair, his hands unhurriedly glided through his short-ish soapy strands. He angled his head back and let the lather he had worked up be drowned out by the shower head. He grabbed his vanilla & shea butter body wash and let the spout rest against his glistening pecs as his fingers curled around the stocky bottle and squeezed. The smooth liquid spurted out over his pecs and dripped down his body. He reached his hands right up under the steady stream and soaped up his pecs, ghosting his thumbs over his puffy nipples before spreading his hands out and spreading the soapsuds all over the rest of his body.

Squelching sounds echoed off the shower floor as Anakin widened his stance. His right hand was subconsciously traveling closer and closer to his half-hard cock. He had worked so hard, finally being able to relax and luxuriate in the silence made the blood in his body migrate further south.

A certain teacher flashed through his mind, his head whipped down in shock to discern how greatly his flushed cock swelled up faster just at the single image of his kids’ kindergarten teacher.

An aurora borealis of fantasies swirled in the air.

You’re kneeling on a pillow (he would be at serious risk of getting more brow wrinkles if you had to touch the harsh dirty floor with your bare skin.) and bobbing your head up and down the fat cock making a bulge in your cheek. Your sparkling eyes have this glazed over look to them as he anchors his hands on the back of your head. He widens his stance and bullies your throat with his heavy cock. You squeak and sputter but you take it like such a good pet. Your plump lips slide off of his meat a couple inches but before he can do anything, you’re groping his taut ass as you wiggle your head down to the base of his cock. Your eyes flutter shut as your brain shuts off; your nose is buried right in his musky bush. His face scrunches up in the best kind of pain, but he locks his gaze on the way your eyes roll back when he begins to skull fuck you.

Thank god for oral fixations.

“Gonna let Daddy soak this warm throat pussy?” Don’t worry, he knows you can’t exactly use your vocal chords properly at the moment. So he nods your head for you, deepening his thrusts into slow sharp jabs.

He’d baptize you in cum if you let him, your skin would look so pretty and glossy covered in it. He’d help you wipe it off after he cements the image of your eyelashes sticking together in his mind.

Now he’s grabbing your love handles while his cock builds his dream home in your guts. Your ass shakes back against his hips as you try to steady the phone in your hands and face it towards the overhead. He grabs your hair in one fist and gently tugs your head up so you can pay attention properly. He didn’t go through all this just to let you hide away from him. In a perfect world, the kids would be staying with his mom so you’d be more than welcome to lose your voice.

The vision in his mind shifts to you being on your back, hands trembling trying to hold your legs as close to your chest as possible. You’re looking up at him like he was born in the center of the sun. He’s looking back at you like you’re the moon made flesh, eternally encapsulated in his sea of stars. Anakin smiles triumphantly but with a heady passion in his gait that threatens to burn his lungs to ash, coughing them up over your open heart.

“You’re doing so well puppy, that’s my brave baby.” He coos and pries your hands off your thighs finger by finger.

Once your hands are free, his larger ones ardently seek out yours like a dog going after a bone. The rough texture of his digits feels like an uncomfortably pleasant caress as they lace together with your own. He doesn’t look at anything else; can’t think of anything else when you make the cutest little watery gasp as his cock humps along the crack of your hole. The red tip of it gets caught against your outer sweet spot as if trying to give your crotch small pecks. His eye wrinkles crinkle when his smile widens and he offers a breathy laugh.

He squeezes your hands tightly as he wraps a hand around his cock and directs it to its northern star. Your nails digging into his knuckles don’t distract from your hole stretching itself wide to suckle at his encroaching length.

And if in the shower he spilled into his feverishly fucked fists at the concept of crimson liquid mixing with cum to make a pink swirl where your bodies meet, you’d never know. He thumbed at the glans under his cock tip as he came down from his high, skirting a fingernail up a vein on the side and wishing he was mouthing the space between your shoulder blades; preening your white feathers with his scratchy tongue.

The next couple days were gone with a couple of blinks. He never deviated from his routine; wake up, wipe off the drool on his face, get kids ready and take them to school, go to work, clean up, go pick kids up from school, help with whatever work 6 year olds would have, put them to bed, jerk off in the shower till his legs ache, fall asleep on his stomach with his the right side of his face smushed into a pillow.

He did find some time to put together a teacher’s appreciation basket for you. You more than anyone else deserved a few something somethings on a day meant to represent love. The gifts were packed nicely and neatly in a vintage wicker basket wrapped in a red gingham bow and covered in see through red plastic wrap. Your reaction would regrettably have to be viewed from afar, but he’d know how to move forward depending on what adorable expression you had all over your face.

The night before the party, Anakin allowed Luke and Leia to stay up a smidge later than normal so that they could get all of their things ready for the party. Anakin’s special present slept soundly in the seat next to his in front of his truck. An additional gift from Luke was tucked inside along with an item from Leia who had insisted on it when she found out Luke was getting you something.. The basket being hidden away for the time being allowed him to focus completely on helping his children with their gifts at the coffee table.

Luke’s eyes were droopy as he wrote down the names of his classmates in the hearts made to look like Spiderman’s mask in his cards. He inserted most of the pencils in the intended slot on the left of the cards by himself before he slumped against Anakin’s arm and weakly pushed the pile of cards towards his dad. Anakin chuckled as he ruffled Luke’s fluffy blonde hair and teasingly whispered that he didn’t know a boy could be so sleepy. His son blinked at him as if to say how unfunny his dad was before yawning and snuggling further into his father.

Anakin pushed the rest of the pencils into the card slots and sealed all of the cards with red heart stickers. He lifted his head to look across the glass coffee table to check in on how Leia was doing. For how fiery his daughter was already at such a young age, she wasn’t immune to getting tired before 8:30. The signature buns on her head that she loved begging him to do for her had loose hairs poking out of them because of how Leia had buried her head in her arms.

Anakin blew a breath out in fond chagrin as he easily reached over the table and delicately removed the pins holding the buns in place. He fluffed out the hair that fell down so her scalp wouldn’t feel weird when she woke up.

He hoisted Luke up in one arm and Leia in the other (something they were getting a bit too big to continue doing) and slowly but surely deposited them on the couch. He snatched a white plush blanket from the linen closet and settled it over them before turning back to the massive amount of paper cards on the table. He finished the last of Leia’s cards a short while later. He sorted the cards into orderly piles and put them in sandwich bags that he took to the kids room so he could put the bags in their backpacks.

Anakin came back to the living room as he tried to shoo the sleep away by digging his knuckles into his eye sockets in a lazy rub. He opened the cabinet and took out a package of pink frosted sugar cookies with red heart shaped sprinkles, a pack of capri suns, and a tupperware bowl full of mini brownies. With a long drawn out yawn he set the snacks out on the counter so that he would remember them tomorrow morning. He got a set of paper plates and a sectioned set of cutlery in case you needed any extra. Maybe you’d give him one of those corny gold star stickers as a thank you.

Friday morning was ushered in by two children risking their dad’s life by flopping on his stomach with all the strength they had while he was sleeping.

“OH FU-“ He shouted before he remembered who was in the room and gently rolled them off of his stomach. “What exactly do you two think you’re doing?”

"It's time to wake up dad, we're gonna be late for school!" Leia said with a dismayed look on her somewhat chubby face.

Anakin looked away and meekly mouthed a 'sorry' as he looked at the led clock that he had forgotten to set an alarm on.

Fuck, not again.

He sat up in bed and hunched over; his head buried in his hands. Luke and Leia crowded around him as they tried their best to comfort their father, giving his back light pats. He let them pull his hair so that he'd look up at them. He smiled in gratitude and crawled out of bed as quickly as he could to get the day started.

He made a comical sight; hobbling around the floor with his ripped jeans pooled around his feet as he raced to get his kids ready for school in time. His belt was a fairly new black leather piece that he'd been keeping for a special occasion, but the anxiety of the morning made him grapple with getting the buckle in place. Once that was done a shameful amount of time later, he shoved his clothes to the side in his closet as he searched for a nicer, more "classy" dress shirt. Anakin gnawed at his bottom lip and eventually decided on a black silk button up that matched his belt. He crouched, chanting in his head that he hoped he wouldn't tear a muscle, and chose a pair of italian leather slides that his mom had gotten him for Father's Day a couple of years ago. The bathroom mirror held back no punches when it showed Anakin the state of his head. He crossed his fingers and smoothed back his hair with the tiniest glob of gel; the water he splashed on his face would have to do some serious charity work. He could only hope that you liked the naturally unkempt but not too unkempt kind of look, a striking sort of ruggedness.

"Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad..." Luke droned, understandably fed up with waiting on his dad to deal with another one of his mini mid life crisis episodes.

"I'll be right there Luke, hold on a second, please."

Anakin gave into his son’s begging and let him brush his teeth with the birthday cake flavored toothpaste today. Even though the dentist moaned about how hard it was to clean out when they introduced it to Luke at his last appointment. His Spiderman toothbrush played a jingle meant to sound like the theme song when Luke did his 2 minutes of brushing. Anakin stood protectively behind him as he spit in the sink, his hand hovered over his head so he wouldn't hit it. He took Luke's toothbrush and ran it under the water before he put it back in the clear organizer next to the faucet. He poured the recommended amount of mouthwash from the bottle and passed the lid that acted as the cup to Luke. Luke grimaced but he tipped the cup up so the blue liquid would pour in his mouth, he swished it around and then spat it out too. He sipped from the glass of water that was handed to him and proudly beamed at his father.

"Good job, Luke. I'm so proud of you." Anakin congratulated him, Luke was still finicky about floss so today would not be the day that he attempted to get him to use it.

Being a parent means knowing how to pick your battles and what time to schedule them.

Anakin brushed Luke's hair and fluffed it out a bit like a surfer (how Luke likes it). He grabbed his son by his underarms and lifted him off of the step stool. The mirrors in their house were still a bit too high for his kids to see properly so for now the stools had a purpose. He would be sad when they no longer needed them.

Anakin quickly dipped into the twins room to grab their backpacks. He had already gotten them dressed after he got out of bed earlier. He helped Luke put his on and then repeated the same process with Leia. Her toothbrush made a loud roar when she finished brushing, and she had a fit of giggles in response. His daughter preferred straightforward mint toothpaste so morning routines really weren't that much of a struggle with her. Once she put the glass of water down on the sink, she eagerly turned her back to her dad and pointed at her loose hair. Anakin saluted as he began shaping her hair into the buns she loves so much. He reminded her not to mess with them too much or they'd fall apart, and she always responded that she knew that already.

They got in a single file line on their mission out the door. Anakin nabbed the containers of snacks and briefly freaked out wondering if he lost the cards before he remembered that they were in the kids' backpacks. He double checked if his keys and wallet were in his pockets, and to his relief everything was where it was supposed to be.

Well, mostly everything. He'd never forget about you, don't worry.

He put his phone on do not disturb before tossing in the front seat next to his along with the basket already sitting there.

Anakin told Luke and Leia to buckle their seatbelts as he inserted his key into the keyhole and started the car. He heard them buckle up and waited for the tell tale clicks before putting his car into drive. They had to leave than some of the other kids in their school would have to since they lived farther away, but because it was so early the twins could only yawn and hold onto the other twins' booster seat. Anakin thanked the cosmos and turned the radio on but kept it a low volume; Frank Sinatra's rich voice was the best company on a drive like this.

The school entrance was abundantly decorated. A large white banner along the front entry archway announced the festivities. A flurry of red, pink, and white ribbons hung across the ceiling of the lobby. Every door had hearts representing the students in their class covering them, the kids's names scrawled in their own messy handwriting with cheap crayons.

The door of your classroom was the last one on the left. You kept a bottle of hand sanitizer in front of it because you were very particular about hygiene, a trait that served you extremely well in your job. Luke and Leia pointed out where on the door their hearts were as they waited for you to open the door. The Skywalker family were the first ones there so Anakin wasn't sure if it was okay to just drop in on you unannounced. He wished that you would drop on him unannounced. He cradled his gift basket in his arms as if it were a fragile baby.

A few minutes later, your heels were heard clacking against the tile floor. The silver door knob jiggled before it stopped moving and the door took its sweet sweet time opening. Your head poked out and your face brightened when you saw who was at the other end. You sunk down into a squat, putting your hands on your knees as you addressed the children.

"Why, hello Leia; hello to you too Luke. You're a tad early, but you can go ahead and hang your backpacks on the hooks in your cubbies. I haven't finished setting everything up, so you can sit down on any of those chairs at the front of the class." You greeted them and shook their hands before pointing out where they could sit.

The twins obviously sat together. You didn't have assigned seating in your class, and you felt that Leia and Luke would be more comfortable sitting together during their first year at school. It wasn't guaranteed that they'd be in the same class next year. You were too sensitive to try to separate them. You cried a lot because of how scary school was when you were in their place, so you couldn't imagine being the cause for any tears your students shed.

Anakin was once again too caught up in studying your outfit. You had on a fitted shirt with a cardigan on top, it had thin strings that could unwind with no effort from him if he reached out and just pulled.

But that could wait.

