#like if im tired brushing my hair is just so painful | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ineedpaigebuckets · 2 months ago

Note

Hello. Can you write a comfort Pazzi fic about Paige's first days in the W? Perhaps one set after yesterday's game, where she's happy her friends are there, but she's missing Azzi. She come home tired and beat up, wanting to talk to Azzi, who shows up by surprise and takes care of her. Some vulnerable moments maybe where Paige talks about the adjustment and how hard she's working and how her body is best up from the intensity. Azzi, maybe giving her a massage or bath, and some "gentle ish" sex, where they both are soft with each other, but Azzi really, really takes care of her. And Paige finally has her person with her in Dallas, and someone just to talk to and share the moment with.

yes ma'am (it's kinda like filthy be warned)

home, now

the door clicked shut behind her with a quiet finality. paige stood frozen in the entryway, her keys still dangling from her fingers, the strap of her duffel bag sliding off her shoulder and thudding softly to the floor. her legs felt heavy—like concrete—and her arms hung limply at her sides. she had never known her wrists could ache like this, or that the simple motion of pulling her hair out of a ponytail could feel like too much.

the game was over. the adrenaline had worn off hours ago. the high-fives, the lights, the press. her friends had been in the stands—she’d seen them, smiling and screaming her name, and it had helped for a moment. she’d smiled back. waved. she’d even felt proud.

but now the silence of her apartment pressed against her chest like a weight. she was proud. she was also exhausted. and sore. and just… lonely.

paige didn’t cry. not really. not when she left uconn, not when the draft happened, not even when she stepped on a w court for the first time. but now, here, in the soft dark of her living room, with bruises blooming across her thighs and a dull ache pulsing in her knees, she blinked and felt something wet catch on her lashes.

she rubbed at her face, dropped her keys onto the counter, and dragged herself toward the couch—only to stop short.

the lights were on in the kitchen.

and there, standing by the fridge in a hoodie too big for her and socks pulled halfway up her calves, was azzi.

paige froze. stared. didn’t breathe.

“hey,” azzi said, like she hadn’t just rearranged the entire universe by being here.

“what—what are you doing here?”

“you sounded tired on the phone yesterday. and our schedule finally lined up. so… i flew in. got the spare key from your agent.” azzi walked toward her slowly, like she knew paige might crumple if she moved too fast. “i just wanted to be here when you got home, but im really sorry i couldn't make it to the game.”

paige let out a sound—something caught between a laugh and a sob—and stepped into her arms like she hadn’t seen her in months. because it had felt that long. longer. her head dropped to azzi’s shoulder, her face buried in the space between her collar and neck. azzi’s hands circled her back instantly, one sliding up to her hair, fingers gentle.

“i missed you,” paige mumbled. “i don’t even know how much until right now.”

“i know,” azzi whispered. “me too.”

they stood like that for a long time—until paige’s legs started to shake and azzi was guiding her to the couch, pulling her down gently, cradling her like something precious. azzi helped her out of her shoes, then crouched down in front of her, fingertips brushing over paige’s knees like she was cataloging the pain by feel.

“rough night?” azzi asked softly.

paige huffed. “rough month.”

“talk to me.”

paige swallowed. her throat felt thick. “everything’s faster. harder. i knew it would be. but knowing and living it are two different things. i’m trying. i swear i’m trying. but my body… it’s so tired. i’m so tired.”

“you’re doing amazing,” azzi said, brushing hair from her face. “and you don’t have to be strong for me. not here.”

paige’s eyes fluttered shut. “i just needed… you.”

“you have me,” azzi said, kissing her temple.

they ended up in the bathroom, quiet except for the gentle hum of the tub filling. the light was soft—just the dim glow above the mirror and the flicker of one candle azzi had somehow found and lit while paige was in her haze.

paige leaned against the counter, hips resting against the cool marble, eyes barely open. her sports bra clung to her ribs, damp from sweat, and her shorts were loose but felt suffocating after the game. azzi moved around her with quiet purpose, barefoot, hoodie sleeves pushed up to her elbows.

“arms up,” she said gently.

paige obeyed without speaking. azzi pulled her bra over her head with care, folding it and setting it aside. then the shorts, sliding them down slowly, her fingers brushing paige’s skin. nothing rushed. nothing greedy. just presence. reverence. a kind of knowing only built through years of quiet, quiet love.

when paige was fully bare, she didn’t cross her arms or shy away. she just looked at azzi, eyes a little glassy, like she might cry if azzi wasn’t already holding all the heavy things for her.

“in,” azzi whispered.

the bath was warm. not scalding. just enough to pull the tension out, to coax her tired body into letting go. paige stepped in slowly, wincing at first, then sighing deep once she sank beneath the water. azzi got in behind her, pulling paige between her legs like she belonged there. like she always had.

paige’s head rested against azzi’s collarbone, and azzi’s hands started moving—soft circles over sore shoulders, her thumbs pressing gently at the knots by her neck.

“just breathe,” azzi murmured, mouth close to her ear.

paige exhaled shakily, chest rising and falling in uneven waves.

“hurts?” azzi asked, fingers pausing at a particularly tight spot near her spine.

“yeah,” paige said. her voice was hoarse. small. “everywhere.”

“i’ve got you.”

slowly, azzi let one hand drift down, tracing the line of paige’s arm beneath the water. her fingers dipped below the surface, brushed over her ribs, then lower—along her thigh, where bruises were blooming like violet fingerprints. she cupped one gently, her thumb brushing over it like she could take the pain into herself.

“you’re working so hard,” azzi said. “i know it feels like you have to do it all alone. but you don’t. not with me.”

paige tilted her head, cheek brushing azzi’s jaw. “i didn’t know how much i needed you here until you were.”

“i know,” azzi whispered. “you carry everything.”

“sometimes i wish i didn’t have to.”

“then don’t. not tonight.”

azzi’s hand slid across her stomach, slow and steady. not demanding. just there. grounding. the water lapped gently around them, and azzi kissed the top of paige’s head, then her temple, then lower—along her jaw, soft lips pressing into the places where the tension lived.

paige let her legs float open slightly, the smallest movement, but azzi understood. she always did. her fingers found the inside of paige’s thigh beneath the water, just resting there at first, as if to ask are you sure? and paige’s breath caught, then steadied, and she shifted back into her, answering in the way her hand found azzi’s thigh and squeezed lightly.

“okay,” azzi said, so soft it was almost a breath. “just let go, baby.”

and paige did.

she let azzi touch her, slow and steady, the way only azzi could—like her body was a language she already knew by heart. azzi’s palm moved beneath the water, slipping over soft skin and settling between paige’s legs, but even that didn’t feel like the start of anything rushed. it felt like an extension of the care she’d been giving all night. like an offering. like safety.

azzi’s fingers moved slowly, parting her carefully, like she was trying to memorize every reaction. her other arm stayed locked around paige’s waist, holding her steady. anchoring her. her mouth never left paige’s skin—cheek, shoulder, collarbone—kisses placed gently between each breath, each soft sound.

paige’s breath hitched as azzi’s fingers circled her, a slow rhythm that built with no urgency, just intention. her hips shifted, a subtle roll forward that told azzi everything she needed to know. she tightened her arm around her, guiding her through it.

“you’re okay,” azzi whispered. “i’ve got you.”

paige whimpered—a broken, beautiful sound—and azzi kissed her temple, lips lingering.

“you’re doing so good,” she murmured. “just relax.”

paige’s eyes fluttered shut, her body melting into the space azzi had made for her. everything ached—her knees, her wrists, her back—but not here. not like this. azzi’s touch washed it all away, slow and sure and patient, until all that was left was heat building low in her stomach and the soft press of skin and water and love.

when she came, it wasn’t loud or frantic. it was a quiet unraveling, a slow release that crept up on her like dusk. a soft surrender. a breaking open in silence.

it started in her chest—a tight coil of exhaustion, pressure, emotion that finally, finally gave way. her breath stuttered, shallow and uneven, then deepened into a long, trembling exhale as the feeling washed through her, full-body and fierce. not overwhelming, not this time. just consuming in the way that made her feel known. real. touched in places that had nothing to do with skin.

her legs shook beneath the water, gentle but visible, the kind of tremble that started deep in her core and radiated outward in soft, involuntary pulses. her thighs twitched as the warmth swelled low in her belly, a dull ache that unspooled into pleasure slow and deliberate—like her body had been holding back too long and was finally, mercifully, allowed to feel something that didn’t hurt.

her knees knocked faintly against azzi’s, and her breath caught—shallow and sharp—then spilled out in a shaky moan that barely made it past her lips. her stomach clenched, not with effort but release, every muscle around her hips fluttering beneath the water as she let the feeling crest, then crash. not fast. not overwhelming. just steady. consuming.

her body curled slightly, instinctively, the water rippling around her. she reached behind without thinking, fingers fumbling through the bath until they found azzi’s thigh—smooth and strong and steady behind her. she gripped it—not tightly, not desperate, but with this quiet urgency, like she needed to know something was there. something real. something grounding when everything inside her was liquid and shaking and breaking open at once.

her palm flattened there, splayed wide over azzi’s skin, and in that moment she felt everything. the tension in her own shoulders finally starting to ease. the rush of blood behind her ribs. the softness of the water against her chest. the heat between her legs, still pulsing in slow waves. azzi’s breath at her ear. azzi’s hand still cradling her gently, not pushing, just holding her through it.

azzi didn’t speak. she just held her tighter, fingers easing their rhythm as paige’s body trembled once, then again, then stilled. her mouth was pressed to paige’s temple, breath warm against her hairline. she whispered something too quiet to catch, but paige didn’t need words.

the warmth between them was more than the bath. it was the way azzi wrapped around her like a second skin, like protection. it was the way her hands knew when to keep moving and when to stop. the way her touch never asked, only gave.

paige let her body fall completely limp in azzi’s arms, muscles softening like she hadn’t let herself relax in weeks. her spine curved against azzi’s chest, head tipped back onto her shoulder, neck long and exposed in a way that felt like trust.

her eyes stayed shut. her breathing was unsteady still, little aftershocks in her ribs. but her face—usually so guarded, so tense—was calm now. raw and flushed and peaceful.

she didn’t say a word, didn’t need to. everything was already spoken in the way her body curled back into azzi’s like instinct. like belonging. like home.

and azzi just held her, fingers still moving gently, easing her through every wave until she stilled. until her body was slack and heavy in azzi’s arms, her breathing deep and slow and clean for the first time in days.