The kids scattered off to choose their seats. Your classroom had three circular tables with five small red chairs. Each chair had a small blanket on the back with a valentine's pattern. The table at the front where Luke and Leia were sitting had heart shaped placemats with a lace trim that looked like it should've been a doily, but in a… good way. You had red and pink plates on the smaller table next to your desk, as well as clear forks and spoons that looked like they had confetti inside of them. You figured that the parents would bring all of the refreshments and you didn't know what your students would want; you thought that the safest bet would be to hang back.

Anakin did the most he could to soften his gaze when you straightened up and automatically locked eyes with the older man. He clocked how you instantly glanced down at the floor for a split second. You adjusted your collar, for some reason, and gave him the world’s smallest smile. Anakin was so certain that if he leaned in close enough, he would be able to hear your heart racing at the same accelerated pace as his.

Some say that means it’s love.

You fluttered your eyelashes, “Hi, Mr. Skywalker, thank you for coming. It’s always a pleasure to see Luke and Leia, but i’m glad that you could be here for them”

“Believe me, no one’s more happy about me being here than I am.” He blurted out without thinking, ‘Uh, I brought some snacks and drinks for everybody.”

You took in the capri suns and the desserts as your smile grew. Your hand curled around his bicep subconsciously, “Oh my gosh, that’s so nice of you! I’ll just put those over the-“

You couldn’t even finish your sentence before Anakin sauntered past you to put the food down on the table next to your desk. He placed the frosted sugar cookies down first, followed by the capri suns and brownies.

He turned to face you and his shirt seemed to tighten over his chest as he rested his hands on his hips. His fingers flexed absentmindedly, like they wished they were gripping something else.

“I can handle it, sweetheart. I’m 42, not 72.” He chided you, strolling back over and chucking you under the chin; you were cute if you thought you’d be lifting a single finger the entire day.

The way you nearly fell head over heels trying to fix your assumed faux paus was even cuter, “No, no- I- I didn’t mean anything- I just- Y-you look very capable to me, sir.”

If your brain would let you, you would rip your face off to hide from your big mouth. Why the hell would you tell the much older father of two of your students that you think he looks “very capable”? WHAT POSSESSED YOU TO CALL HIM “SIR”?

Anakin scratched his chin and decided that he’d let you off the hook with no more teasing from him. That’s a lie though, he was confident that you could take whatever he gave you.

“Careful, don’t stroke my ego too much or I'll have to stroke yours. And please, I'd hate to have to remind you again, my name’s Anakin.” He was flirting a little too shamelessly for where you were, but he was still thinking with his upstairs head and guided you to a back corner.

“I actually got you something myself, but uh, if it’s all the same to you, I'd wait to open it until you’re nice and snug at home.”

He gladly took a short walk to your car with you and helped you set the basket down safely in the trunk. He told you to stand back as he slammed the trunk door shut; slapping it for good measure to make sure it was properly closed.

The two of you returned to your classroom and like the good little helper Anakin wanted you to know he could be, he helped you greet the incoming parents and students. He even took any concessions they brought and put them with the others

By 8:15 everyone you expected was in your classroom. A few kids were without their parents so you asked some of the other students to invite them to enjoy the party; a party’s no fun alone.

At some point around 9:00 you had the stray daydream of Anakin pinning you against the wall outside of your door as he savagely plundered your mouth with his teeth and tongue. Finger shaped bruises and a promise to ‘see you at home, baby’ would keep your usually freezing cold body warm. You glance at the man out of the corner of your eye to see that he was already staring. He looked like he wanted to teach you a lot of things.

Whatever that meant.

The morning half of the day consisted of the cafeteria delivering breakfast and watching a couple of movies that the class voted on. The Lego Batman Movie was first (a unanimous decision), and Wreck-it-Ralph was picked after that (some kids wanted to watch the minion movie like always but you were secretly happy that they weren’t the majority.)

Lunchtime was when you decided to let the students have the snacks, they were welcome to go down to the cafeteria with a guardian if they wanted actual food but they didn’t have to. You weren’t surprised when none of the seats became empty.

Anakin had to wrench the small plastic chair away from his ass before he winked charmingly and speed walked to the snack table to help you. The air between the both of you had inexplicably become charged with insurmountable tension. The chaos didn’t give you much chatting time so you could only glances and brush your arms together; how accidental those touches were was up for debate.

Especially when he needed to get through to the plates and forks behind you.

“Sorry, let me just squeeze past you.” He whispered in your ear, his big hands using your waist to steady you as he pressed his back flush against your chest.

In the blink of an eye he was gone. The invisible hands chained to your skin remained. You fanned your face with one of the cheap paper plates as you floated back to your body and got a hold of yourself.

You looked over at the Skywalker trio to see Luke and Leia point at you as they tirelessly tug on their dads sleeves until he caved. You saved him the trouble and went to them, bending down so you could hear the twins properly.

“Do you two need something? I could see you making a fuss over here.” You teased.

“Dad forgot to give you our presents….” Leia mumbled and Luke nodded sharply.

Your eyes widened, “Oh! You didn’t have to get me anything, but the day’s not over yet. You can give them to me now.”

“I did not forget, Leia.” Anakin shook his head, fidgeting in the uncomfortable chair. “They’re in the basket Dad brought, and your teacher has it in her car outside, okay?”

You nodded and confirmed their fathers words, “He’s right. I didn’t know that there were things from you and your brother in it too but it’s safe and sound. I pinky swear.”

Two much smaller pinkies met you halfway and wrapped around yours. The Skywalker twins giggled as they turned it into an impromptu arm wrestle competition and beat you easily. (You felt they were going to snap your finger off if they kept tightening their hold so you bowed out.)

Anakin watched with hearts in his eyes and his head propped up in his hand, his eyes crinkled at the inherent domesticity of the act.

Luke and Leia agreed to call their exhibition match a draw.

The sun had already set by the time you got home. You were so tired that you nearly dropped your keys down the stairwell; you didn’t want to spend your night fishing them out of the grass.The wicker basket in your arms was at risk of falling too but you got your door opened and you crumpled on the loveseat.

“Oof, I should probably get this sorted out now or I'll just forget about it.” You said as your body protested you moving a single inch from your sunken spot.

You grabbed your emerald green pair of scissors and cut the top of the plastic wrap off.The wrapping squealed as you tore it off the rest of the basket. You peered into it and thankfully it looked like a run of the mill teacher’s appreciation gift; for a valentine’s day it was a little strange but since it was from Anakin… you’d slip on your rose colored glasses.

There was a medium sized teddy bear, a couple three wick candles; your favorite was the one that smelled like the conversation hearts candy. There was also a custom made box of chocolates from the bakery you frequented, and three burgundy roses that you trimmed properly before dropping them in the vase on your kitchen island.

The ‘world’s best teacher’ stood out like a sore thumb but it made you smile anyway.

The teddy bear was incredibly fluffy and bubblegum pink; it’s holding a sparkly red heart with the word ‘princess’ sewed in hot pink thread in the center. You swept the fur away from its black eyes so it could see. The bear was pretty cute, and you had a problem handling your stuffed animal addiction, so you headed to your bedroom and laid it down with the rest of your plushies.

You yawned and your mouth stretched like a goldfish when it does the same thing. The strings of your red cardigan came undone by your hands and you let it slide off of you and hit the floor. Your pink ribbed top joined it when you gathered enough energy to give a damn and move your arms.

Your white bra was so plain but like hell if it didn’t make the man palming himself over his jeans rock hard. The kids were sound asleep in bed and the walls were thick so he could be as loud as he wanted. But this particular session wasn’t about achieving some grand climax. No. He just wanted to take things slow tonight. If he happened to gradually tumble over the edge along the way, he wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Anakin loved you, every inch of your body would soon be blissfully aware of that.

The miniscule camera in the dot above the i in Princess loved you just as much.

The fire that would wait to invite itself in for a surprise visit until you had left for work loved you more.

a/n: i had this in the drafts for a bit but i was having a moment so i didn’t post it until now. happy valentine's day 💞

#dividers by cafekitsune and roseschoices #anakin skywalker #anakin x reader #star wars anakin #anakin smut #star wars x reader #mdni #tw dark content #yandere x reader #male yandere x reader #male yandere #yandere smut #anakin skywalker smut #anakin skywalker x reader #⚰️.deaddove

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palomitaaa · 3 months ago

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Reasons why i love you

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ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Joost comes home drunk and tells you the reasons why he loves you.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: No

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It was around 4 am Joost went out partying with some friends and you were waiting for him to arrive lying on the bed you shared, you were looking at your phone screen when you heard the front door open.

It was Joost

you'd been dating Joost god knows how long, and with each passing day you realized that Joost was your soulmate.

As soon as you heard the front door you went downstairs to see your boyfriend.

When you came down you found a sleepy Joost, sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, his legs stretched out and he was looking at his feet carefully

You walked calmly towards him and sat next to him in the same position as him, you whispered a little "hello" to him, which was enough to catch his attention, he stared at you and gave you a warm smile, you almost melted right there, he didn't say anything, he just hugged you very tightly as if you were the most valuable thing in the world.

And that was because to him you were the most valuable thing in the world

He buried his head in your neck, gave off a strong smell of alcohol, cigar and maybe a little joint, but, without a doubt,he smelled like love.

After being like this for a while he decided to speak: "You know I love you, right?" You nodded slightly and he continued talking: "But you probably don't know why I love you so much" You got a little confused You thought it was the alchool taking effect however he didn't let you say anything He kept talking.

"Honestly, I don't know at all why I love you so much either, maybe it's the way you worry about me and my problems even if it's not that bad, or the way you bury your fingers in my hair forming circles" His words made your heart stir, you knew he loved you but, Once in a while it's okay to be told something like this.

No matter how much you tried to respond in some way, it didn't let you and kept talking "it may also be the confidence and happiness that you transmit and what you strive to make everyone happy, but without a doubt what I like most about you is that you are always, unconditionally, there for me no matter what happens "

After saying that he smiled at you again and leaned on you to fall peacefully asleep, you smiled too, you felt so happy, after all you had a Joost asleep on you, you kissed his head and stroked his hair as he liked so much, you whispered a "I love you" before falling asleep too.

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-- N/A: OK, that's all, I hope you liked it. My native language is not English so I'm sorry for the spelling mistakes

bye!🫶🏻❤️

#joost klein #joost klein x reader

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onelittlespiral · 5 months ago

Note

Hey hi! I've heard you've got some kind of offer or sale going on, not too sure what its about but I'd like to buy your services. My best friend is a bit of ladiesman jock type and he keeps complaining he can't find a good relationship. So I wanted to know if you could maybe turn him into less ladiesman and more men's man, maybe daddying him up a bit? So i could maybe get a chance with him, and he'd get the relationship he wants.

Subject: Order #100714

Dear Dopple,

Thank you for your recent purchase from The Spiral, home for all your transformation needs! Your order #100714 has been received and is on its way as we speak. Your order includes:

(1) Daddy_From_Friend(Best;Jock)

(1) Mystery(Self)

Expect delivery in 3-5 days. Please note that joint delivery is expected.

Sincerely,

The Spiral

We knew you’d come around and round and round and round…

It was only a few days later when you heard another notification come through from The Spiral. At the same time, you hear a knock at the door. You were glad for the interruption. It was nice to head over to your friends’s apartment and hang out for the weekend. But if you had to listen to him complain again about how tough the dating market was for a white, straight, good looking guy like him you were going to scream. Glancing at the notification for a package delivery to this address, you realize that it is probably about time for the show to begin. No need to interrupt the process. You dart into the restroom as you hear him pick up the package. As you close the door, a rip is heard outside, and as you lock it, a faint poof is heard. A faint fog creeps under the door crack. It smells like fresh grass and sandalwood. Another notification comes through, as The Spiral provides you with product details:

Due to selected target changes, we have elected for our rapid delivery transformation system to best meet your needs. Upon receipt, subject will open box and full product delivery will commence. A dense cloud of product will be released directly onto target and rapidly absorbed. Your friend will age to around 35, with associated physical changes. His previously smooth, young body will change rapidly. Skin is expected to tan, hairline recede, muscles grow, and body and facial hair develop. As the product is breathed in, expect tastes to change. Your new friend will prefer whiskey and beer drinks, along with the occasional cigar. As mental changes set in, they will find themselves drawn to care and maintenance hobbies, like regular workouts, yard work, renovations, cars, and sports. He will be drawn to jeans and beat up tennis shoes or boots, and only prefer to wear a polo when they must go into the office. At the same time, his mind will be filled with images of men. Men staring at him. Men holding onto him. Men worshiping him. This will start the final change, a libido adjustment. He will feel a deep need to fuck, to control his partners, and leave his seed planted deep inside them. The added girth and heavy sack will ensure he never underperforms. As he adjusts and embraces his new personality, he will settle and seek a single partner to fulfill his needs.

Thank you again for choosing The Spiral

You finish reading and unlock the bathroom door, running from the upstairs bedroom through your friend’s spacious house to meet him on the porch.

He is standing on the porch, a box still in hand, just as described. You didn’t know he could be more handsome, but he has aged like a fine wine. He takes one look at you and simply holds out the package in his hand,

“It’s for you.”

For you? You check the label and he is correct. You grab the box and he crosses his arms, waiting. Unsure what is inside, you open the package.

“Ah, good. Been waiting for these,” he snatches it from your hands and inspects the well-worn frames. You try to turn away, but he catches you in his arms,

“This should make you behave.” He takes the sunglasses and sticks them on your face. In an instant, the world is dark. And then a pair of screens flicker to life. As spiral fills your vision, you try to take them off. But your friend is holding you tight. You can’t resist it’s allure for long. It’s right. You do feel so sleepy. As it counts down from ten, your body begins to sway and relax. But you can’t bring yourself to mind. The spiral knows best. You fade away, held in the warm embrace of release and the strong arms of a man…

You come to laying in a bed that feels familiar and foreign all at once. You scratch at your beard and inspect the scene. Lube is left open on the bedside table. Tank tops, jeans, and boxers are strewn over the floor. A pillow is still wedged under you. Heh, still got it. You wander downstairs as you stretch your muscles and rub some sore muscles from the night before. You find him in the kitchen preparing some eggs. Your love. Your master. Your beast in the sheets. You sneak up behind and wrap your arms around his waist.

“Stop, you’ll make me burn them.”

You don’t listen. You plant a kiss on his cheek. He turns around, spatula in hand, and smacks your ass.

“Act your age, boy.”

Something in that statement hits a trigger. You remember something. A younger body. Slender, taut, pale. A firmer mind. Less corruptible, less controlled. Then, you feel an arm around you.

“You okay, cuz you look faint. Don’t break a hip old man.”

You stare at your husband and the world comes into focus. He smirks and gives you a little growl, and you swoon a little in his arms,

“Give daddy a kiss,” he commands.

You lean forward, pressing your hairy chest against his, and love on your husbear.

“I’m going to finish these eggs. Go set the table and look cute,” he says with a wink. You walk off, dizzy for a new reason. You ignore the buzz in your pocket as you get ready for breakfast.

Subject: Order #100714 Fulfilled

Dear Dopple,

Your order has been fulfilled. We know you have many options, but thank you for supporting The Spiral.

Sincerely,

The Spiral

#straight to gay #male transformation #transformation #hypnosis #age tf #hairy tf #male tf #bogo

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heartkaji · 4 months ago

Text

boy scout <3

(n)—umemiya hajime breathes you in like cigar smoke

suggestive content , contains smoking / weed

“you call yourself a teenager but you’ve never smoked before ?”

you say it like teenagers are predestined to roll blunts & burn them between bruised lips. umemiya looks at you, lips parted & bleary eyed as you hold the joint between your own. he looks like a moth drunk on crimson flame.

“never have, and i don’t intend to.”

“you don’t look like you don’t,” you drawl, crawling closer to the male. ume shifts on the bed but his back is met with the head board. “my ma says smoking isn’t good for you.”

you giggle. umemiya hajime had always been a boy scout. but you didn’t think that even seven years later he’d still be the golden boy of his youth.

“it’s not all that bad. you wanna try ?”

umemiya knows you’re the devil knocking at his door. your shirt is off and you’re clad in nothing but chantelle festivité, purple lace bra & matching lace panties. umemiya hasn’t touched you. not yet. but he knows his boyhood will soon betray him. he swallows the blood curling up his throat.

is it not polite to let a knocking visitor in ?

you crawl unto his lap, bare skin grazing bare skin as you take another hit. the tip of the joint is red & sticky with lipstick and bits of ash & tar fall unto ume’s thigh. he should push you off, set a boundary.

but he doesn’t.

he doesn’t, so you cup his jaw with one hand & hold the blunt in the other. your thumb brushes his lower lip, strumming it a little before you part his lips open.

“relax, okay?”

“okay,”

umemiya hajime had always been obedient & today was no different. you exhale between his lips & he coughs—once, thrice, four times. you giggle a little & ume says his mouth burns like starlight. you puff smoke between his lips again but this time he swallows it like black blood.

“d’you wanna try something, ume ?”

ume peers up at you with bleary eyes tinged cherry pink. the weed must already be getting to him. his cheeks burn red so you giggle.

you drag the blunt between your lips, smoke stinging at your throat. before ume can register your lips are on his & he can’t fucking breathe.

he thinks you taste like heaven.

umemiya hajime is boy scout with no badges. boy scouts don’t kiss half naked girls with herb in their throats but ume does it anyway. his palms slide their way up your spine & your nails dig at the hairs on his nape & ume thinks turning in his boy scout badge is worth it after all. boy scouts don’t get to kiss pretty girls & ume can’t imagine a world where he can’t kiss you. he turns in his badge like it’s a fucking honor.

you pull away but ume chases the ghost of your lips so you can’t help but grin. his lips are chapped & bloody & bruised & swollen but he gapes at you like you’re the only love he’s ever known.

“did you put weed in your lipstick as well ?”

“very funny. kiss me again, boy scout.”

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eetherealgoddess · 9 months ago

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ꨄSpiked with Loveꨄ

Oneshot - Yandere Love Spell Au

❦You cast a love spell on your boss and fellow executives❦

Sano Manjiro, Hanemiya Kazutora, Sanzu Haruchiyo, & Haitani Brothers x Reader

Not fully proofread

MY TR FANDOM WORKS ARE ONLY ON TUMBLR, AO3, AND WATTPAD UNDER EETHEREALGODDESS! REPORT IF YOU SEE IT POSTED UNDER ANYONE ELSE BUT ME!!!

I apologize if I get any Japanese etiquette or culture wrong, I literally have to research the culture for some of my fandom stories so if anything is wrong, please excuse my ignorance.

Notice:

✩Y/n is 18+. I picture her as a black female but you can see her however.

✩Some parts of the story may not be realistic or factual. After all, this is a work of fiction.

✩Although it's a dark 'romance,' I do not condone any of the behavior displayed.

✩Dark content such as: gore, violence, triggering topics, graphic scenes, vulgar language, explicit sexual content, etc.

✩There may be scenes that involve non con and/ or dubcon so don’t read if that makes you uncomfortable

✩That being said, this story is for 18+ only.

Enjoy!

Spiked with Love

You frown as you sit in the vip section of the strip club, women all over four of the men you fancy. Of course, you know you have no right to be angry over the display towards either party. You just couldn’t help the drop of your stomach as you eye the woman sitting on Ran’s lap as he places the cigar between her lips, nor Rin pouring the bottle of alcohol into the woman's mouth, eyeing the way her tongue sticks out with lust. You also didn’t appreciate the display of Kazutora moving his lips against the stripper’s mouth with his fingers against her chin, nor the woman who’s allowing Sanzu to sniff cocaine off of her bare breasts. Fortunately, your boss never attends these kind of ordeals unless it’s for business so he treats everyone the same. You sat with your legs and arms crossed, pulling out your phone as you sigh, joint in one hand.

It’s a shame really, to be the only woman amongst many men and not one of them give you a second look. Nobody pays attention to you, nobody sees you in the way you want, nor even in an intimate way with no strings attached. No one has even flirted with you in a teasing manner as they do with other women. It was a good thing considering your position. It wouldn’t be smart to date such dangerous men who you could barely trust in the first place, but it’s not like you could help your feelings. You’ve always been into the not so ideal male. So as you sit, you scroll through the app, coming across a video that catches your eye. You get up from your spot and walk to the bathroom.

You watch the video after pressing play, eyeing the screen as it displayed a modern witch giving directions on how to complete a love ritual. Saving the video, you decide to make your way out of the club and have the driver take you to your own penthouse, guessing the men will be at the strip club for a while. When you make it home, you immediately make your way to your old altar that you hadn’t touched in years. Residue spices and herbs sat as well as the mini cauldron and old candle sticks. You set everything up the way she directed, making sure everything was set before lighting the candle. You closed your eyes, getting in the zone before repeating what was chanted. Once you finish, you place the written out names under your pillow and fall asleep.

The morning came and you hopped out of bed, showering and dressing in your usual Bonten attire. Once you walk out of the penthouse, you hop into the car, the driver taking you to Bonten’s headquarters. When you arrive, you walk through the doors and head straight to your boss’s office. When you walk in, you sit in your usual seat. Your boss gives the orders for the day, the meeting lasting about thirty minutes before he dismisses everyone.

“Y/n. You stay behind.”

You nod, though feeling confused as to what he needs you to stay after for. Once the room was empty besides you and Mikey, he eyed you for a while, seeming to study you. You shift in discomfort, not used to a gaze this long from him.

“You will work under Koko in his office. You are no longer needed for missions.” Your eyes widen.

“W-wait, Boss! Did I do something wrong?” You were completely distraught. Why is your position being lowered to a secretary?

“No.” Your eyebrow raises though you try to maintain a straight face.

“O-okay, Boss.” You didn’t want to trigger him by asking any questions considering he hates to be questioned.

He nods, dismissing you. You missed his gaze as you walked out of the room, confused and a little distraught.

Getting through the day as Kokonoi’s assistant, you huffed once you made it home in disappointment. Not only did you not see any changes with the men's behavior, you even got demoted.

Irritated and troubled, you pull up the dating app you downloaded for moments like these. A hookup will do you some good, allowing yourself to distract from everyday life. Once you found a guy to temporarily satiate your needs, you messaged him a straightforward offer. He complied and claimed to be on the way. As you changed out of your work clothes to something more casual, you heard a knock at your door.

With furrowed brows you opened it, raising them in surprise at the tiger tattooed man that showed up unannounced.

“Hey, Y/n.” He greets as he pushes past you, walking in. Your eyes widened, running in front of him and holding your hands up.

“Kazutora, what are you doing here?”

“Bored. Came to hang out.” He shrugged before plopping on your couch.

“Unannounced?” He smirked at you while propping his shoes on your coffee table, crossing his leg over.

“You know you like my company.” He chuckled, causing your face to warm up.

“It’s just not a good time, right now.” You said, scratching the back of your head as you anxiously eye the door, nervous of the embarrassment that will come if he figures out your plan for the night.

A knock interrupted your thoughts. You walk to the door, opening it and greeting the stranger before inviting him in. The tension in the air seemed to thicken not by your anxiety but by the aura seeming to emit from the energy of the room.

“Uh, yeah. This is…?” You eye the newcomer for his name.

“Sato Riku.” You nod with a sheepish smile.

You have no clue why you’re introducing him considering you have no reason to, but the way Kazutora is quiet with a stoic expression is making you feel awkward. Your eyes widened when he leaned forward and grabbed the remote. He turned the television on, scrolling through as if nothing had been said.

“Oh yeah, did that treatment for chlamydia work?” You gasped. Your ‘date’ looked at you in surprise. You’ve never been treated for chlamydia so you don’t know why he just said that.

“I’ve never…”

“You don’t have to tell me right now, you can just tell me later.” Kazutora shrugged. Sato eyed both of you before walking to the door.

“W-wait!” Before you could continue, he had already walked out of the door.

“What the fuck, Kazutora?” You exclaim angrily.

“Hey, I just saved you from putting a shrimp in your mouth. You should be thanking me.” He says before hopping up, smirking at you.

You couldn’t respond as he walked out of the front door. Sighing, you decide to change and go out for the night since your plan had been ruined. You refreshed your makeup and added a little bit of color to your eyeshadow. Once you were done, you left the penthouse. The driver takes you to a club not owned by the Haitani brothers since you wanted a different scene.

Red and purple lights flash as the sound of music causes the building to vibrate, the crowd buzzing with chatter and laughter as different people enjoy their time. You immediately head to the bar, ordering multiple shots and swallowing them down before walking to the dance floor. While you danced the night away a random male pulled you closer as he danced against you, hands on your hips behind you as his body pressed against yours. You turn your head slightly to see the man’s appearance.

Found my replacement for the night.

You turn your head back to the front as you grind your body back against the stranger, your arms raising as you close your eyes and sway your hips to the music. For a second you felt emptiness behind you causing you to turn around only for hands to replace themselves back on your hips. You internally shrug and continue to move your body against the man. A presence looms over you as you look up in surprise.

“Rin?” You eye the Haitani in front of you as you halt your movements.

“Having fun grinding on my brother?” Your eyes widen when you swiftly turn behind you, hands disappearing from your hips as you push him back with one hand.

“R-Ran?” You exclaim. He looks down at you with a smirk.

“Who knew you could move like that?” You feel warmth on your face as you look between the brothers.

“Where did that guy go?”

“What guy?” Ran questions while tilting his head. Your eyebrows furrow.

Am I imagining things? I literally looked at the guy behind me earlier, right? Have I been dancing on Ran the whole time?

Your eyes widen.

Holy shit! I’ve been dancing on Ran the whole time!

“U-uh, I…” You stammer over your words as realization hits that you’ve been grinding on one of the men you fancy, though it’s not necessarily a bad thing, it’s still nerve wracking. Especially when he’s your coworker.

“No need to feel embarrassed, Y/n” Ran’s fingers connect to your chin before gently lifting your face. His heavy lidded orbs meet your gaze, a look you’ve never had the pleasure of experiencing before except from the sidelines.