“there you go,” azzi said, pressing a kiss to her cheek, her temple, her wet lashes. “i’ve got you. you’re home now.”

they stayed there, naked and quiet, water cooling around them, but warmth pulsing steady between their bodies. and for the first time since the season started, paige didn’t feel like she was bracing for the next hit.

she just felt held.

they stayed like that long after the water cooled, azzi holding her like something precious, like her being here was the only thing that mattered.

and maybe, for tonight, it was.

when the bath was over, they moved to the bedroom. paige’s skin was soft and warm from the heat, her limbs loose with exhaustion. she didn’t say anything when azzi kissed her—just kissed her back slowly, gratefully, like she needed to memorize the shape of her again.

and when azzi touched her—soft palms over tired muscles, mouth against her chest, her stomach, her thighs—paige let her. she didn’t feel like a wnba player or a public figure or someone who was supposed to be fine. she felt like a person. her person’s person.

they ended up in bed without really speaking, towels loose around their bodies, hair damp against their shoulders. the light was low. the sheets cool. and when azzi kissed her again—really kissed her—there was nothing hesitant about it.

it was different now. not soft, not slow.

it was need.

paige felt it in the way azzi’s hands roamed lower, bolder, like she wasn’t afraid of breaking her anymore. like she finally believed she wouldn’t. and paige met her there—hips lifting, teeth catching azzi’s bottom lip, hands fisting in the towel still slung around her waist before pulling it off completely. she was done being careful.

because this wasn’t about relaxing anymore. this wasn’t about rest.

this was about remembering she was alive.

and when azzi touched her—soft at first, but building, pressing deeper, harder—paige burned for it.

heat bloomed under her skin, spreading fast, fast, fast. her breath stuttered in her chest as azzi’s fingers traced the slope of her waist, her ribs, the dip of her stomach—each touch grounding and electric all at once. her back lifted off the mattress, body curving instinctively into every point of contact like she’d been starved for it. like this—her—was the only thing that still felt real.

azzi’s mouth followed the line of her torso, open and warm, tongue flicking across her skin in slow, purposeful drags. paige could feel every pass of it—how her stomach jumped when azzi dipped into her navel, how her thighs tensed when azzi’s nails scraped lightly up their insides, how her nipples tightened under the rush of breath when azzi grazed past them again, not stopping, teasing, building.

and when azzi finally pressed her hand between paige’s legs, sliding in slow, deliberate strokes, paige gasped—sharp and breathless, her hips jerking up to meet her touch like a live wire had gone off inside her. slick heat surged through her, low and insistent, her thighs falling open without hesitation now, surrendering to the rhythm azzi set, one that was fast becoming frantic.

everything that had been quiet in her all week—the ache in her shoulders, the hollow in her chest, the dull numbness from forcing smiles through days that demanded too much—came roaring back as want. feral. full-body. her fingers twisted in the sheets, jaw slack as a moan slipped loose, shameless and low, and azzi groaned softly in return, like she felt it too.

“that’s it,” azzi murmured, voice dark and reverent, breath hot against the inside of paige’s thigh. “just like that.”

and paige gave in—hips rolling up to meet azzi’s hand, her mouth falling open as the pressure built sharp and fast. her body moved without thinking, chasing it, aching for it, driven by instinct and hunger and the sheer relief of being allowed to want something this badly. to be wanted this badly. to not be composed or collected or fine—but fucked open and undone, and seen in the fire of it.

every nerve in her body was screaming, raw and awake again.

and god, it felt so fucking good to feel.

pure, physical, full-body want.

“azz,” she breathed, eyes fluttering shut as azzi’s mouth moved down her chest, her ribs, her stomach. “please.”

and azzi didn’t ask what she needed—she already knew. her hands were steady, her mouth unrelenting, and paige’s body answered with sharp gasps and a tremble that wasn’t gentle this time. it was raw. it was desperate.

paige clutched the sheets like she needed something to hold onto. like she might come apart if she didn’t. and maybe she did. but azzi was already there, anchoring her, pulling moans from her throat like she wanted to hear them, wanted to feel how wild she could make her.

and god, she was wild.

it wasn’t quiet now. it wasn’t delicate. it was fast and hot and dizzying, and when it hit her—when she came this time—it felt like a snap. like a match strike. her back arched off the bed, and azzi held her there, let her ride it out, let her make noise.

paige didn’t cry, but it was close. the kind of climax that felt like a reckoning. like something crashing through her chest. her whole body was shaking, fingers tangled in azzi’s curls, thighs trembling as she finally fell back against the bed, slick with sweat and flushed all over.

azzi crawled up beside her, mouth kiss-wet, hair sticking to her cheek. and she looked at paige like she was hers. not like an athlete, or a name on a jersey, or a girl who needed to be taken care of. but like a woman who was fire and fury and feeling, who had come back to herself tonight and let someone witness it.

“you good?” azzi asked softly, brushing paige’s hair from her face.

paige let out a long breath. her lips were parted. her eyes still half-lidded, dazed.

“yeah,” she whispered. her voice was hoarse. “yeah, i’m good.”

and she smiled—not polite, not tired.

real.

hungry.

“you’re gonna kill me,” azzi gasped, breath shaky, fingers curling weakly in paige’s hair.

paige smiled against her skin, slow and dangerous, lips brushing the edge of azzi’s ribcage. “good,” she whispered. “you deserve it.”

azzi had taken care of her. had held her through the unraveling. but she wasn’t tired. not really. her chest was rising fast, yeah, and her lips were kiss-swollen—but she hadn’t been wrecked yet. hadn’t been touched like she touched paige. and paige needed that. needed to feel her come undone. to see the heat in her face shift into something wild, something messy, something ruined.

she pressed azzi back into the pillows, hands moving low, deliberate, greedy. azzi’s breath caught, her thighs parting almost automatically, her body too honest to lie.

“baby—” she tried again, but it was thin, breaking. “you don’t have to—”

“shut up,” paige murmured. “let me.”

and then she was everywhere—mouth, hands, hunger. kissing down azzi’s stomach, biting gently at the skin just above her hip, dragging her tongue over every sensitive place she remembered from long nights and low light. she was slower than shefelt, but deeper. pressing her weight into each movement like she wanted to brand azzi with it. like she needed to make her feel it tomorrow. the next day. every time she tried to walk.

“god,” azzi breathed, her voice gone low and wrecked already. “paige—”

but paige didn’t answer. she just kept going. sucking, licking, curling her fingers just right until azzi’s thighs were shaking, until her hips jerked and her hands slammed into the headboard, fingers gripping the slats like she was holding on for dear life.

paige didn’t stop when azzi begged. didn’t stop when she came, the first time—high and sharp and with a broken cry into the crook of her arm. didn’t even slow. just kept going, mouth soft but relentless, fingers deep and confident, coaxing sound after sound out of azzi’s throat until she was writhing, legs clamped around paige’s shoulders, breath a wrecked mess of “please” and “fuck” and “i can’t—i can’t—”

but she could.

and paige proved it.

with her mouth first. slow, then fast. tongue teasing at first, then deep, purposeful, pressing into azzi like she wanted to ruin her. like she meant to. her hands held azzi open, thumbs dragging soft, dizzying circles over her hips while her tongue licked through slick heat, again and again, until azzi’s back arched and her hand flew to the sheets and pulled. the kind of grip that begged for mercy. the kind of grip that meant don’t stop.

and paige didn’t.

she sucked and licked and curled her fingers into azzi when she started shaking—just two at first, then three, slow but deep, hitting the spot that made azzi cry out and snap, hips lifting off the bed, thighs trembling around paige’s shoulders. the third orgasm tore out of her like a sob, like it had been dragged up from the root of her.

but paige didn’t stop there.

she eased her through it, just enough for the tension to break, then started again—lips sticky, chin wet, eyes wild with it. she shifted her angle, kissed the insides of azzi’s thighs, then went back to her center like she couldn’t stay away. her fingers didn’t falter, didn’t slow. her mouth sealed over azzi again with that same steady rhythm, building it up again, and azzi bucked, already too sensitive, already wrecked.