I…Is he coming onto me?

“I need to go!” You say before you push past him and rush out of the building, shoving through the crowd before you make your abrupt exit.

What the hell? Am I overthinking or did that just happen? Did he just flirt with me? And he let me dance on him!

It took you a moment to hit the realization that this change of behavior has to be from that spell you casted. You shook your head as you hopped into the seat, your driver leading you home.

There’s no way. There’s no freaking way that worked!

You know that spells can work but you didn’t think it would work for you. It just couldn’t.

When you reached your home you rushed inside, zoned out in thought the entire time you changed and wiped your makeup off. When you got in bed, you binged different videos about love spells and how to know if they worked. It’s obvious really but you just couldn’t accept how easy it was.

Morning rises and with only two hours of sleep you sluggishly dressed yourself as well as completed your morning routine. Walking out of the lobby you yawned as you entered the back seat. When you arrived at Bonten’s headquarters you immediately met with Kokonoi to receive your assignment for the shift, not required to attend the meetings now that you are no longer an executive. The thought still disappoints you.

Sitting at a desk, after you get done organizing some paperwork, you feel as though you’re being watched. Your body tenses as you look over your shoulder. You release a sigh when you see that Sanzu is sitting on the couch behind you.

“When did you get in here?” You mask your nervousness as you shift your attention away from the crazed beauty.

Sanzu’s presence always made you nervous. Honestly all of them do but he tops the rest considering he was the first one out of the executives to catch your eye. Clearly your type is pretty and toxic. Yes, you have terrible taste in men. You’ve accepted that fact. What you found particularly interesting about Sanzu is that he had two different versions of himself. One is quiet, sneaky, and reserved while the other is crazy, extroverted, and wild. The second one is usually when he’s on drugs. If the love spell were to work, you’re definitely curious on how it would show up from him.

You took the last sip of your coffee before clearing your thoughts to focus on your screen. You begin to feel drowsy before you break out in cold sweat. You breathe heavily as your eyebrows furrow while you try to gain control of your weakened limbs. Before the upper half of your body can completely fall on the keyboard, you're pulled out of your seat and placed on the couch.

Blue orbs and pink hair fill your blurry vision as you look at the culprit above you who uses his hand to palm your face, thumb connecting to your chin as he pulls your head to the side. He analyzes your face as well as shifting his gaze down your body. The only thing you could hear is your breathing as he traced along your collarbone with his other hand, thumb caressing your chin before moving to your forehead. It’s as if he's studying an experiment.

“S-Sanzu?” You whisper.

What the hell is going on with him? What’s going on with my body? Why can’t I move on my own? Did he drug me?

“Shh.” He places a finger over his mouth before he leans over, the hand on your face moving your head to the side as his fingers trace down your neck. If your body wasn’t drugged you would’ve jumped at the hot breath against your neck. You would’ve tensed at the lips connecting to your skin so gently that it almost felt unreal. All of a sudden a gun is pulled out as Sanzu faces the door behind him, aiming it at the newcomer.

“Oh don’t mind me.” Kazutora says with a grin while his hands rise in surrender. He walked closer until he stood above you right next to the couch.

“Get out.” Sanzu growls before placing the gun back in his holster. The tiger tattooed man leans over to observe your state. He releases a chuckle before straightening his back.

“Wow, what did you give her?”

“None of your business.” He says with his voice low before returning his gaze back to you, tracing your skin once more without a care for the third party who intruded.

“Boss needs us for a mission.” He states in response before placing his hand on your forehead, thumb caressing the skin.

If you weren’t so out of it you’d be giddy with joy that they’re finally paying attention to you. Unfortunately, you can barely feel your own body let alone anything more than that. You also wonder what drug is exactly in your system. Sanzu stands from the couch and walks out of the room, Kazutora following behind as he gives you one last look before shutting the door.

Assholes. I need to get up before I get in trouble for lazing around.

You ended up falling into a deep sleep. Only to wake up to dark eyes staring down at you. You gasp before swiftly sitting up, eyeing your boss in fear.

“S-sorry about this, Boss! I’ll get back to work right now!” You exclaim. Before you can hop off of the couch, Mikey places a hand on your shoulder.

“Come with me.”

He walks away before you can respond. You had no choice but to follow behind, nervous of what punishment you would receive from slacking. You follow him outside as you both step into the ride, the driver taking you both to Mikey’s estate. When you walk into the lobby, you head up the elevator and reach a spacious living space.

Is this Mikey’s home? Why are we here? Well, why did he bring me here?

He disappears for a little while before returning with a spare pair of clothes, you eyeing his own change of outfit.

“Change and come to my bedroom.” Your eyes widen at his bold statement. He walks away as you are frozen in your spot.

It feels like one of your fantasies has come true though you don’t know how to act. You change your clothes and lie your own outfit folded on the couch. You walk to the hall and search for his bedroom. When you reached the room, you paused while eyeing him and turned the other way on his bed.

Does he want me to hop in? I don’t want to if he doesn’t want that. Oh come on, Y/n stop playing stupid why else would he ask you to come in here? To be fair he’s never requested something like this so I don’t know what he wants.

He turns to face you and pulls the comforter up as if inviting you into that spot. You tense once more before you comply with your Boss’s demands. You slowly climb into the bed as if to give him time to correct you. Once you get comfortable, you lie on your back and stare at the ceiling, ignoring the burning gaze from beside you.

You turn in the opposite direction, facing the door and lying in the fetal position as you try to calm your pounding heart. You hold back a gasp as you feel an arm slither around your waist. His warm body closes in behind you as you're pulled back against his chest.

Is… Is Mikey spooning me right now?

“Y/n.” He whispers. “Look at me.” You bite your lip before slowly turning on your back, Mikey keeping his hold on you as you keep your gaze on the ceiling.

A hand places itself on your chin before turning your attention to him. You gaze at the red hue covering his face as his orbs bore into yours. You watch as his eyes shift to your lips before he leans in. You stay frozen in your spot while his lips meet yours.

Fuck it.

You lean into the kiss, moving your lips against his as your eyelids flutter shut. The grip on your face tightens before he slowly climbs on top of you, resting his body in between your legs as your fingers massage his head, slightly pulling him closer as he props your legs up to crouch above you in missionary position.

He disconnects your lips before nuzzling his face between your shoulder, lips lapping onto your neck before giving the skin a long lick. He closes his mouth around the dermis and sucks a bruise onto the surface. You breathe heavily as his hands move down to your covered breasts, groping the mounds as he rutts himself against you. The bulge makes contact with your vulva through the fabric. He quietly moans as you grind against him eagerly, heat rising as all the sensations sensitize you to every contact your skin makes. Suddenly he pulls back and stares down at you while breathing heavily. You gaze at him while catching your breath.

“Get out.” He says before hopping off of you.

Your eyebrows furrow in concern and confusion.

Did I do something wrong? Did I make him uncomfortable?

You don’t hesitate to jump out of the bed and rush out of the room, tears forming from embarrassment and rejection.

Shit.

You quickly change back into your suit and head out of the building. Unfortunately, your driver is off duty so you grab the nearest taxi that’s out late at night. You ride home quietly, sulking in the backseat as you reach your penthouse. When you get inside you undress, hopping into the shower to scrub yourself harshly.

Why did he switch up like that? I hope I didn’t do anything wrong. This is so fucking humiliating.

You determined that even though the love spell worked, because they didn’t even have feelings for you in the first place, it’s all fake. None of it is real. None of the attention or affection are real. When you finished with your shower you got into bed and covered yourself with blankets, wishing you could disappear.

The next day you were rudely woken up by someone pulling your curtains open.

“Rise and shine.” Rin says as you groan in response. He snatches your blankets off causing you to shriek. You sit up and eye the brothers, Ran leaning against your doorway while Rin stands by your bed.

“What the hell are you two doing in my house?”

“You didn’t show up to work.” Rin crossed his arms. “Guess you were just being lazy.”

“What? It’s not ti-.” You cut yourself off when you eye your phone’s clock, displaying that your sleep surpassed the morning and afternoon.

Damn. I was knocked out for so long.

“You’re lucky Boss let it go.” Rin states.

“Get dressed.” Ran says. One of your eyebrows raises.

“For what?”

“We’re going out tonight.”

“Where?”

“Meeting the others at one of our clubs.” The others?

“So come on!” Rin says impatiently before they leave you in your bedroom.

By the time you finished getting ready, night fell as the sun disappeared. All three of you walk to the car, Ran holds the door open for you while you climb into your seat. Once you reached the club you all walked to the designated vip section, greeted by Kazutora while Sanzu sniffed a line of cocaine.

What you weren’t expecting was to see Mikey sitting on one of the accent chairs. Your face warmths from the memory of last night, recollecting your heated make out session before you felt shame rise from how it ended. You internally shake your head before walking to your own seat.

“Y/n.”

You look up at your boss who motions for you to come over. Fear stricken by what he might do to you for last night, you comply. Your eyebrows furrow when he points at his lap.

“Sit.” You freeze in disbelief.

“A-are you sure, Boss?” His expression stays stoic.

“You questioning me?” You immediately shake your head before sitting on his lap feeling uneasy by the stares you’re receiving. Everyone turns their attention back to what they’re doing.

“You’re such a distraction.” He whispers before one of his arms rest around your waist. His fingers grip your hip as your grip on your own hands tighten. His other hand grabs the bottom of your face and forces you to look at him.

“I can’t stop thinking about you.” A red hue covers his face as his dark eyes glisten in the light. He gives you a longing gaze before it turns cold. You flinch when his fingers dig into your thigh as well as the tightening grip on your face.

“I want to kill you.” Your breath hitched.

“You’re consuming me, Y/n. You’re distracting my men.” He whispers.

“B-boss?” You breathe out.

“If you disappear, there would be nothing to think about.” His hand moves to your neck, immediately squeezing your throat shut. Your eyes widen as you grip his wrist.

“M-Mik… Boss wait!” You stammer, eyes shifting to the others who watch the display with crossed legs and glasses, cigars, or a blunt to their lips. Nobody but members of Bonten sat in the room, the strippers and waiters out of sight.

“Should I, Y/n? Should I kill you right now so I can get you out of my head?” His grip becomes unbearable as you struggle to breathe. Your legs shift before you begin to scratch the skin on his arms. Tears fall before you pull an arm back and punch his face. You push yourself off the chair, dropping to the floor as you catch your breath. You look up at Mikey with wide eyes while his face is turned to the side. The room is quiet besides the faint music that plays while you cough and wipe your eyes.

You shakily stand from your position on the floor before glancing around the room at the executives who stare at you with nothingness as their expressions, cold and bare of any emotion.

What the fuck?

“You know, I had already fallen for you.” His face is covered by his platinum hair as he looks down, hands on the chair’s arms. “You didn’t need the spell, Y/n.”

Your eyes widen.

How did he know? The only way they would have noticed anything was the video saved on my phone or my altar. Was it when Kazutora or the Haitani brothers came into my place?

“I thought if I ignored it, then it would go away.” One of his hands rub his face. “Then you made it worse.”

The door opens and the guards walk in with decapitated heads that are hanging from their hair. You eye the faces closely in confusion before they’re thrown on the ground, some rolling in front of you. You count five different men, including the man you remembered as Sato and the mystery man you danced on. Although you’ve seen and have caused death, there was something very disturbing about seeing the detached heads of your past flings.

“Disgusting. You’ve driven the King insane.” Sanzu hissed before standing from his seat and taking position next to Mikey’s chair.

“Why is that look on your face?” Ran questions while taking a hit of the cigar. “Why do you look so uneasy?”

“This is what you wanted isn’t it?” Rin says before he downs a shot and leans over, resting his arms against his legs.

Kazutora takes a hit of the blunt before he ashes it against the ashtray, pulling back as he leaned into the couch with a leg crossed over. “Come on, Y/n. Don’t give us that look. We’re just showing you what you made us do.”

You look at all of them with shock and uneasiness, disturbed by their actions though a little flattered that they thought of you this much. After all, your feelings hadn’t gone away even though you feel you are in danger. This isn’t exactly what you had in mind. Especially with how they stare at you like you’re a piece of meat in the lion’s den.

Your arms are grabbed by the guards as you’re forced out of the room, their eyes lingering on you all the while you allow the men to take you out of the tense section. Outside of the door, you meet eyes with Kokonoi who walks beside you as you’re released and forced to walk towards the exit.

“Koko, what’s going on?” You question with a trembling voice.

“I’m afraid you’ve been fired, Y/n. As of right now you’ve been labeled a traitor and you’ve been ordered to reside in one of the torture rooms for the time being.”

“Are they gonna kill me?” You gasp.

“No.”

“What do you mean? Then what’s gonna happen to me?” You question eagerly.

He sighs. “I mean that they’re planning to keep you locked up for an extended amount of time.”

“Th-They’re holding me captive? What? Why?”

One of the guards open the door for Kokonoi before cuffing your wrists and forcing you to climb into the car.

“The only thing I know is that they seem to have a deep infatuation with you. You might not ever get to see the light of day again, Y/n. I’m sorry.”

You could only stare into space with a look of concern as you try not to have a panic attack. Your eyes shift outside the window as the driver pulls off towards the destination.

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icarusredwings · 2 months ago

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Thinking about Patch (Eyepatch Wolverine) and Wanda (Fem presenting gender fluid 'call girl' Wade, Always in red, not like wanda though where its darker and dull, More like bright red, sparkly and revealing. and yes, it's a tribute to the scarlet witch. He thinks she's cool.) At a table, patch with his thick long cigar, playfully blowing smoke in her face when frustrated and she'll roll their eyes at him and push his face away only for him to grab her and sit him on his lap.

What's nice about this is that since Wade is maths smart, he can count cards very well. She can do little tricks for kiddos with them or full-on win a poker tournament.

She likes blackjack the most, but once inawhile She'll help patch out (and make him jealous) by going to one of the other players and asking if they'd like another drink. It's kind of like a sexy waitress. If patch gets in a jam and is unsure, Wanda will bat her eyes a few times for yes and look away for no on weather he should fold or not.

This is HEAVILY illegal, and you WILL get shot for it at some southern casino's so they never hit the same table. They go around, place to place, scamming poor suckers.

Sometimes, they'll kill two birds and one stone where Wanda will play all dirty and invite a target back to the motel only to kill them. Then they get card money and merc money in the same day.

Wade enjoys being able to play the sexy spy lady like Black Widow and Patch, who just likes being able to smoke, play cards all day, and beat up anyone who touches Wanda.

There's some games where Logan convinces her not to wear her wigs because the joint knows him well enough to not even mention his bald wife.

It's giving mafia boss romantization wattpad, but you know what? I think it's a nice idea. And if you prefer Morpherine, this fits heavily well with them, too.

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starswritewhispers · 4 months ago

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Sharing Smoke- Nalu

A03

Natsu had seen a lot of different traditions and hobbies during his travels for missions He still could taste the bitter rage coating his tongue when some wizards decided to greet Lucy with a kiss on either cheek, and the bottled mirth when Gray took a shot of something that apparently tasted like ‘liquid death’.

So yeah, he’s seen it all.

Currently, they were all at a bar, attempting to gain intel—or at least, Erza and Lucy were trying to gain intel— Natsu was trying to find some more liquid death for Gray to try.

“You try it,” Gray argued back, lips curling into a sneer that usually meant Natsu was being set up for a trap.

Jokes on him, Natsu had grown and matured and would never fall for any of his shit again.

“Unless,” The corner of Gray’s lips turned up into a taunting smile. “You’re scared you can’t handle it.”

Damn it.

“Give me the fucking drink, ice for brains.”

Gray’s grin turned devious and Natsu almost regretted his decision as he accepted he shot. He risked quick glance around the bar, checking for Erza, before raising it to his lips and tossing it back.

“What are you doing?” The red haired bringer of death demanded from behind him, making Natsu choke on the drink already trying to murder him.

It tasted as if Zeref himself had made a shot specifically to torture Natsu and now it was stuck in his throat as he relentlessly gasped for air. He could hear Erza’s lecture and Gray’s laughter as he doubled over, pounding a fist against his chest.

After a few prolonged moments of pain, he regained himself, glaring at Gray.

“You—“

“Do not start a fight,” Erza warned, glaring at the two boys dangerously. “Not our bar.”

Natsu glowered but sighed, accepting the glass of water Gray slid his way and practically chugging it.

“Where’s Lucy?” He asked once his airway was sufficiently cleared. “You guys find a lead?”

Erza nodded, motioning her head outside. “Check to see what she’s found out, would you?”

Natsu grumbled, but pushed himself out of his chair and followed Ezra’s directions out of the door regardless. He blinked, taking a moment to get used to the shitty lighting before his eyes landed on the familiar blonde. A smile quickly took over his face as he walked over, easily slinging an arm across her shoulder.

“Hey Natsu,” she greeted, without turning to face him. He felt something preen within him at the knowledge that she knew it was him by touch alone, but ignored it.

Acknowledging it wouldn’t get their mission done any faster. The only thing it’d accomplish in speeding up is ruining the best thing to ever happen to Natsu. So, he ignored it.

“Where’s our guy?” He asked, frowning when he noticed how strong the wind had grown to be. It didn’t bother him, but he knew Lucy was far more sensitive to weather than he was, so he quickly pulled her closer to his chest. It earned him a hum of appreciation as she subtly pointed the man out. “Who is that?” He asked, noticing the second figure leaning close to the man.

They were passing a cigarette—no, it was too large to a cigarette, and didn’t quite seem to be a cigar— he searched his brain through useless tidbits of information Gray had given him as he watched the scene.

“I think his girlfriend,” Lucy answered, something almost wistful in her tone. “They came in together.”

A joint!

Lucy’s words registered and Natsu’s moment of success quickly wore off as he looked at her. The guy they were tailing was nobody, surely Lucy wasn’t jealous of his girlfriend. He huffed rather than respond and turned his focus back to the scene.

The man had taken a large drag from the joint, his hand that wasn’t wrapped aorund the woman’s waist gently moving to cradle her head to angle it. Natsu could make out the woman’s slow, hazy smile, in the flickering lights before the man leaned forward to connect their lips, the smoke clearly passing between them.

Natsu watched the scene, feeling transfixed as the couple finally broke apart, the woman breathing out the man’s smoke. She leaned forward, pressing her head against his chest as the two laughed. An odd feeling settled in Natsu’s gut as he forced his gaze again, eyes settling on Lucy again.

She had the same expression on her face, not quite longing but something so similar to his own churning emotions that he grit his teeth.

To be brave or to not be brave.

To risk change and loss or to not.

“We should try that,” Natsu decided firmly, turning to face her.

“What?” Lucy stumbled at how fast she had turned around, her voice coming out a squeak. Natsu frowned, watching her reaction carefully. “We don’t have anything to smoke, dork.”

“I can make fire and smoke, weirdo,” he countered, crossing his arms stubbornly. “It looks fun.”

“It’s not just smoke,” Lucy began to explain, but Natsu was already focusing on his own smoke. Obviously, he knew there was a drug involved. “The point is to get high—“ He cut her off by pressing his lips against hers.

He knew that too.

His method of getting high was just slightly different.

His arms encircled Lucy and he felt her relax in his arms as she slowly opened her mouth to accept the smoke.

It burned.

She was the one swallowing smoke, but it felt like he was chugging liquid sunlight. So warm it was burning his throat on the way down, but so good that he couldn’t bring himself to stop.

After a blissful moment, they part, foreheads resting against each other as the smoke curls from Lucy’s mouth.

“Seems like the same point,” he murmurs, risking a glance up at the girl that held his heart and so much more in her hands.

She was smiling.

The world could’ve ended in that moment and all that would matter would’ve been Lucy’s smile.

“The guild owes me so much money,” a gleeful voice interrupted their bliss and Natsu whirled around to meet a grinning Gray.

“I,” Natsu decided, taking a dangerous step forward as smoke curled off his fingertips, “Am gonna kill you.”

“Sorry, man,” Gray answered, a shit eating grin taking over his face. “I’m taken, can’t share your smoke.”

Natsu lunged for him, ignoring Erza’s yelling, a wild grin on his face.

Sometimes, he really loved his family.

#fairy tail #nalu #nalu fanfiction #fairytail #fairytail fanfic #nalu fanfic #natsu dragneel #lucy heartfilia #fairy tail nalu #i wrote this all in notes app and i’m never doing that again omg #transferring this was HELL #i love them ur honor #spade stars

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bonafideyapper · 7 months ago

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THE TRADER'S DAUGHTER - cooper "the ghoul" howard x female!oc (part 3)

Warnings: weird age gap (Daisy is mid-20s, Cooper is…upwards of 200.); drug use (mentions of weed); mentions of alcohol use; badly written almost-smut; dbf!cooper (and as always, proofread to the best of my ability)

(This part takes place immediately following part 1, expect this series to be present/past/present/past)

part 1 part 2 masterlist

my requests are open!

As Daisy finished locking up the shop for the night, her mind lingered on the ghoul that sat upstairs with her father. Other than the obvious inappropriate thoughts about Cooper, she was looking forward to sitting and listening to his stories again. Forever the storyteller, Cooper could have her hooked for hours.

Securing the bolts on the door and taking the more valuable items with her upstairs, she met up with the two men in their living space. Coop had made himself comfortable by now, his hat off and sitting on the table as a sign of respect towards his hosts. Daisy took notice of the way his shoulders were tensed despite being in a safe space, coming up with a plan to help him… loosen up. The two men were trapped in a debate about who was the better shot when the girl walked in, and Cooper immediately took the chance to get a second opinion.

“Daisy, settle this debate we’re havin’ here. Your old man is sayin’ that he’s a better shot than I am, what do you think of that?” Cooper leaned back in his seat, the cup of whiskey held loosely in his hand as he trained his eyes on the woman.

Daisy flashed him a smirk and shrugged as she locked away their cap stash, tucking the key back in a safe space on her person. “Well I dunno, I think Coop’s a pretty good shot, dad.” She came over to the table and grabbed the cup from Cooper’s grasp, finishing the dark liquor in one smooth shot.

“I think I’m the better shot out of the three of us, though.” Daisy winked at Cooper and set the cup back down on the table.

“Damn, Daze, no vote of confidence for your own father?” Josiah stared at his daughter in fake shock, leaning forward to refill the empty cup for his friend before setting the near-empty bottle back on the table. Josiah had been saving that bottle for a long time, waiting for the right time to open it and celebrate something. Now was as good a time as any, seeing as how Cooper had made his way back to their corner of the universe in one piece.

Cooper watched the girl take the liquor down like it was nothing, not even the slightest grimace across her face as the burn slid down her throat. He had gotten tougher in the wasteland, but it was becoming clear that she, too, had gone through some things to conform herself to survive the world around her.

“Nope, I know for a fact I’m better than you, dad.” Daisy grinned as she pulled up a chair to the table, sitting down and reaching for the pack of cigarettes lying on the table. She rolled her own much of the time, and made pretty great money on the side by selling special hand-rolled cigarettes. She had found a dealer that specialized in old-world drugs like marijuana and tobacco, so she took whatever she could get. Daisy put the small stick between her lips and lit a match, holding the flame to the end and inhaling slowly to get the effects of the drug within.

“When’d you pick that up?” Cooper nudged her arm with his cup, gesturing towards the smoking cigar between her pretty little fingers. “Never picked you to be the smokin’ type, darlin’.”

Daisy would be lying if that little old nickname didn’t make her stomach ache with want as it slipped from the ghoul’s mouth, pretending like it had no effect on her as she took a drag from the joint. “I dunno, couple years ago I guess? Helps me sleep at night.” She joked, which wasn’t a full lie. Sometimes she smoked to help herself sleep, but a lot of the time she smoked to cope with the reality they lived in. Whatever, made her some extra caps on the side.

The three sat around the table until well into the night, only dissolving when Josiah spoke up and said he was headed to bed. He bid Cooper a goodnight and leaned down to kiss his Daisy on her head before he disappeared into his bedroom.

Cooper turned his attention to his little flower when he heard Josiah’s door latch shut, a smirk on his face as he watched her. “You’ve grown up a whole lot since the last time I seen you.” He emphasized his words, letting his eyes wander down to her chest again. Oh how he wished he could get her out of that thin tank top and godforsaken jeans, to show her what a real man was like.

“I guess I have, huh?” Daisy licked her lips as she tapped her second joint out in her ashtray, the motion like second nature to her as she never took her eyes off of the ghoul.

“Mhmm, I remember you bein’ a chubby little kid, wild as a June bug on a string.” Cooper moved his eyes over her body, smirking at the confused look on her face at the unfamiliar comment. Before she could open her mouth to inquire about the foreign insect, he was leaning into her space, close enough to hear her heartbeat in the quiet room.

“You’re a mighty fine lookin’ woman, now, little flower.” Cooper moved in to whisper in her ear, noticing how the girl had essentially stopped breathing. He watched as a bead of sweat dripped lower, lower, lower, until it disappeared into the space between her breasts. There was nothing stopping him from reaching out to her, putting his mouth against her smooth, delicate skin and licking the trail of sweat up to her neck. Nothing preventing him from putting his rough hands all over her tanned skin, nothing stopping him from bending her over the table in front of him.

Nothing except her father, and his closest friend, in the next room.

Daisy felt her cheeks go scarlet at the closeness of his body to hers, wanting nothing more than to jump the ghoul’s bones. “Come on, Coop, you ain’t even seen me since I was a kid-” she tried to argue, although she was beyond thrilled to find out he was just as attracted to her as she was to him. “Ain’t I a little young for you?” She looked up at him with those big ol’ chocolate eyes of hers, the words hanging in the air between them.