“paige—” her voice cracked, high and hoarse. “please.”

paige just groaned, the sound low and almost possessive. “you can take it,” she said, mouth brushing wet over her. “i know you can.”

azzi came again, harder—hips jerking, legs locking, both hands shoved into her own hair like she didn’t know what else to hold onto. tears welled in her eyes, spilling out at the edges when she gasped paige’s name like a prayer she couldn’t stop saying.

and still—still—it wasn’t over.

paige climbed up her body, kissed her face, her throat, bit at her collarbone, and said, “one more.”

“i can’t,” azzi choked out, voice shredded.

“one more,” paige whispered, breath hot in her ear. “let me, baby. please. i need to.”

and somehow, azzi did. she let her.

paige moved her leg over azzi’s thigh, bodies sliding together, flushed skin on flushed skin, slick and wet and raw. she lined them up, pressed in, slow and devastating, her hips grinding just enough to pull a choked moan from azzi’s throat.

it was too much. and exactly right.

azzi clawed at paige’s back, her body lifting to meet her, rocking helplessly as paige proved it with every roll of her hips. every kiss. every breathless whisper of “i love you” against her ear.

azzi shattered again—legs trembling, thighs slick, voice gone—and this time, she didn’t even make a sound. just a breath, a sob, her whole body seizing beneath paige, then going utterly limp. twitching.

and paige finally stopped.

her mouth pressed to azzi’s cheek, then her temple, then the corner of her mouth. her hand stroked through her hair, whispering “you’re okay, you’re okay, i’ve got you,” over and over until azzi could finally breathe again.

azzi’s arms tried to lift, then dropped. spent. tears still clung to her lashes. her lips parted, eyes unfocused, voice slurred when she mumbled, “you win.”

and paige smiled. soft. proud. completely in love.

“i know.”

azzi didn’t move for a long time. not even a twitch. she just lay there, breathing shallow, lips parted, her entire body slack beneath the damp sheets. paige hovered above her, catching her own breath, chest rising and falling with quiet pride and something even deeper—something like awe.

eventually, azzi stirred.

“you’re a menace,” she croaked, voice absolutely wrecked, the smallest smirk tugging at her mouth. “i’m gonna have to be stretchered into the next team meeting.”

paige grinned, not even a little bit sorry. “you’re the one who showed up unannounced.”

“to take care of you,” azzi groaned, dragging a hand across her face. “and now i need my caregiver.”

“well,” paige said, shifting down and kissing her belly button, “consider it mutual destruction.”

azzi let out a hoarse laugh. “i can’t believe you kept going. i think my soul left my body on orgasm number four.”

“number five,” paige corrected. “but who’s counting.”

“you were,” azzi said, eyes fluttering shut as she grinned. “sicko.”

paige rolled to the side and gently pulled azzi with her, wrapping her up in her arms. azzi was limp but pliant, head falling against paige’s collarbone. their skin was sticky, overheated, slick with sweat and everything else, and still, neither of them pulled away.

“you good?” paige murmured into her hair.

azzi made a sound somewhere between a sigh and a hum. “i’m alive,” she said. “barely.”

“wanna rinse off?”

“i can’t walk, bro.”

“so dramatic,” paige teased. “you’re an elite athlete.”

“not anymore,” azzi groaned. “i’ve been retired by your mouth.”

paige laughed, full and warm, and kissed her temple. “okay. i’ll carry you.”

and she did—half-lifting, half-guiding her into the bathroom again. the lights were low, the air warm. paige ran a soft stream from the showerhead and let it trickle down azzi’s back while she held her steady, soaped her up gently, kissed the slope of her shoulder every time azzi leaned too heavily into her.

“this is actually nice,” azzi murmured, finally able to stand on her own as paige rinsed her arms. “i think i forgive you.”

“think?”

“jury’s still out.”

once they were clean and dry, paige tugged azzi back into bed, this time under the covers. she made sure to lotion her shoulders, run her fingers through the knots in her hair, kiss the soft spot behind her ear just because she could.

“you okay now?” azzi whispered after a while, voice drowsy.

paige looked over at her, and something in her chest softened, like all the fight had gone out of her.

“yeah,” she said quietly. “i am now.”

“good,” azzi said, tucking herself into paige’s side. “i don’t ever want you to have to go through something big without me again.”

paige kissed the top of her head, pulled the blankets up around them. “then don’t leave.”

“wasn’t planning on it.”

and they drifted like that—bodies tangled, skin warm, every ache eased by the presence of the other. there was nothing left to prove. just this. just them.

safe. loved. home.

442 notes · View notes

callme-holly · 4 months ago

Note

Can you please do Darrel Curtis x Wife reader, like they got married shortly before the Curtis parents death and it’s just the reader staying by Darrel throughout the grieving process and Bob’s murder and Pony and Johnny going on the lamb. And he’s like ‘why did you stay with me with all the stuff going on?’ And the reader is like ‘because I love you and I made a vow’?♥️♥️

𝐚 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 - 𝐃.𝐂

a/n: im done with exams which means im back to my usual schedule!!!

The glow from the lamp in the corner does very little to diminish the shadows looming in the corners of the room, making them all the more intimidating than usual. The silence that hangs over the house is unbearable, and everything feels as if it’s been tipped on its axis and forced to cope.

Nobody is themselves, especially not Darry; he’s been on his way to burning out for weeks, like a candle burning down to the last few centimetres of the wick, and now the flame has finally reached the bottom. He’s sat at the table, head in his hands, glaring down at the bills spread across the surface, but you can tell he's not taking in an ounce of what’s printed on the paper. There are dark shadows under his eyes, his skin is drawn and pale, and he looks so tired that it pains you.

“Darry,” you call out, voice cutting through the stillness in the kitchen. He doesn’t look up, simply shaking his head, brushing you and keeping his gaze downwards. “Darrel.” You try again, the finality in your tone more insistent this time, and he lifts his eyes slightly.

"Not right now, sweetheart." His voice sounds raw from lack of use, and your heart breaks just a bit for him. You push off of the doorframe where you were leaning, stepping towards him slowly and resting your hands on his shoulders, chin on top of his head. You don't miss the way he relaxes under you, his whole body slumping , an exhausted sigh leaving him.

"Take a break. I'll make us dinner," you offer, giving him a squeeze. He nods slowly, swallowing , and you finally see through the mask he's been wearing ever since the boys ran off, since Bob's face landed in the papers, "MURDERED," written in bold above. Beneath that stoic facade is a man, a kid, who's been through too much too fast, and it causes something in you to tighten.

A gentle sigh leaves you, and you move round to sit yourself in his lap, not saying anything when his arms wind around your middle immediately, clutching onto you as though there might be nothing left in this world for him to cling too tight too. Your fingers trail idly through his hair, stroking it lightly.

"They'll come back." Your voice is soft, calm, reassuring. "They're both smart boys. They wont be gone much longer." His only response is a nod against your chest. You know how difficult this has been for him; losing both parents, and now his little brother is something no one should ever have to go through. It's a miracle he isn't completely breaking apart by now.

"Soda called. He's staying with Steve tonight." You don't mention why; don't tell him that it's because he can't take the silence, the emptiness, much longer. He doesn't need to know.

"Okay," Darry whispers into your shirt before pulling back just enough to look up at you. There's something in his eyes, an almost apologetic look that makes your stomach twist uncomfortably, and your heart ache. You wish he'd just stop for a moment, lie down, sleep, rest... But asking him to do so would be futile. No amount of begging or pleading will change his mind, especially not now.

You lean forward and catch his lips in a gentle kiss, cupping the side of his face, thumb tracing along his jawline in a manner that's nothing but comforting. He lingers for a moment before pulling back, leaning his forehead against yours, letting out a long breath.

"I'm sorry," he mutters finally, squeezing his eyes shut. "You deserve more than this shit." You reach out and gently pull his head away, forcing his attention onto you instead of whatever he sees in his own mind.

"No. You have nothing to be sorry for," you begin, but he cuts you off sharply.

"No, hon.... I just, I don't get why you stay with me through all of this. It's just..." You watch his expression shift, becoming pensive, and your heart squeezes painfully, knowing exactly what's bothering him.

You run your fingers through his hair again, pulling his head down so that his face is tucked in your neck once more as you rock back and forth gently.

"I'm with you because I love you, Darrel Curtis. I made a promise, a vow, to stick by you through thick and thin, and I don't break my promises."

Darry only hums in response, but you know he heard you. You know from the way he takes your hand in his rougher one, fingers lacing together, wedding rings glinting in the dim lamplight. He squeezes softly; you're gonna be okay. Both of you.