“Darlin’, I think any woman I meet up here might be a lil’ bit outta my age range.” Cooper snorted as he pulled away before he could really touch her the way he had been craving since the moment he saw her all grown up. He hadn’t been with a woman in a mighty long time, but he felt like he was on the verge of going feral when Daisy laid her eyes on him. He was itchin’ to put his hand on her thigh, wanting to see the way her eyes fluttered closed at the intimate touch. He wanted to slide his hand up her thigh, wanted to brush his fingers over that sweet spot that she’d be begging him to finally touch.

“You’re like a tall drink o’ water, and sweetheart, I’m just dyin’ of thirst.” Cooper moved back to whisper in her ear, smirking as he trailed his lips over the shell of her ear.

Daisy wasn’t a virgin, by any means. She had fooled around with many of the teenage boys that had presented themselves to her in her youth, but she hadn’t spent any time with a man since she was in her teens. At this moment, however, she was almost ashamed to admit that her body was reacting as if she had never been touched before. Her thighs clenched together to try and quell the ache between her legs, her hand reaching over to grab his as though she could read his mind while she put his large palm on her leg.

“Ohh, ya want me to touch ya, huh?” Cooper spoke in a hushed tone so as to not alert to her father in the next room what was about to happen. “What happened to you’re too young for me?” He squeezed her thigh with a strong grip, a wide grin coming to his face as he coaxed her thighs open.

“Coop, I-” Daisy breathlessly whispered, overwhelmed by the man and his voice and his hands. Lord have mercy, his hands, those hands that she had dreamed about touching her in ways that would make angels cry. The hands that had strangled a man to death for threatening her.

“I want you to touch me.”

a/n: Hello ghoulfuckers! There’s no smut YET but I promise it’s coming. This is the first part I’m posting on my new blog (find part 1 and 2 on my old blog) – Wanted to get something out to make sure people follow here instead of @sixx-sixx-sixx

taglist: @savanahc @one-of-thewalkingdead @silverose365 @neverendingdumptser

#ren writes #cooper howard x oc #cooper howard imagine #cooper howard fanfiction #the ghoul x reader #the ghoul x oc #fallout imagine #fallout fanfiction #fallout oc #cooper howard x reader #the trader's daughter #dividers by cafekitsune

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tropes-and-tales · 1 month ago

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With Teeth

(Benny Magalon x F!Reader)

CW: Talk of drug use; vaguely smuttish (kissing, groping, biting), but nothing explicit. 18+ only just to be safe.

Word Count: 3062

AN: This was originally requested from a prompt list ("i won’t bite. unless you’re into that sort of thing") by @outlawedmando!

Major Crimes isn’t the only division of the Los Angeles Sheriff’s Department to host illicit parties. Many of the divisions have their own deals with their own vibes that fit the unique character of the division in question.

Major Crimes, lorded over by Big Nick, is almost a cliché with the booze, women, and drugs.

The Gang Squad is led by a man much like Big Nick, so it’s no surprise that they do it up similarly, only bigger, with more women and harder drugs.

Cold Case Division’s modus operandi is to go out to the desert with big guns and lots of beer and blow shit up.

No one really knows what Parking Enforcement and Services does, but there are jokes about it. Some say lean into the relative lameness, say they unwind with a knitting circle, or scrapbooking evenings when they listen to New Age music. Others say they go fully feral, that they have a fight club in an abandoned warehouse where they beat each to near-death.

In terms of the group with the panache, though, the honor belongs to the Fugitive Apprehension Team. Maybe it’s the nature of their role—always hunting, always on edge and in the front lines of dangerous work. Something makes their unwinding efforts an ultra-chill affair, a complete decompression and sloughing-off of the stress.

The Fugitive Squad is a tight-knit group—arguably tighter than Major Crimes, though the two often overlap. Major Crimes cracks a case, needs someone hauled in? Big Nick drops a call, and it’s like setting a pack of well-trained wolves on the busy streets and dusty roads of Los Angeles County.

On big cases, sometimes the Fugitive Squad invites Major Crimes to their parties and vice versa. Usually Major Crimes attends the Fugitive events, since the Fugitive folks don’t quite care for Big Nick groping hired girls while the fug of cigar smoke hangs over some hotel room.

-----

What does a Fugitive party entail?

Borracho is never clear on who exactly plans them. If it’s a situation where the team takes turns, or if there’s one mastermind behind the events. It’s always at the same place: a low, sprawling mid-century place in the Pacific Palisades, owned by one of the members of the squad who came from old family money.

There’s a pool and beyond it, the ocean. There’s low, cool lighting that swaths everyone in blue shadows. There’s ambient music—a low, steady pulsing beat that seems to sync everyone’s heart rate to the same rhythm. The food is always elegant, an elaborate sushi bar one night, tapas another time. There’s alcohol, plenty of it, but no one ever seems to overdo it to a sloppy degree because everything is so damned chill.

Drugs? Big Nick is partial to coke and often brings enough to the Major Crimes events to get loaded, but the Fugitive parties are purely for the psychedelic shit. Weed, obviously. Mushrooms. Molly. Nothing that will get people worked up: only stuff to calm and maybe take the user to another galaxy while they celebrate another night on the right side of the dirt.

Honestly, Borracho kinda prefers the thing the Fugitive folks have going on. A big joint case has just wrapped up, and he finds himself with an invite along with the rest of his team.

Which means he gets to see you in a more social setting.

At work, you’re all business. Mostly silent, the way Borracho is mostly silent. You let your commanding officer do all the talking the way Big Nick does all the talking, and like Borracho, you stand nearby and look and listen.

Early on, you caught Borracho studying you. It had made your mouth twist in a small smile, and you had winked at him, but it was a lone instance of your personality shining through during work hours.

Off-duty? Fuck, you drive him insane.

It’s not entirely the sort of insanity that comes from flirting and sexual tension. At these parties, you’re someone else completely. Totally at ease, which means you feel comfortable enough to be yourself, to untether your mouth from your brain, and Borracho never knows what the fuck you’ll say to him. If you’ll drop something banal about the Dodgers’ pitching depth, or if you’ll stare at him, unblinking, and ask if he thinks life as he knows it is just a simulation. Because both has happened in the past at these parties, and both were before you even touched a drug.

Tonight, though, he’s late to show up. The party is in full swing, the low bass audible from the street when he parks his truck. He makes his way inside, sees the crush of people dancing in the living room, sees the cluster of people in the dining room where the food and drinks and drugs are laid out. Borracho sees Henderson, tips a nod in his direction, but he keeps walking through the place.

He always seeks you out at these things. He always swears he’ll play it cool, but his resolve always melts away the moment he hits the door.

Borracho finds you in the den—a separate space that usually has a movie projected on the far wall while people sprawl out and trip and sometimes get cozy in the dark room while some old black-and-white movie plays out in the background.

Tonight, you’re settled on the deep leather couch at one end. Another guy is at the other end of the couch, his wide eyes fixed on where “The Third Man” plays against the far wall. There’s a couple curled up on a separate easy chair, murmuring together, making out, and it charges the room with an undercurrent of sexual energy that feels…promising.

It takes you a beat to notice him leaning in the doorway. You’re watching the movie too, and it’s only in a scene break that you glance over and see him.

“Borracho!” you call out. “Finally made it!”

“Never like to arrive too early.”

“Smart, smart. Gives you an air of mystery.”

You smile and continue. “C’mon in. Take a seat, settle in. We’re following Joseph Cotton here around post-war Vienna.” You lift a hand and gesture at the wall.

Borracho tilts his head at the couch where you sit. “No room.”

You turn and look at the guy on the other end of the couch. When Borracho looks closer, he sees it’s one of your coworkers in the Fugitive Squad. He watches as you reach over and swat at him, tell him to move over and make some room. When he does, you turn back to Borracho and pat the middle cushion invitingly.

“C’mon, handsome. I won’t bite.” He cocks an eyebrow at the handsome moniker, but you add, “unless you’re into that sort of thing,” and he realizes that you’re throwing him for a loop like you always do—only this time, you’re flirting with him, not interrogating him about what reality really is.

You drive him fucking insane.

It’s not entirely the sort of insanity that comes from flirting and sexual tension, but it’s a big part of it. At work, it’s the way you move around, the economical way you move when you’re on the hunt. If the Fugitive Squad is a pack of wolves, you’re their panther: more of a big cat padding on quiet paws, ears pitched forward, slinking after prey.

At parties, it’s this: always keeping him guessing, keeping him back on his heels, making him feel like a teenaged boy again straining for just a moment with you. The anticipation of it, the frustration when it never materializes, the eagerness for the next invite to the next party.

He makes his way into the room and sits down beside you. You reach over to the little table beside the couch and snag a small tray with party favors on it. You present it to Borracho with a flourish.

“Want to partake?” you ask.

He squints at the offerings. There’s edibles, a cigarette case of pre-rolls, and some unidentified pills with tiny smiley faces printed on them. He points at them.

“What are those?”

“Designer shit,” you reply. “Boss has a buddy in Twentynine Palms who makes these small-batch, artisanal drugs.”

Borracho snorts. “Hipster shit.”

“Like a macaron shop in a swiftly gentrifying neighborhood.”

“What’s it do?”

You click your tongue as you think. “Little bit of everything, I’d say. Relaxes you like pot, but kinda gives you the euphoria of molly. Also offers the barest bit of trippiness, in case you want to peer behind the veil between realities.”

“Haven’t peered behind the veil lately.”

“Treat yourself, Borracho.”

He plucks one pill from the tray and considers it. “You take one already?”

You answer by taking another pill from the tray, then setting the tray aside. You turn to face him, stick out your tongue, and lay the pill on it. The whole time you hold his gaze, and he holds yours.

A second later, you close your mouth and swallow. “Yes,” you tell him with a smile. “I’ve taken one already.”

You drive him fucking insane. How could he not want you?

-----

Whatever this designer pill is, it’s the sort to creep up slowly on a user.

Borracho relaxes by degrees. Feels himself melting into the couch by degrees, like his bones are softening, his muscles are lengthening. The light from the projector takes on an ethereal glow, and at some point, he blinks and realizes, shit, I’m feeling it now.

He turns his head, heavy against the back of the couch, and sees you. You sense his gaze on you, and you turn your head to face him too.

“How you feeling?” you ask.

“Good.” It comes out rough, a dry-throated croak, and you laugh at him, which makes him smile.

“Good.”

“You?”

“Good.”

“That’s…good,” he replies, and it makes you laugh again, makes him laugh too, and he realizes how much he’s feeling it after all. How effortless it feels to sit beside you right now. He glances up at the movie and sees that it has changed entirely – to some grimy-looking ‘80’s crime drama with a synth soundtrack. The couple who had been making out in the chair have disappeared, and when Borracho turns his head to the other side of him, he sees the third wheel has left too.

How long have the two of you been alone?

Time seems to stretch and distort. He watches the movie, a car chase scene, then blinks and it’s rolling credits. Another blink and it’s another movie, a low budget sci-fi with lots of lasers. He sits on the couch, his legs sprawled wide, and his knee presses against yours.

Blink, and his leg nearest you now is pressed against yours, thigh to thigh, and the heat he can feel coming from you seems to have a shimmering quality when he looks down at where you touch.

Blink, and he’s watching the movie again. There’s an alien in bad makeup, more lasers, a jazzy stream of music that seems to come from somewhere else.

“I am,” he blurts out. He rolls his head again, peers over at you, waits for you to turn and look at him. When you do, you look confused.

“Huh?”

“I am. From earlier.”

You snort, then laugh. “I am so lost right now.”

Blink, and he feels the smile that creeps across his face. “What you said earlier. You asked if I was into it. I am.”

“Into what?”

Blink, and he swallows. Feels the heat of your thigh pressed against his. “You said you wouldn’t bite—”

“—Unless you’re into that.” You pick up the thread and remember. The smile you offer has a feral edge, unless he’s imagining it, which is very likely. Maybe none of this is happening at all: maybe he’s passed out and drooling on the couch while you’re sober and elsewhere, cornering people and trying to discuss string theory.

“You like biting, Borracho?” you ask, and your voice is low, a near whisper. Like you’re sharing secrets, so he whispers back.

“Depends on who’s doing the biting.”

“Hmmm.”

Blink, and you’re moving towards him, that same cat-like fluidity you have at work. He never takes his eyes from you, never blinks, and you don’t either. He watches as you straddle him, settle on his lap. His hands find your waist, then slides them down and back to grasp your ass. Your hands reach up and cup his face, low on his jaw, and you smile down at him.

You’re backlit by the projected wall of the movie. He opens his mouth to say something nice, to tell you how fucking gorgeous you look, but you lean down as you tilt his head and…he thinks you’re going to kiss him, but you brush your lips over his cheekbone until your mouth is right by his ear.

“You want me to bite you?” you whisper, and your warm breath fanning over him makes him shudder, a delicious frisson of trembling through the core of him. He wants to say something slick in return, but he only manages to grunt an affirmative.

Blink, and you lean against him. He can feel your tits pressed against him, can feel the flex of your body as you bend your head. Another blink, and he feels your mouth on him, your soft lips, then your tongue as you taste him—the spot right where his neck meets his shoulder.

Then he feels your teeth on him, a slow and steady sink of your teeth in his skin, and you take him right to the edge of pain and maybe a half step beyond, but no further. His hands grip your ass harder, spasm against the soft curve of you, and he jerks you closer to him because he’s growing hard underneath you—faster than he usually does, and maybe part of it is the drug, but part of it is definitely you.

Your mouth on him, the heady weight of you on him, your hands gripping his face and holding him steady.

You draw your teeth out of him, and you soothe where you’ve marked him with your tongue. You run the tip of your tongue over his dimpled flesh, then kiss him there.

Blink, though, and Borracho finds you climbing off him, and he pushes a disappointed exhale through his pursed lips. You didn’t even kiss his mouth, and he turns to where you settle back on the couch. You catch his pout and offer him an apologetic smile.

“You know we can’t do more,” you offer as explanation.

He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, his jeans too tight. “I think we could.”

Another smile that turns into a laugh. You reach out a hand and lay it on his arm, jostle him playfully. “We could. But we shouldn’t. We’re both pretty fucked up.”

“You’ve never fooled around while stoned?” His voice has a whining edge to it that he doesn’t like, but you keep your hand on him, keep grinning at him, and that’s something, he guesses.

“I have,” you admit. “But within boundaries established whilst sober. I might get sloppy at these parties, but I keep my sloppiness contained within certain limits.”

He can’t help but smile back at you despite the twinge of disappointment in his gut. “You need a lesson from Big Nick.”

At that, you release his arm, fling your head back against the couch and blow out a heavy breath. “God, that asshole.”

“He kinda is, right?”

“He has a sort of all-encompassing sloppiness that I can’t support, Borracho.” You turn your head, smile again. “Tempting though you may be.”

He sighs but smiles back at you. “You know you drive me fucking crazy, right?”

“Yeah?” Your eyes widen—you look genuinely surprised.

“Yeah.”

“You gonna be shitty with me now?”

He shakes his head. He’s never been the type of man to get a bug up his ass about a woman not putting out. He’s never gotten angry at dates that led to nothing, or dates who changed their mind. That’s life, and he’s always thought of men who got shitty about women not putting out as childish assholes.

Besides, he’s gotten plenty. He knows what it feels like to have you on top of him, how it feels to have your tits pressed against him. He knows what your mouth feels like and will bear the mark of your teeth for at least a week until the bruise fades. He knows that your ass feels amazing under his big hands.

“If you ever want to establish boundaries while sober…” he starts, then trails off, and it makes you laugh again. It’s probably the drugs, but he’s made you smile more, laugh more in this one evening than he has in all the time since he’s known you.

“Don’t open that door if you don’t want me walking through it, Borracho,” you warn.

Maybe he’s sobering up a bit, because he manages to both think of a slick line and deliver it.

“You’re Fugitive Squad, baby. You can kick down my door anytime you want.”

It’s the coup de grace of the moment: you throw your head back and laugh, deep belly laughs that come from deep inside you. You throw out a hand and brace yourself against his shoulder, and he chuckles along with you.

“Duly noted,” you finally manage to say once you calm. “I’ll hit you up sometime.”

Borracho nods. “You should.”

Then, because he’s still loose from the drugs, still feeling pretty damned good, still wanting to show that he’s not going to be shitty about you clambering off him, he lifts his arm in invitation.

“C’mon,” he says. “At least curl up with me here. I need someone to ground me so I don’t drift off to Saturn.”

You don’t even hesitate to move closer and tuck yourself under his arm and against his side, and that’s how you both fall asleep within the hour, and how you both wake up just before dawn—both dry-mouthed and cranky, but not so cranky that you don’t sheepishly exchange numbers.

And Borracho might think you’re just being nice, but you call him that evening, stone-sober, eager to kick in his door at his earliest convenience.

#kinktober2024 #clear the inbox 2024 #tropes #benny magalon #benny borracho magalon #benny magalon imagine #benny magalon x reader #borracho magalon imagine #borracho magalon x reader #borracho magalon #den of thieves

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yeyinde · 2 years ago

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SFW Alphabet | Captain John Price

(It takes a long time to chip away at the scar tissue that covers him, hide-thick. But when you do, when those walls fall, his head lifts, eyes shining bright like a pool of azure in the morning glow, full of love and affection, and now—finally, finally— catching sight of what was there all along, that he's what you deserve, it's all worth it. Every moment.)

—notes: so sorry this took forever!!

A—AFFECTION | how affectionate are they? how do they show affection?

B—BAD HABITS | what bad habits do they have?

It's subtle at first. A gradual build, a slow burn. Ever the pragmatic leader, he's always checking on everyone. Looking them over, eyes darting between everyone. It's normal. Expected. There is something reassuring in the weight of his gaze. No matter how bad things go, there is stability to be found in the cerulean that skims over you.

It's brief, fleeting. He trusts those he surrounds himself with more than anything, and he sits on the belief that if you were injured, you'd tell him.

But then changes. The quick seconds stretch a little longer each time. His gaze lingers, and you find yourself meeting his stare more often than not.

It grows from there. The deeper you fall into his orbit, the more it branches out. His gaze is accompanied by a touch—knuckles bushing over your forearm (“alright?”), his fingers curling over your wrist ("careful, love, watch the pothole;"). Small touches that begin to linger, blooming into more. His hand is steady on the base of your spine. fingers ghosting across the small of your back when he leads you somewhere, knuckles brushing when you walk side by side. The heat of his body when he stands close to you (that becomes progressively warmer the closer he gets). His eyes find you, instantly. Cutting across a crowded room.

It warms you when you notice. When you step away to go to the washroom and find him looking up periodically, searching for you.

His affection comes in shades that get darker and darker the closer you get to him, until you find yourself feeling almost naked, bare, without his eyes on you, his hand on your body.

Price has his vices—cigars, scotch; blame and anger.

The weight of the world rests solely on his shoulders, and while he trusts the men around him to do their job, he takes the losses harder. It’s he who failed. He carries it with him, tucked into the scar tissue and the tension lines in the creases of his forehead, and the corners of his eyes. The headaches from clenching his jaw so tight.

He's an intense man. A looming storm, always battle-ready. His anger simmers low in his veins, a constant buzz under his skin. It gets easier to reign in when he has an outlet for his rage, but he slips. He's animated and biting. He'll cut you to the core, and mean everything he says. There is no hold-barred in a true battle. Claymore at the ready, he'll dig into your vulnerable points (a finely crafted captain; a man made in death), until you're leaking hurt.

But he'll never get to that point with you. He holds himself back until his nails bite into his palm. He'll storm away first. Leave. He needs space to work through his emotions, and the last thing he ever wants is to be a man like his father—throwing dishes and hands—but he gets agitated, and he can't help himself. He feels the urge to break brimming in his joints.

He'll tell you he's leaving, and he expects you to understand why. There is a line there; a delicate precipice he walks each day.

He will never hurt you. Ever. But he doesn't trust himself as much as you do. He needs distance because all he can see on your face is his mum, and he hates that his words sound just like his father.

C—CUDDLE | do they like to cuddle? how do they like to cuddle the most?

D—DATE | ideal date

He likes to have you on him. Wants your head tucked under his chin, your hand on his chest, your leg thrown over his hip. He wants to keep you there forever, nestled to his side, nails carting through his chest hair. He wants to breathe you in and feel the weight of you, solid and steady, over him. Secure in his arms. Safe and sound.

Sometimes, he likes to be on top of you, keeping you warm and secure in the bracket of his being. Tucked away from the world where nothing can hurt you. His back will take the brunt of it all as he shields you from everything.

E—ENDING | if they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?

His favourite place would be this dingy little pub that plays classic rock and serves the best scotch in town. He'd bring you in the evening, tuck you into the corner where you both can sit together, and talk. He isn't a man who likes to chit-chat, but he likes the little ways you show your embarrassment whenever you have the full weight of his attention. You're smart and funny. He could listen to you talk for hours about nothing. It relaxes him.

He knows you probably had better—fancy french restaurants, sunset strolls by the sea—but this is the place where he feels he can truly let his guard slip just a little bit, and he wants to share that with you.

This is where he'd spent a great deal of time in his early career, nursing shot after shot until the demons were chased away in the malt that burned his lips, and stained his chin. It's where he picked himself up from his bootstraps and became the man he is today.

You won't know any of this, and he'd never tell you, but he thinks you somehow feel it. You ease into him. Words softer indoors. You share stories over chips, and he gets to enjoy the way the fairy lights outside catch your eyes.

For him, he prefers to bring you places of familiarity, of comfort. Small, intimate alcoves away from the worries of life. He likes to see your eyes grow a little hazy as you try his scotch, and misty when you choke on his cigar.

Direct. Blunt. There is no sense in dragging it out or mincing words. He's shattering your heart, of course, but it's a surgeon's cut. Precise and exact. You barely feel the blade when it slips into your flesh, but it's doused in finality. He's made his mind up, and there is no changing it.

F—FAMILY | do they want one?

G—GIFTS | how do they feel about gifts? how do they give them?

Yes. A big one. As big a one as you'll give him.

The idea of family has been ingrained in his head since he was young. A nuclear unit. A traditional British household. His ideals are much less rigid compared to his father's, but he's always been a man who craved kinship. He wants to bask in the extraordinary, the mundane, and the ugly with you and any number of children you'll allow him. It’s something he dreams and thinks about quite often.

If he had it his way, he'd fill up a house. Every room full. All bursting with life.

H—HUGS | how would they hug you? is it common for them to hug you?

Open moments of affection make him shift in his seat, a touch uncomfortable. He was raised a certain way, and often finds himself feeling undeserving of whatever is given to him. He's very subtle. Will stand somewhere, arms folded, lingering. He waits until it's just you and him. A private moment. He both does and doesn't want to be around when you open it.

Sometimes, he'll leave it somewhere for you to find. Other times, he stands in the background as you carefully pull it open. This, too, makes him a touch uncomfortable. The look on your face makes him feel shades softer than he has any right to be. You make him want to be a better man (and the greatest gift you've ever given him was the conviction in your voice when you tell him that he already is.)

In a casual setting, it would be one arm looped around your shoulders, tucking you into his side. The front of his body would be positioned away from you. It might seem distant and unfeeling, but he likes having you against him, and folded into the crease of his body where he can protect you the most.

Sometimes, he’ll break. After a long mission away, when he finally has a chance at peeling off the skin he wears that keeps the world in check, he’ll latch onto your wrist, and pull you close. One arm will brace against your back from hip to mid-back, and the other is looped tight around your shoulders. He locks you in completely, and crushes you to his chest. Not a silver of space will exist from where his heart beats beneath his fatigues, and where yours pounds from under your shirt.

(He is also quite a big fan of wrapping his arm around your waist, pulling your back to his chest as he leans over your shoulder in the morning, and brushes his teeth or helps you chop the veg.)

It takes a moment—a second for that part of his brain to begin to ebb into civilian normalcy, the one that is always (forever) locked in combat, one that he only gets to lock away when he’s with you; when he’s safe—and then he melts into you. A sigh leaves his chest and you feel the rattle of it through your bones as it travels through his esophagus, and out of his raw throat. It leaves his lips, stifled in the net of your hair.

Price will pull you in closer, closer still, and then draw a deep, deep breath. He’ll hold you for as along as he can.

(He is also quite a big fan of wrapping his arm around your waist, pulling your back to his chest as he leans over your shoulder in the morning, and brushes his teeth or helps you chop the veg.)

I—INJURY | how do they react if you get injured?

J—JEALOUSY | are they the jealous type? how do they deal with it?

Apoplectic fury. Enough to rattle the ground in the sheer magnitude of his anger.

Sometimes, he's good at stifling it. If it happened on the battlefield, when people's lives are at stake, he'll stem the geyser with responsibility. With purpose. No mistakes can be made out here. He has one focus, and that's getting everyone out safely. Other times, it erupts. It froths over in the hoarseness of his voice, words ripped out from deep within his chest. It's an aching cry, drenched in desperation. His rage is palpable. His eyes are burning sapphires, sharper than daggers. His fury is molten, but his resolve is ice-cold. Whoever did it, no matter who it was, will pay.

He stands tall, firm, amid it all; weathers the storm until it's finished.

But in the quiet of his own mind, his home, he crumbles.

He blames himself for it all. If only he was stronger, faster, smarter, better he could have saved you. No amount of absolution, no words nor evidence, will ever shake this guilt, but he won't wallow in it. Like all of the losses in his life, he sharpens them into weapons and wields them like a claymore. You can tell him you're fine, you're okay, but it is another weight added to the rest.

K—KISS | their favourite way to kiss you

He isn't a very jealous person. He's confident in himself, in your devotion to him. He knows you'd tell him if you were ever wavering.

But sometimes, he wonders if you're sure. If you're okay with a gruff, irritable man like him.

You deserve better than a man shaped by rough hands.

Seeing you with someone better makes him jealous, makes him seethe. He wants to give you distance, and trust, to let you decide what you want for yourself. But he can't.

He stands behind you, hands curled into the straps of his vest or on the lapels of his jacket, and stares them down.