#the outsiders x reader #darry curtis imagine #darry curtis headcanons #darry curtis x reader #darrel curtis x reader #dallas winston x reader #dally winston x reader #dallas winston imagine #steve randle x reader #johnny cade x reader #sodapop curtis x reader #soda curtis x reader #sodapop x reader #ponyboy x reader #ponyboy curtis x reader #pony curtis x reader #two bit matthews x reader #two bit x reader #two bit mathews x reader

290 notes · View notes

reesespeanutbutterfuck · 3 months ago

Text

sickly blues 👩‍🍼

wherein rafayel had to begrudgingly fly overseas for a retrospective exhibition occurring somewhere away from home. he was occupied the whole day and only now he got ahold of his phone to message his beloved wife and check on his daughter, atlantis—who is going through a bad fever, crying out her dada's name and weeping out of longingness for him.

pairing: parents!rafamc (and their little girl!)

cw: none rly, js sweet n tender domestic fatherly rafayel with a toddler, rafayel's daughter calling him "ayel" i feel so sigma and aaaaaaaawww

—

rafayel: just finished giving a long ass speech onstage sorry for being inactive

rafayel: how are my cutie n my sick little cutie doing are you both ok

rafayel: pls say yes im this 🤏🤏 close to jumping off the balcony and coming straight home

rafayel: to hell with thomas

rafayel: (dun respond if youre resting or busy btw we can always talk later)

mc: not resting or busy we’re doing fine. atlantis’ temp still hasn’t gone down from 38°C. pls don’t give thomas any more headaches, that poor guy

mc: and don't worry love, i’m beside her on the bed and i've prepared the car so i can take her to the hospital anytime if it gets worse. i've fed her her favourite foods too. but she keeps crying and calling out to you. hurts me to see our little antis like this

rafayel: oh no

rafayel: can i call

rafayel: i miss you both :(

mc: i’ve already put her to sleep only a while ago she got tired after crying for hours

mc: but you gotta see this

mc: [Video Attachment]

–

When Rafayel clicked play, his eyes immediately softened upon the sight of his daughter. The recording played a video showing her face softly weeping, little cheeks flushed from fever, held by you on your lap. It appears that she had just finished crying from her quiet sniffles, reddened nose, and look of restlessness. Rafayel feels a sharp pang in his chest like his heartstrings are being tugged.

His poor baby… If only he could take all her pain away even if it meant passing it to himself tenfold.

As the scene in the video unfolds, his daughter clings to her mama and sniffles, rubbing her eyes with her small hands. Your hand can be seen in the video removing Atlantis’ small hands from rubbing her eyes and brushing her short purple hair strands off her face before wiping her tears with your palm.

Atlantis’ lips quivered as she needily mewled in the video, “Dada…”

“Dada will be away for some time, Antis.” It was your firm voice.

“Want Dada…....Ayel…....” She rubs her eyes again, still sniffling. “Ayel” was her own way of saying “Rafayel” since she still cannot pronounce all three syllables of her dad’s name yet. Rafayel almost teared up on how his daughter's longingness can be heard from her wobbly voice. He doesn’t want to think about how much pain his baby is going through.

“Ayel.....…Ayel........” Her small hands can be seen on camera tugging on your shirt, begging for her dad. Each utterance of "Ayel" gets progressively sadder. Rafayel’s heart broke completely. He knows how children tend to seek comfort from their parents during a fever, especially when they feel pain.

You gently caressed her head and kissed her hot forehead to soothe her, as seen in the video. “Sorry, Antis. Dad’s still far away… He’ll be back very soon, love.”

“Mum…” Your daughter curls up and hugs your chest mellowly as you rock her to sleep and whisper sweet things to her ear, the toddler’s yearning for her dad still not satisfied.

When the recording ended, Rafayel’s lips quivered and his chest tightened as he traced his daughter’s face through the screen with his finger tenderly and longingly. How desperate he is to hold her in his arms and coo at her softly to ease the pain and comfort her.

–

mc: i had to give her one of your clean shirts that had your cologne on them so she could smell your scent. she hugged and held onto it until she dozed off only then she could sleep

–

Your revelation caused Rafayel’s heart to clench tighter. His homesickness caught up to him too. Badly.

–

rafayel: in tears rn my poor baby girl im coming home as soon as possible curse this n everyone i mean it

rafayel: take care of yourself too ok cutie dun starve yourself rest and sleep properly hold on just for a little longer and ill be there with you and our lil cutie back at home

rafayel: ill call later when shes awake i love you please tell her im omw home and dada loves her too ill be by her side 24/7 when i come back i promise

rafayel: i hope she feels better soon

mc: sure message me when you're free. i love you come home safely

–

Rafayel truly did not give a fuck if he had to pay triple the standard travel fee to rush back home to his wife and daughter. Thomas—who was also concerned about his boss' daughter—didn't stop him from running off anymore when he found out Rafayel wants to go back right away because of Atlantis' fever. The overseas exhibition that required him to stay for another day be damned, he could not withstand another day anymore knowing back at home his wife is restless and his daughter is crying out for him and in pain without his presence. Even so, he didn't forget to gather a few souvenirs for the both of you.

***

whoever disagrees that rafa deserves a married + family life w us lk this after everything he's gone through is not safe around me thank you

324 notes · View notes

joannasteez · 1 month ago

Text

new normals

pairing: jack abbott x reader warning: some slight angst? fluff. hurt and comfort, my bread and butter authors note: my first jack fic!!! lets fuckin go! apologies if its a lil ooc, im still getting my footing with him. word count: 875 beansss

we make our normal. making things take place, over and over, or even, the things that take place make us. will of the world meeting all the mess that resides on the inside. we don't always make our normal though, do we? skin like clay and blood like water. those outside of us intentions forming us up so grand and terrible until we have no choice but to come into the shape it's ready for us to be. jack thinks normal is a compromise, maybe. a touch of some of everything, like being what you want it to be, what you make it and what it makes you.

normal was blood and dust and bone. war pitching a tent in the heart. the ground undone from a shift and a boom. explosions and popping recoil. soldiers, and their skin coming apart like paper. his hands covered with so much blood his nail beds tinged pink for weeks at a time. the grain and grime of the earth, caked in his hair and smeared at the face.

normal is the calm amidst the storm. a brush stroke of red painting over the whole of the emergency room, but the stillness takes him all the same. one normal traded in for another, not so dissimilar. that fast moving horror, like sisters, or mirrors. war and death and life leaving, some with kicks and screams and others too quiet to be recognized. him, wired, so tight to save, drudging through hell with two hands, but still with the unfortunate knowing, that he'll have to fall back when his all just isn't enough to do the impossible.

normal is the pressure and pain after too much standing. beer on his tongue and his palm soothing over where the prosthetic fits at his leg.

normal is a touch of some of everything, like being what he wants it to be, what he makes it, and what it makes him.

and there ain't much wrong with this type of normal is there? key in the door and a singular sweetness greeting him. lavender and smooth jazz and creaky hardwood as he moves to sit on the living room couch. normal now, is waiting for you to appear, sure footed and a thumb lifting to skim his cheek. kneeling into the cushion beside him, your eyes like his own hands, ready to examine with the urge to save. and normal is letting you close enough to look so deeply, him sitting in all this ache and exhaustion, a silent presentation, growing weary some even, at the idea that someone else has a gaze that holds as strongly as his does.

from his cheek to combing a hand through his hair, a smile pulling soft. "how you feelin' old man?"

his fingers motion, a weak come hither that gets you slipping into his lap easy. a deep sigh and a firm dig to settle his touch into your thighs. a type of grounding he supposes. another new normal. warmth and a different type of fluttering in the chest that leaves him speechless sometimes. "pretty fuckin' terrible".

and there you go still, nailing and tugging dull at his short grays. a dizzying effect that lulls him in, your tenderness of voice doing the rest. "i don't think they have a cure for that just yet, not the good kind anyway".

"why do you think i'm here? m'not showin' my mug for shits and giggles".

your arms gather about his neck, and his about your waist. nudging your nose to his own and teasing the delicate play of a kiss at his lips. the faintness of it so true he's chasing it quick just the keep the possibility of the feeling. a wordless confession, or rather, maybe, an incontrollable reveal of all the stuff he's yet to say.

"s'alright to say the quiet part out loud sometimes jack".

"meaning?"

a kiss at the corner of his mouth and he's a small ways away from mush. one of your hands coming in to press at his chest, rubbing nicely, as if to coax out the things you'd like to hear. his hands growing tired, palms flattening to sit at your waist, eyes dimmed and an itch at the lips to kiss you still.

"a woman knows when she's needed".

"wanted". he corrects. raspy and frail. either from exhaustion or from the anxieties of such a grand feeling admission, he isn't sure.

you only hum, short and acknowledging. not wanting to linger too much in the wake of that vulnerability for fear that he might shrink. might withdraw his short words of passion in the future. licking into his mouth for a kiss. your lips pulling soft and your fingers even more so in his hair. a short, tight moan singing, before another one, longer, drawling and not so graceful, but you don't seem to care. smiling small. pecking sweetly, once, and then twice, before breaking for breath.

"you knew i was coming".

"i saw the news. figured you wouldn't wanna go home".

jack's eyes roll, a smile to follow. "because you know me so well huh?"

"you're here aren't you?"

another one of your smiles, slipping in easy, another fine thing added to his list of new normals.

#jack abbot #jack abbott #dr jack abbot #dr jack abbott #jack abbott x reader #jack abbot x reader #the pitt x reader #dr abbot #the pitt #joannasteez #using both spellings cuz yall keep spelling his last name wrong lol

198 notes · View notes

revelboo · 3 months ago

Note

got myself the cutest little bluestreak (amongst six others) after you made me fall in love with blokees! i may thank you, but my bank account certainly doesnt. the pains of aud 😭 gonna need to keep buying when another sale comes around til i get myself jazz and prowl hehe

apart from that, im not sure if this has been asked before or if ive missed anything, so sorry if i have, but im curious, do you write for female bots?

The boy! I just write for the mechs, because it’s what I personally prefer and I just do this for fun.