"There a problem here?" He lowers his voice when he speaks. The muffled sound of a denotation in the distance. Eyes narrowed into slits. "No? Then fuck off."

It's childish, really. Stupid. But he likes the way you ease into him when you know he's standing behind you. When you turn, eyes wide and dark, and breathe out a shaky word of gratitude. It's become routine for him to pull you away into his office, and fuck you stupid. Until all you think about is him, and how good he makes you feel.

(Sometimes, he thinks you stage these little moments because you like his possessiveness, his jealousy, more than you let on.

And maybe he just likes to indulge you a little bit.)

L—LOVE CONFESSION | how did they confess their love?

His fingers thread through your hair, gripping a fistful at the base of your skull, and the other slung around your waist, locking you to him. No escape—not that you ever would, but he likes trapping you in the heft of his body. Likes when you squirm against him. When you push and push at his broad chest, and tremble when you realise how very negligible give there is. It makes him feel powerful in a way that is so different from orchestrating a successful recon, a mission. A man made of granite touching something soft.

Price kisses with finesse. A burning cigar left smouldering in an ashtray. He batters you into submission and kisses you like he's teaching you a lesson in discipline. In docility.

He doesn't relent until your knees quiver, and your lips and cheeks are rubbed raw, chafed by the coarse hair on his face. He locks you to him and takes his fill of you.

He leaves you feeling ruined, and conquered. And when he pulls back, taking in the heaves of your chest as you gulp for air, the redness of your lips, cheeks, and chin, and the dazed look in your eyes, you've never seen him quite so satisfied as you do then.

M—MEMORY | what are their best and worst memories?

Like everything about him, it's pointed. Concise.

He plays the long game—has to, really—and by the end of it all, of years dancing around each other until the steps become ingrained in your joints, saturated in muscle memory, he sneaks up on you. He takes you somewhere private. Tells you about his past, the scars he carries, his guilt, his failings, his shortcomings, his regrets, his selfishness—it almost feels like he's pushing you away, and giving you a laundry list of reasons to reject him. And in many ways, he is. He won't tell you about any of the good, only the bad. He'll lay his ugliness out to you, bereft of sympathy, and force you to reconcile the notion of good within him.

It doesn't work, of course. He might just see the residuum of artillery fire on his skin, but you see the grit of a man determined to sacrifice himself for it all.

You think it's a bittersweet moment when you accept, when you turn to him and say I love you, too, John.

There is winning the war and the celebration of your victory, but John is not a man who would ever forget the battles lost, and you see those shadows amid the happiness that simmers.

"Hope you know what you're gettin' yourself into," he says, as if he didn't give you every reason possible to say no, but you still said yes. "It ain't gonna be pretty, love."

And it isn't. It's ugly and brutal and full of empty promises and barren words spoken with the flavour of his vices, of things he'll never give up, and everything he wants but won't take. It's a lesson in patience and fortitude and tests your mettle every day, but you would never pick differently.

There is a stunning, ethereal beauty in the breaking of it all. In the way it shatters around you. You're cut up and scarred along with him, but it's a battle you fight together. One you win, hand-in-hand.

N—NIGHTMARE | do they have them? what are they about? reactions?

His best memory is getting out of Hereford. Of graduating and leaving home for the first time at eighteen. Everything was purged from that moment. He had a path, direction.

His worse memory is all the men he lost, the ones he promised to bring home when he was a novice, idealistic, in his youth; and all the widows he made along the way.

O—OPEN | how long did it take for them to open up to you?

He has them. Always. They sneak up on him in slow increments when he lets himself be lulled into the false sense of security that the comfort of your embrace brings.

They're always about the same thing. Isolation. He's locked in a room, shackled to a chair. All around him are bare walls. Empty. Grey. Nothing. He can hear sounds coming from just outside of the room. Yells, screams of agony, terror. They rise each night. Every dream sharpens the howls around him until they bleed with clarity.

They're the agonised shrieks of his men. His men. The ones he implicitly promised to help, to bring home.

He has to get up. He has to. Has to. The shackles fall. The chain clatter to the ground.

And—

He can't move. His legs are paralysed. Not from some phantom weight or some outside force, but from—

His commander stands above him, drenched in the blood of his comrades, and says: don't move. Let them die.

He tries to fight. To open his mouth. But he can't. Can't. He—

"Let them die."

(He does. He does. He—)

He wakes up with his heart in his throat, choking him. Cutting off the air from getting into his lungs. He presses his hand to his jaw just to feel his skin under his palm. Just to know he can. Freedom. He's not trapped.

You will find him hours later in his study or standing on the deck, smoking a cigar (two, three…), and drinking scotch. Black label. He's half finished.

His eyes are red when he looks up, bloodshot and blistered, and—

Vacant. Hollow. He offers a nod, says nothing.

(You don't think he can speak.)

He wants silence. Normalcy. You leave him for a moment, and bring back tea for two, and a book tucked under your arm. You sit with him, drinking your tea, and wait until the shadows dissolve from his eyes.

Until he's back.

His hand falls to yours. His thumb brushes over your pulse point. His skin is clammy. Cold. You let him touch you until the spasms in his joints cease.

"Sorry, love," he'll say.

You always shake your head. "Nothing to be sorry about, dear." Dear. Dear because it's soft and gentle and familial.

You hear his breath stutter in his chest. "Y'right?"

"Are you?"

It takes him a moment to answer. The heat of your skin bleeds into his.

He clears his throat. Then: "getting there. Sit with me for a moment longer, will you?"

You tuck a smile behind the pages of Ulysses. "Always."

A long time. Price is not a soft man on the battlefield. He is a leader, shouldering the lives of every man and woman who crosses paths with him. He might not remember every name at the start, but when the dust has settled, and the loss stack higher and higher. He carries them with him, tucked deep in the pockets of his heart. He's guarded, and distant. A protector, despite his insistence that he isn't. He doesn't want to burden you with his woes, his grievances. He keeps them, a rotten secret, as close to his chest as possible.

But he breaks slowly. The crushing of a geode. It happens when he loses someone he trained with, someone from his youth. It takes a tragedy for him to unfurl, to open up.

It is a little bit like chiselling a dam. The first splinter is a trickle of water. Then a rush. Then a spray. And finally deluge.

It's still held back by crumbling concrete, but he's open with you, now. When he comes home, he likes to lay his head in your lap, and tell you about all the things he couldn't do.

He isn't looking for sympathy—he never is. He just wants you to listen.

P—PAST | how has their past changed them, has it made them better or worse?

His past changed and shaped him in many ways. It’s the catalyst for him becoming the man he is today and instilled a strong sense of justice within him. However, it’s not a happy one, and it also moulded and cultivated that necessary darkness he carries in order to complete the mission given him to—no matter the cost.

Like many things, he takes it to the chin. Brutal, blunt.

It takes a lot to crumble him. He locks his vulnerable emotions in a brassbound box, and keeps it tucked inside a crevasse where it can't be seen, nor touched.

The spillover seeps into his veins where bubbles into anger, an old comfort for him. He's an apoplectic storm on the horizon. Sadness is bottled lightning; a livewire in a stagnant pond.

He uses it to push forward.

Q—QUIET | what are quiet moments like with them?

Price sits in his favourite velvet green armchair, a report spread out in front of him. A glass of scotch is on the table. A cigar pinched between his fingers. The game plays on the television, turned low but still loud enough to keep track of what was happening. Everton was losing. He huffs when he sees it, and mutters something about messaging Simon later to really rub it in.

You read, mark papers, play on your phone.

No words need to be uttered. The atmosphere is rich with tranquillity.

It's the cosiness of a warm home in the middle of winter. A hot cup of tea within reach, made perfectly and still billowing with steam. It's pressing your fingers to the pages of a well-loved book, and falling in the margins of a story you never grow tired of.

It is simplicity in its purest form.

His hand stretches over the end table, palm facing up. Your fingers slip in the gaps. It's not a perfect fit, but his worn, rough hands are the closest to home you've ever felt.

R—RAINY DAY | what are they like in the rain?

He gets a touch morose in the rain. A shade quieter, distant. Lost in thoughts of a time you're not privy to, a world when he was a boy on the verge of becoming a man. A man following in a path carved out of blood and grit. Soot and ash. Battles play in the recesses of his eyes; sapphire artillery smoke, gunpowder in hues of blue.

You wrap your arms around his middle, pressing your chest to his warm back, and listen, in silence, to the rain pelting the window until he's ready to come back to you.

Other times, he basks in the nostalgia of his childhood. Wet pavement, thick smog and petrichor. Says it reminds him of Hereford.

He got shot, he tells you, off-handedly, when he was a grunt in the mountains of Bulgaria, and ever since his leg acts up when it rains.

Swats at you when you tell him that's just old age.

S—SADNESS | how do they deal with sadness?

It takes a lot to crumble him. He locks his vulnerable emotions in a brassbound box, and keeps it tucked inside a crevasse where it can't be seen, nor touched.

The spillover seeps into his veins where bubbles into anger, an old comfort for him. He's an apoplectic storm on the horizon.

(Sadness is bottled lightning; a livewire in a stagnant pond.

He uses it to push forward.)

T—TIME | how long did it take you to get together?

Years. He's known about his attraction to you much earlier, and—of course—your attraction to him for just as long, but he’s a slow-burn. The equivalent of lighting a cigar and leaving it to smoulder on its own. He won’t act on his feelings until all the variables have been weighed, and measured; until he knows, unequivocally, what he wants from this.

And even then—he still holds out.

Pursuing this man isn’t easy. He won’t make it so. He’ll linger in the equinox of pushing you away and keeping you close; know he shouldn’t but he yearns.

U—UNMOVABLE | what opinion will never change, no matter what goes against them?

Sometimes, he has to do things that are considered questionable or morally dubious. He has to get blood on his hands; to him, this is just another facet of eventual peace. He doesn't regret any of his actions—can't, really, or he'll crumble under the weight of his guilt.

V— VICIOUS | what makes them vicious, do they try to hide it or overcome it?

Injustice makes him seethe—a lingering byproduct of his past, his childhood, when he was too weak, too brittle, too young, to do anything to help anyone. Seeing it now makes him brim with fury.

Betrayal, too. He's quick to anger, especially when the lives of his men, innocent people, and those he cares about are being threatened or stifled by politics and political gain. He has little patience for the process, and prefers to operate under his own moral compass.

He uses his viciousness on the battlefield to his advantage. He does not try to hide or overcome it.

At home, he tries to keep it locked away. He isn't a bully but his anger makes him quite cross a lot of the time. Irritated.

He's biting. Condescending. A gruff cut of a man with not just a chip on his shoulder, but a gorge. He fills the gap with duty and obligations, but it surprises you at just how surly he is sometimes. Snide comments, the Looks. It stacks up.

He isn't cruel, and outside of tense situations with enemies, it's quite funny. His biting sarcasm is toned down with a gruff sincerity.

When out on a date, or grocery shopping, expect to hear something mean slip from his lips if the person in front of you is walking too slow, or there are no more shopping carts.

It's often easier to hide your smile behind your hand, and give a weak apology on his behalf.

(But he's very typical of the English—they could serve him raw chicken on a plate, and he wouldn't say a word to the waitstaff until they came around again, finally noticing the squawking bird. He'd glance at his plate, and mutter: "a few more minutes, I reckon.")

W—WARRIOR | how do they feel about you fighting? would they fight for you, beside you, etc?

Price would be your biggest ally and your biggest opponent.

If it's your choice, then he would accept it. He understands the fire, the want to protect, to save. But if you didn't measure up, he would tell you. If you couldn't make it through the tough training regime, he'd be blunt and honest.

He would fight the world for you, and himself as well. He fights for you, really, every day.

He wants to fight beside you—to be there to offer that extra inch of protection, to be the stopgap between life or death, but he also knows you can't be a distraction. You can't be someone he worries about when he has others to bring home.

X—XTRA | a random headcanon for them

He doesn't like the silence. Doesn't like being alone with his thoughts for too long. They creep up on him in stagnancy.

Y—YEARN | how do they deal with yearning?

He compartmentalises it. Pushes it aside. It itches under his skin, but he's long since learned not to scratch at phantom wants.

When it becomes unbearable, he allows himself a small moment to simply gaze at something that reminds him of you. Abstract concepts that will never lead back to you—a family passing by, a weeping willow, lilacs in bloom, the bright moon in the inky black aether—but each one holds a special meaning to him, and makes him feel closer to you than ever before.

(Sometimes, he might crack. Might call you once, and only once, just to hear your voice. A random number a world away. You never answer, but he doesn't want you to. He knows he'll never be able to hang up if you did. He listens to your voicemail, saccharine and soft, and then he turns his phone off before the beep.)

Z—ZEN | what makes them calm?

—I absolutely want to stress that these are just my own personal thoughts and headcanons on Price. If you don't agree, that's perfectly fine! character interpretations are entirely subjective, and what I infer from a character will differ from people's perspectives. 🖤

You. Your head on his chest. Your hands on his skin. The weight of you pressing into his marrow.

And a clean cigar. A neat scotch. Comforts, vices. It's all the same to him.

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