Where I Belong Pt 15

Bluestreak x Reader

• Staring at you, your cheek resting in his palm as you sleep stretched on your side against him with flowers tucked in your messy hair, he doesn’t want to go back. Not yet. Not while you look so peaceful. He’s pretty sure that you’d thought he’d been joking when he’d told you the two of you could build a home and just stay here. Belong to each other and forget the war, duty, and responsibility. So tired of fighting. And he needs this. Because you’re never disappointed in him, never dismissive.

• Whatever your head is laying on shifts slightly under you and something gently bumps your forehead. Eyes opening as Bluestreak shudders against you, the chevron on his helm brushing you. “You okay, baby?” You ask, touching his jaw and his optics open and find you. And your head is forced up to avoid the sharp points of his chevron when he buries his face against your throat.

• “I’m okay,” he murmurs, venting slowly, dragging your scent deep into himself. Grounding himself with you. Feeling your hand stroking his helm and you start humming softly to him. Soothing him when he should be the one taking care of you. He’s older, bigger, stronger, but still clinging to you like a frightened youngling. Afraid. Always afraid and nervously rambling and you let him. Never tell him to shut up. Never get angry.

• Humming a lullaby to him, you feel him curl closer against you and you play your hands over him. Feel his door wings tremble under your fingertips. “Should we head back?” You ask and he vents against your throat. Relaxed with him, you stretch out your legs, a knee sliding against his leg. Have you ever felt this at home with anyone else before? Like you could tell him anything and there’d be no judgement. Like you’re seen and known.

• “Not yet.” Just wants this moment to last. Because right now, there are no nightmares. No ghosts lurking at the edge of his awareness. Here with you, this is all there is. Just you and him, the sun low behind the trees to throw dazzling lances of gold through the leaves, birds singing above and the beat of your heart against him. “I just-I need this. Just a little longer, okay? And then we’ll go back.” Pleading softly and stuttering into silence when you brush a kiss against his chevron with a soft ‘okay.’ Curling closer, he relaxes.

#transformers x reader #bluestreak x reader #Bluestreak

193 notes · View notes

meganegatari · 11 months ago

Note

heh.. okay, so you asked for different.. rubs hands together villaniously as i materialize from the bottomless shadows..

sub!vampire!ellie biting/bloodsucking denial.. reminding her how much of a good girl she needs to be even when your wrist is practically just brushing past her lips to cradle her face.. or when the weakest bead of blood is pricked from your finger.. flaunting it.. teasing.. goddess bless throw in whatever else you see fit freakmaster

TEMPTATION WAITS

before you read! ▪︎ my masterlist ☆: co-president...this is absolutely divine...shoulda seen the way i dropped everything for this im literally #TWEAKING. new fav thing i've ever written methinks. title song. (vibes aren't there but the title was too good.) ps: if you spot any typos i wrote this with one hand. KIDDING...or am i? divider creds—cafekitsune. ◇: not outright smut, but still suggestive!! and nsfw is described. fluffy end bc i think she earned it, lore sprinkled in because why nawt it's interesting, finger sucking (e! receiving), this is maybe a lil ooc idrc, she's described as looking quite ill in her vampiric form + begs like her century long life depends on it fr, (but also has a bit of an attitude, it issss ellie after all), mean!r, talk of blood/previous bite wounds. ++ 3.3k wc. doesn't need to be that long but atp? take it or leave it LOLL. filing under "oneshots" bc it's way more than usual reqs hehe.

“Please, baby. Just one taste. I'll do anything.” Desperate, shaky pleas spilled from Ellie, her voice noticeably tired from the effort. She's been at this for what felt like forever now, and you were getting tired of ignoring her. Or rather, a little bored.

She was kneeling on the wooden floor by your bed, fisting the creased sheets, trying to capture your attention. The shimmering moonlight was dancing on her features as if it was a sparkle of fireflies, making her oddly colored eyes appear to glow, and highlighting her sickly appearance.

In her vampiric form, her skin was tinted a ghostly—even chalky—white, barely a smidgen of blush dancing on the apples of her cheeks. Her eyes shifted from their original grassy green to a peculiar duochrome blend of emerald and ruby. She really looked unwell, but you knew it was merely a product of circumstance, her gloomy fate.

Ellie donned somber dark circles around her eyes, her lips withered, pale, and thin as a piece of tissue paper. Just behind them though, rested two deadly weapons of her very own—sizeable, razor-sharp, gleaming ivory canines reflecting the scarce lighting as if they were made of mirrored glass.

For the first time tonight, you met her gaze, assuming an unbreakable poker face. Her keen sight could pick out the most subtle of twitches, so you learned to defeat that. The moment you met her line of sight she perked up, her eyes widening in glee, you had finally acknowledged her existence after so long.

Scooting forward you placed yourself right in front of her still kneeling form, sitting so she was in between your legs, but she wasn't allowed to touch you until you said so. What torture.

She began again, “Can I do something to make you change your mind? I'll do anything. Anything in the world. I'll make you feel re-really good, and then I won't ask again…ever even, if that's what you want. Just please let me…I'm so thirsty.” She was rambling a million miles a minute, slurring her words and cutting herself off with hiccups, stuttering like was having a nervous breakdown.

Her chest heaving up and down was visible to you despite the dim surroundings, and you could just make out her facial expression—a pained grimace, as if she was experiencing all of humanity's greatest suffering. When you didn't reply but stayed observing her blankly, she sighed and hung her head in shame, you almost felt bad. Almost.

You extend a hand, twirling a strand of her hair—previously silky and vibrant, now as lifeless and dull as charred hay—and you feel her relax under your touch. You continue raking your fingers through her locks, scratching her scalp with your nails, and you hear her exhale forcefully. She's likely overwhelmed by your scent—it's invigorating, fresh, and full of life.

“Have you been good?” You pipe up with a voice colder than ice, softly caressing the flesh of her tense cheek, and letting your fingertips travel to the underside of her chin. You gently tilt her head up, noticing the way her eyelids flutter to a close. She's soaking up the heat radiating off of you, making sure to feel the sensations of your skin brush against hers as much as she can, commit them to memory for when she's apart from you.

Her lips part, allowing for hushed, woeful whimpers to pour out, and she instinctively bites her bottom lip to quiet herself. Only she forgets about the powerful daggers in her mouth, and almost pierces right through her own skin.

Taking notice, you tut at her, warning clicks of your tongue bouncing off the room’s walls, contrasting the dead of night’s eerie silence. Tsk, tsk, tsk. You push the pad of your thumb down on the plush of her lip, angling her jaw side to side, examining those killer gnashers she's got.

“You could hurt yourself with these y'know, be careful.” Her eyelids flicker open, she's staring up at you with the biggest doe eyes she could muster, somehow all while maintaining such a strong glare you feel as if she's trying to challenge you.

“I'll decide if you can have some, as long as you're good, and you let me have some fun first. Alright?” You explain in a neutral tone, earning a cute “mhm” of confirmation from the undead being before you. “Good girl.”

You slowly slip your thumb into her mouth, avoiding her fangs at all costs, and you let her wrap her slippery tongue around your digit, watching how her cheeks hollow and her eyes roll ever so slightly while she sucks, moaning as she takes in your taste—nothing more than just skin.

You chuckle at her desperation, revel in the power dynamic you have created. “Mmm, you taste so good, so sweet.” She mumbles, swirling her tongue around your thumb, coating the entirety of it in her spit. You allow it for now, but soon enough, to no surprise, she slyly tries to shift to the side in preparation to slice you and get her treat.

You sharply retract your hands from her, removing your finger from her mouth with a pop, disappointed by her greed, her audacity. She turns to the side and pouts, huffing and rolling her eyes with more attitude than a moody teen. “What did I say?” You calmly hiss at her. She whispers, almost inaudibly, “Sorry…taste so good, can't help m’self.” Her voice wavered, and the moonlight illuminated the faintest tinge of red across her features, it was nearly invisible.

But you could tell exactly what was up. She shifts uncomfortably in her spot, grunting with laughable, pitiful attempts to rub her thighs together, fingers toying with the cloth of her pants, putting her frustration on full display. You looked at her struggle, unable to contain your grin.

It was a different kind of high, seeing such a feared and fabled beast kneel before you in such a pathetic manner, but it turned you on like nothing else. It was also evident she enjoyed it as well, no matter how much she didn't want you to be aware of the fact. The extent to which she worships you and handles your body, the way she was willing to beg and let you order her around showed just how much you meant to her—it was beautiful in its own way, how devoted she was to you. You were her person.

The fact she couldn't stifle her desire anymore after all this time suggested a shift in the atmosphere of your wicked games, the tension in the air was getting impossibly thicker, and you were loving every second of it.

Ellie, you've got a short memory.” You tease, then gesture to the gauze wrapped around your forearm, protecting two puncture wounds left by none other than her just the previous night. She looks at it and cocks an eyebrow, grouching, “Yeah, I see that, what about it?” The husky edge to her voice had returned, the defiant attitude you loved to crack was back in full force.

“Hundreds of years old, you even have memories of wars, and you can't remember what happened, like, 24 hours ago? Wow…” Your voice is so patronizing, it's unpleasant and abrasive on the ears, even your own. She shrugs her shoulders, still kneeling on the cold, hard ground at your mercy. “Well let's have a refresher then, shall we?” Tearing the tan-colored bandage apart with a single rip, you reveal the puncture marks—they were still wet and irritated, the wounds reopening immediately at the slightest movement.

Ellie whines like an animal, a crude “ahh”, and she starts pleading harder than ever. “Please, baby, my pretty, my angel, please, please, pleasepleaseplease, just lemme have a drop, just one. That's all, I swear.” Her gaze darkens exponentially, if you didn't know her it would instill fear in your heart, but luckily you were well aware of all her tricks. She snarls, “Fuck you. I'm literally on my fucking knees right now. Why are you doing this?” Her voice breaks angrily, wobbling with great lust and need—the need to have you, the need to drink you and fondle you and taste you in all senses of the word, and at this point she didn't seem to care about preserving a morsel of her dignity, she was simply so drunk on you, you couldn't believe.

You reiterate the previously established explanation, “We have an agreement that says you're allowed to take my blood once a month, so you can have some more each time. Rather than taking a little bit but more often, you requested this yourself. And you already drank lots yesterday. Does that not ring a bell?”

She groans, a gravelly, guttural sound that had you coming back to your senses and realizing, this was technically, a monster who you loved so dearly.

It led you to wonder—to her kind, what was so special about the liquid coursing through your veins?

When you split your lip open as a kid, clumsily tumbling face-first onto the asphalt, or bit your tongue while eating something stubborn, the strange, metallic taste was purely disgusting. It had a certain heaviness to it, both physically with the way it sat in your mouth, but also mentally. Like a subconscious awareness you were not meant to consume it like she does, but to spit it out the millisecond it made contact with your taste buds. There were times where the thought made you queasy, the measly knowledge of just how much of this fluid was inside you, keeping you alive.

But to her, it was a completely different story. She lapped it up with such fervor, such thirst you've never seen before. A sloppy frenzy like there wasn't a single thing more delightfully flavorful.

Her teeth penetrating all the way through your epidermis, dermis, and hypodermis, and straight through the vein wall was a feeling you're likely never going to get used to. It stung, it really did, and you were quick to get all woozy from the blood volume loss, but Ellie knew your limits—even though hers were not even close. Her thirst was insatiable.

The intimacy of the act was a whole separate topic to think about too. It was such an erotic experience, and when probed about it she argues it's better than sex, somehow. When she drinks from you, Ellie is really messy with it, you noticed. Blood dribbles down her chin and stains her lips as if it's a designer lip oil, the distinct deep maroon color sometimes appearing clownish and too intense against her fair complexion.

She was really handsy as well, and you weren't sure if it was purposeful, but you didn't care to ask because you didn't really mind in the first place. It felt nice. Her muscular hands tend to trace your waist as she's suckling, hovering by your ass, and traveling north to knead the supple tissue of your breasts.

And how could you forget about the sheer proximity of it all, even when having sex normally, it didn't feel nearly as intimate or vulnerable as this. Her body would be tightly curled around yours, she couldn't bear to have one meager square inch of her not touching you.

When she drank from your neck, it was bordering on heavenly, you had to be honest with yourself. There was something about the combination of the light headed, dizzying feeling it brought you, her closeness, the licking sensations, and the hungry sounds she produced that all together mixed to form nothing short of a mind blowing, intoxicating concoction.

When you both were feeling it, she'd be able to draw breathy moans to fall from your lips, and would giggle into your skin before sucking harder, leaving bruised marks surrounding the punctures. You read in some folklore that vampires carried a sort of aphrodisiac in their fangs, or was it their saliva? Again, you didn't really know all the details, but the sessions made you both yearn for each other in a way that felt taboo to discuss—midnight feedings often turning into animalistic fucking, sometimes even simultaneously.

Like having Ellie latched onto the side of your neck while she grinds her dripping pussy onto yours, her pleasureful mewls filling your ears, or having her hold your wrist to her mouth while her other hand is pleasuring you into oblivion, prodding against your spongy walls, making your head spin.

The time you spent lost in thought, she had broken the rule of not touching you unless you said so, but all she had done was rest her head on your knee, zoning out, sulking like an injured puppy. Unfortunately for her, you weren't done torturing her just yet. You didn't move her off of you, she was just laying there, grumbling curses under her breath, saying how mean you were, how much she despised you and everything you stood for, although both of you knew the truth—she had said herself, “I've never tasted blood like yours,” and you felt intrinsically bound to her on a subconscious level, these were mere amusements you indulged in, that ended up beneficial for both.

She got her delicious elixir of life, at the cost of you having your way with her for a bit. You hear her sniffle, the little defenseless sound of defeat was able to break your act.

You resume stroking her hair, and she wraps trembling arms around your thigh. “Hmm?” You coo, putting on a sweet facade. “Don't talk to me like that, c'mon man.” She wails, the attempts to regain control over her voice proving unsuccessful.

You took your nails to the newly formed raspberry scabs on top of your bite wounds and picked them off, and she lunges to grab your arm with inhuman reflexes, but once again you emerge on top, having spent so much time memorizing every last one of her behavioral patterns, so much so you knew exactly how she was going to attempt catching you and moved out the way without thinking about it.

“Too slow, you've gotten predictable.” You ridicule her, embellishing your voice with the most fake, sickly sweet tone you could just to irritate her as much as you possibly could. Ellie lays her head on your thigh, sighing. It's like she's given everything up. Her own patience was running out, potentially entering unpredictable territory now.

You squeeze the sides of the hole in your skin to coax a bubble of bright red blood to ooze out, marveling, “It's such a nice color, I see why you like it so much.” You talk to her coolly, ignoring her tearful, yet terrifyingly rage-filled glares, her massive fangs bared as if you were a prey animal she caught herself and was preparing to rip apart.

“Want a taste, Ellie? Have you earned it?” You think out loud, comically tapping your chin to exaggerate the brainstorming act. “Whatever, it's not like I have anything left to say to you.” She sounded heartbroken, you've never seen someone have such sorrow, the sheer misery behind her eyes actually caught you off guard.

"Okay I think you have earned it, just need you to say one more thing.” She nods, a little too quickly, rushing to catch any tears that were planning an escape route down the sides of her pretty face. You cradle her cheek, brushing your thumb against her skin, “Aw, baby, don't cry.” This time however, your tone is sincere.

She doesn't wait for your request, and starts all over again, this is getting old. “I promise everything. I'll make you feel so good, I'll give you whatever you want, please …you're too sweet.” She huffs, “Well, except when you're not.”

She continues mumbling, burying her face in the meat of your thigh, occasionally stopping to lovingly peck where she was laying, quiet smooching sounds. That really melted your heart, you were ready to give her what she needs after so much cruelty. This went on much longer than you had planned, but you were having fun with it. So you decided to abandon whatever you would ask of her. But could anyone blame you?

She slowly reaches for your wounded arm, gauging your reactions, like in the situation you were planning to do something to prevent her, but you come up with a better idea. “I'll do you one even better, Els.” The grin that envelops her face could light up a thousand suns, and melt the coldest of souls. Make vampire hunters quit their careers even, that's how adorable she could be, on the occasion.

You lean back to take your shirt off in one swift motion, and lay back on the edge of the bed, tilting your neck to give her access to the sweet pulsating spot, finding the droplet of drool that falls from her agape mouth utterly hilarious. “Go ahead, I've had my fun.” She hesitates. “But our agreement, I don't wanna hurt you.” “Ellie it's fine, unless you don't want t-” “No I do I do, oh thank you, thank you, thank you. I love you so muchhhh.”

Her gratitude is silly, she's straddling you and kissing all over your neck, face, and collarbones with such care, and you inhale sharply once you feel the familiar sensation of her teeth piercing your sensitive skin.

She has one hand on the nape of your neck, holding you close to her so you couldn't move away, and the other one finds your fingers to intertwine with hers, loud gulping noises filling the room as she messily laps up all that flows from you.

Her bony hips are sat atop your pelvis, and soon enough you feel her start absentmindedly rocking back and forth on you, your breath hitching. You hold her waist to ground yourself, and aid her. She's whispering, mostly to herself, “Fuck that's so fucking good, needed this so bad, need you, fuck- shit. Ah, yes.”

The vertiginous feeling swirls in your head and you feel yourself fading, your grip on her sides loosening, but you don't feel one single ounce of panic, because you know she's got you. No matter what, until the end of time. Or at the very least, until the final bells tolled and you were lowered to your eternal resting place six feet underground.

tag-geese: @andersonfilms @ch6douin @aouiaa @sapphic-ovaries @astro-cat2 @paqerings @r3starttt @littlefallenangel111 @srooch @sinfulprayerss @lvlymicha @sunnsh1ine @anniee333 @fawnmotifs @marsworlddd @caszzine @flowrmoth @liddysflyer @fortune777 @claude999 @brunaedn @lanabaezzzz @mimasroom2

if you'd like to be tagged in my fics, fill out the form here! thanks for reading! interactions are greatly appreciated and encouraged ♡

940 notes · View notes

irlyluvosamu · 3 days ago

Note

hi! i saw you had asks open and thought i would send in something to help fuel your writing urge haha

maybe you could do something with chuuya and/or dazai with a reader going through a bit of a tough time. maybe the reader just like suddenly snaps at them or something after dealing with so much shit. im curious how they would react

synopsis: reader is known as someone who keeps things to themself. so what happens when their partner gets on their last nerve?

featuring: dazai and chuuya

before you read: lowercase writing, not proof-read, possibly tw? dazai's part is longer//i love him sm😞

★ EVEN STORMS NEED SHELTER๋ ࣭ ⭑๋ ࣭ ⭑

you've normally been good at hiding it. the smile. the dry sarcasm. the "i'm fine". CHUUYA has seen throughout once or twice—always asking if you're ok. you'd always brush it off.

he always knew you were strong. with everything you have to go through, he's so proud of you.

until one day, you just had enough.

he came home late again. tired, smelling like the city his been out and about in for god knows how long. he walked into your shared apartment, his coat lazily draped over his shoulder.

"hey babe, i'm home. sorry i'm late—boss had me run—"

"you're always late." you didn't even bother to look at him. you sat on the couch watching the tv, which was off by the way.

chuuya blinked, "i said i was sorry. you know how the mafia is—"

"oh, right" you scoffed, standing from the couch, "when is it not the mafia. or some mission, or some underground bullshit im not even allowed to ask about!"

"where is this coming from?" he asked narrowing his eyes.

you let out a bitter laugh—"you think i enjoy being some helpers clueless idiot? wondering if ill ever see you again after today? i can barely sleep, chuuya! worrying that something will happen to you!"

he froze. you rarely get mad. this was his chance to actually get a good look at you—your hair is messy, you have dark under eye bags, and your fists were clenched like they were holding back a tsunami.

"...you could have just told me." might not have been the best thing to say right now, but he didn't just want to say nothing when you're in a state like this.

he took a step closer, "you didn't have to keep all of this bottle up, dove."

you looked down at the floor, "i didn't want to be a burden.." you finished with a whisper.

he took your face in his gloves and hands, gently forcing your eyes to look into his—his thumb softly rubbing under your eyes. "you could never be a burden to me, you know that. we get through shit together—i'm sorry i made you feel like you had to carry all this alone."

your lips quivered, his touching finally breaking your dam.

he pulled you in close, wrapping his arms around you as if he was trying to protect you from the world. you trembled against him, letting out all your cries and pain for the first time.

"ill try my best to come home early—mori can kiss my ass if he has too; just please don't ever shut me out like that again." he mumbled in your hair, "let me carry this with you."

★ YOU ALWAYS SMILED๋ ࣭ ⭑๋ ࣭ ⭑

it started off small. you wouldn't have a witty joke to shoot back at DAZAI—you lost a spark of sparkle in your eye when you walked through the agency doors. you haven't touched your favorite in a week.

you weren't sad. not exactly...just tired. dull.

you would still show up to work, continued to still offer help when asked.

but dazai noticed something was wrong with you. of course he did. he always has his eye on you—even if you don't think so.

he just didn't know what was wrong.

he watched as your eyes drifted to the window, staring out of it for god knows how long. pen has stopped writing—been still for about ten minutes now. papers sat unfinished on your desk.

what's worse is that you haven't looked him in the eye all day.

the only others in the office were a few lower agents, atsushi and kyouka. however, they seemed to be keeping themselves entertained with each other. dazai has his eyes on you.

"y/n.." he called your name out gently—grabbing the attention of the two and you. however you flinched slightly at the sound of your name, "yes?" you responded.

"can we talk?"

you nodded, barely.

he motioned toward an empty file room just on the opposite side of the main office. you stood up and followed, robotically. the moment you walked past him and stood in the middle of the small, cozy room—you heard the door click shut and lock.

around the room was a green chair, along with a small, tall window—bookshelves and a small table took up a good space in the room, along with you and dazais figure.

he didn't speak right away. the two of you just stood in the room silently. he studied the tiredness in your eyes, the strands of your messy hair and your under eye bags. the way your shoulders sagged like you were holding up the whole sky.

"you're scaring me a little bit." he finally spoke. not dramatic, not jokingly—genuine and soft.

your eyes flickered to his, "what?"

"you haven't said more than two words to me this week. you look like you haven't slept—i haven't seen you have a sincere smile in days."

a beat of silence.

"i know you. this is much more stress."

you felt a tightness in your throat—"im fine."

"you're not fine.." he spoke, stepping closer. "you're shutting down. isolating your emotions to keep others from worrying about you."

you felt your eye twitch—"dazai, i'm tired!" you cried, feeling your body grow heavier. "i feel like i can't make a mistake when doing this job! one wrong move and someone could die! osamu, that someone could be you or me! i feel like if i make a mistake and someone gets hurt or-or seriously injured, it's my fault!"

a loud silence filled the room. you ran your fingers through your hair as you looked away from him, ashamed. "it's—it's stupid, but i.." you took a deep breath in, "i didn't want to bother you with this."

he still stood in silence, waiting for you to continue.

"you've got a lot going on, from your own life to the agency, i didn't want to dump my problems on someone who—already carries so much for themself.

dazais expression cracked—like something behind it hurt.

"...and what kind of partner would i be if i let you suffer just to spare my feelings." his breath hitched, taking a step toward you. "don't do that. don't protect me from your pain. that isn't how this works."

you felt your chest heave up and down, you've been holding all of this in for weeks. suddenly getting to talk about it—you don't know how to react.

dazai took a small step closer to you to brush his fingers under your chin, coaxing your gaze to his own.

"you're allowed to fall apart, bella," he whispered into your ear, "you're allowed to go to someone when you need them."

"but what if i'm too much?"

his eyes didn't leave yours, "then let me be the one to hold you tighter."

you crumbled—silent tears slipping down your cheeks before you could stop me.

seeing this, dazai pulled you closer to his chest—stroking your hair gently as his other arm was protectively wrapped around your lower body. "there it is," he mummered in your ear, "there you are..."

you had a tight grip on him, as he at this moment was your whole world that you weren't ready to let go of.

"let me be the one to carry all this weight with you, i want to be with you—broken pieces and all."

@ ɪʀʟʏʟᴜᴠᴏꜱᴀᴍᴜ — 2 0 2 5

102 notes · View notes

hyuniemyunie · 6 months ago

Text

holding bruce while he cries ☆ミ

and then making him cum oops.

sub bruce wayne x gn dom reader

nsfw

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

(ФωФ): big man in your lap, dry humping, clothed..stuff, bruce cumming in his pants, bruce crying!!!

lawd help this is kinda long😭😭 i write for everything mentioned in my pinned list, so dont be surprised if i post for a lot of characters/fandoms<3 if u saw any typos..no u didnt..

(I'll get to yalls requests soon after im done with exams!<3)

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･

the Batcave was silent except for the soft hum of the machinery and the occasional beep of the monitors. Bruce sat in front of the computer, his back hunched, eyes bloodshot from hours of working, but he wasn’t focused on the screen. His mind raced with the weight of his responsibilities, the guilt, the constant need to protect Gotham that never seemed to let up. The mask he wore as Batman was always on, even in moments of exhaustion.

You had been quietly watching him from the shadows for a while, your heart aching for him. You could see the strain on his face, the toll his double life had taken on him. He was never the one to ask for help, to let someone in. But you could tell he needed it, needed to be held.

Without a word, you approached him, your steps soft and measured. You placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, feeling the tense muscles under his suit. “Bruce,” you whispered, your voice warm and full of concern. “You’ve been at this for too long. You need to rest.”

He didn’t respond, his jaw clenched as if holding back the flood of emotions threatening to spill over. The weight of everything—Alfred’s death, the countless battles, the endless loss—was suffocating him, and he didn’t know how to let go of it. He wasn’t used to showing weakness, not even in front of you.

You gently knelt in front of him, your hand softly cupping his face, urging him to look at you. “Bruce, it’s okay,” you murmured, your voice tender, full of love, something bruce wasn't used to. “You don’t have to carry all of this by yourself.”

For a moment, Bruce’s eyes flickered, and his chest tightened. He wanted to say something, to deny the raw ache in his heart, but the words got stuck in his throat. The walls he had built around himself started to crack, the dam he had carefully constructed to keep his emotions in check beginning to crumble.

Your thumb brushed over his cheek, a soothing gesture, and that was all it took. His shoulders shook as he let out a ragged breath, and before he could stop himself, tears welled up in his eyes. The dam had broken, and he couldn’t hold it in any longer, he trusted you enough to cry in front of you.

He buried his face in your hands, the flood of emotions too much to contain. “I can’t… I can’t do this anymore,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, raw with pain. “I’m so tired, I’ve lost too much.”

Without a second thought, you pulled him into your arms, your embrace warm and comforting “Shh,” you whispered, gently rocking him back and forth. "You’re not alone. I’m here, always.”

He leaned fully against your body, letting you hold most of his weight as the weeks, months, years of pent-up emotions poured out of him. The words of comfort were like daggers to his weary heart. He'd never been on the receiving end of that kind of affection. He'd gone so long without it. He craved it far more than he'd realised.

Bruce clung to you, his hands gripping you tightly as if you were the only thing holding him together. He wasn’t Batman in this moment. He wasn’t the stoic, unshakable Bruce Wayne. He was just a man, broken and exhausted, seeking solace in your arms. The tears came harder now, and he let them fall, not bothering to hide his vulnerability anymore.

You stroked his hair, your touch soft and calming. “It’s okay to cry,” you whispered. “You’ve been through so much, and you’re so, so strong.”

He shook his head against your shoulder, the weight of his grief too much to bear. “I should’ve done more,” he whispered. “I should’ve saved them. I should’ve been stronger.”

“No,” you said firmly, your voice soft but resolute. “You did everything you could. You can’t save everyone, Bruce. But you’ve done more for Gotham than anyone ever could. And I’m so proud of you.”

The words were like a balm to his raw soul, soothing the pain and quieting the thoughts screaming in his head — the ones telling him to pull away, to get a hold of himself, to stop acting like a child, to stop needing things. Still, he didn't speak. Instead, Bruce squeezed you tighter, burying his face in the crook of your neck and simply letting himself cry.

your words, full of warmth and reassurance, wrapped around him like a blanket, soothing the pain he had carried for so long. He pulled back slightly, his tear-streaked face searching you eyes, looking for something, anything.

You cupped his face gently, your thumb brushing away the tears. “You’re my sweet boy,” you murmured, your voice filled with so much love. “You’ve done enough. You’ve given everything. And now, you deserve to rest, okay?"

Bruce let out a shaky breath, his eyes fluttering closed as he allowed himself to finally relax into your embrace. For the first time in what felt like forever, he wasn’t the Dark Knight. He wasn’t the protector of Gotham. He was just Bruce, a man in need of comfort, and you were there to give it.

your arms wrapped around him again, holding him close, your body warmth radiating through him like a beacon. “I’ve got you, sweetheart,” you whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head. He whimpered at the kiss, shuddering as the simple action sent a pleasant tingle through his body. His eyes were still shut tight, unable to bring himself to look at you.

In the back of his mind, Bruce was mortified by his behaviour. Sure, he wasn't exactly crying in public, but he'd never had this kind of breakdown before either. He couldn't help the little flicker of embarrassment that rose in him.

"just stay here, with me."

He nodded, pressing himself closer to you, burrowing his face into the crook of your neck in a bid to get as close as possible. He could just stay like this, he thought. He'd stay here forever, if you let him. Bruce sniffled slightly, trying and failing to keep the little whimpers of distress from escaping. He was a grown man, goddamnit, crying like a child in the arms of a pretty person. after a moment, you finally spoke, looking down at his hunched figure "you okay baby?"

He stayed silent for a moment, his face half buried in your hair. The sobs had stopped, leaving him with a raw feeling in his throat. He opened his mouth, letting out a hoarse and unstead-sounding 'yeah'. The urge to look at you welled in his chest, and he finally raised his head. His eyes stung, and he could only imagine the absolutely pathetic expression he must have.

yet you just looked at him..lovingly, as if he was actually worth caring for.

He was immediately struck by the expression on your face. No mockery, no disgust, no pity. Just a fondness in your eyes that Bruce hadn't ever seen directed at him. nothing genuine, anyway.

His chest ached, both in a good and bad way. Bruce blinked, leaning into you.

"I.." He started, voice hoarse, not being able to finish. he muttered a curse under his breath, frustrated by his inability to get past the lump in his throat.

"shut up, pretty boy, just let me cuddle you" you said with a little grin, a teasing glint in your eyes as you softly pinched his cheek Another huff slipped from his lips, but he couldn't help the reluctant half-smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth at your words. He still didn't lift his eyes to meet yours, the shame of his previous breakdown still too fresh inside him.

"You're not going to let this go.." he mumbled, shifting his body slightly. He wasn't technically in your lap, but you were still holding most of his weight.

"come on, relax, it's just us two, no one else.." you said with a shrug

This time, the almost-smile on his face turned into a full-fledged one. He lifted his gaze once more, looking to you for probably the first time in years without a sense of anger or caution.

"Just us two," he repeated, the foreign feeling of ease filling his chest. He took a breath, before adding; "Not Batman, yeah."

"you know, I've been wanting to do a thing for a while.."

before he could even process your sentence, you sat down on his chair, and grabbed him by the hips, pulling him down towards you. He let out a slightly strangled noise as he suddenly found himself in your lap.

"What are you-," he started, but you'd gotten the exact reaction you wanted from him. In his current position, his knees were on either side of your legs, and he was essentially straddling you. his body was..a bit too big to properly fit on your lap, and his weight was giving you a bit of a struggle. but some sacrifices must be made to have a beefy man in your lap, yeah?

"comfy?"you said, your voice smug as hell, too smug for his liking.

He spluttered, a blush staining his cheeks. He was, admittedly, comfy. He'd never sat on someone's lap like this before, so he wasn't entirely sure what to do with himself, and he could clearly see his body's... reaction to this new development. yes, he was hard. He looked away, trying to hide his blush and hoping you wouldn't notice the bulge pressing against your leg. "You're too much," he muttered gruffly.

and to his horror, you looked down and noticed exactly what you shouldn't have, his raging boner. god, this was embarrassing. He flinched, the stare making his blush deepen even more. He didn't mean for you to see quite what his body was doing, but it seemed he didn't have much choice in control at the moment.

".... I can't help it," he muttered defensively, still refusing to look at you.

you huffed out a laugh, arching a brow as you looked at him with the most amused expression you could.

"you got hard over..sitting on my lap?"

He muttered something under his breath, something that sounded like 'I'm a man, aren't I?'. He shifted again, trying to move slightly away from you, but your hands kept him firmly in place. He still refused to look at you, or even in your direction. "It's... been a while," he admitted with a frustrated huff of breath. well, yeah, it has been. no sex, no touching himself. if he didn't need to pee, he'd forget he even has a dick. so of course he's..sensitive.

you only looked up at him with a smug expression that made his blood boil, that damn smirk-

but then, you just..rolled your hips up like it was nothing. He let out a strangled 'ngh' at the friction he got from that, and his hands scrambled to balance himself by grabbing your shoulders.

Bruce shot you an irritated look — more for the fact that you seemed to be enjoying this than the action itself. "Stop that," he huffed, but his voice held a desperate whine. He swallowed thickly, the situation becoming even more uncomfortable by the second. the more you kept moving, the more uncomfortable he became.

you felt good against him. Really good.

He gripped your tighter, the redness of his face spreading down further. "You're a nuisance." he muttered, but the words had no bite behind them.

"Am i? you seem to be enjoying this a lot, bruce, I'm not even doing anything."

He bit the inside of his lip, letting out a shuddering gasp. His fingers dug harder into your shoulders, struggling to keep up his already flimsy balance. Bruce let out a whimper, unable to do much but let you have your way. He wanted — no, needed — more friction than what he was getting, but he had no idea what to do.

He took in a shuddering breath, a whine slipping past his lips. He shifted in your lap, trying to find a better position. He let out another gasp as your jeans pressed right against him, his hands clenching even tighter.

He couldn't look at you, could only focus on the friction as slowly, hesitantly, he found a rhythm to thrust against you, his dick rubbing painfully against the fabric of his suit.

"God," he choked out, his breathing ragged.

"you're acting like a virgin, bruce" you rolled your hips up to meet his grinding, earning a hitched moan from him, making him bite his lower lip, hard. "gonna cum in your pants too?"

He whimpered at your words, shuddering at the heat rushing through his body. He already felt like he was on the verge of coming, and they'd barely done anything. He'd spent so long without being touched by anyone, that the smallest thing was sending him over the edge. he was just so, so sensitive.

"Stop... talking," he panted, his breath hitching with every movement. "I won't... finish in my pants." He tried to sound as confident as possible, but he didn't really convince himself. he was absolutely gonna finish in his pants.

He groaned, the heat from his blush making him feel like he was burning up. He was already so close, and he'd hardly done anything. If your words weren't enough to push him over the edge, the mental image of what he must look like certainly would.

"Nn... please," he mumbled, the word turning into a whine at the end. He was barely holding on as it was.

"please, what? you need to tell me and use your big boy words, bruce"

he whined, letting his head drop to the crook of your neck as he spoke, voice barely above a whisper

"wanna cum.."

you chuckled, your hands going to rest on the firm muscles of his ass, giving them a squeeze "thats a good boy."

He practically let out a sob at your words, the combination of everything finally getting too much. He buried his face deeper into the crook of your neck, desperate to muffle his moans into something, anything to stop him from giving everything away. In that moment, Bruce Wayne, the billionaire and famous vigilante, was a shaking, whining mess, trying his hardest not to cum in his pants like a fucking virgin

you got tired of all his panting and whining, deciding to finally make him cum. you grabbed his hair, pulling back hard, his response to that was immediate. A strangled cry escaped him, his fingers clinging to you as his body tensed, shuddering harshly as he came in his pants, wetting the front of it

Bruce slumped against you, breathing heavy and shaking. Humiliation crashed down over him like a bucket of icy water.

Even as he came down slowly from the high, the heat in his cheeks reignited. He lifted his head, looking down at his pants, then quickly looked away. He couldn't bring himself to look at it — how embarrassing. The wet patch on the front of his pants only made him feel more embarrassment, and he let out a low whine, burying his head back into your neck, damn his size, he couldn't even hide himself.

"none of that, look at the mess you made, bruce." you grabbed his hair, pulling his head back and forcing him to look at the mess he made

He let out another low whimper when you pulled his hair, so he had no choice but to pull his head back. He hesitantly looked down at his pants again, the damp patch on the front an obvious sign of what had just happened.

Bruce's breath hitched in his chest, and his fingers curled into your clothes again. "... I'm a mess.." he mumbled, his voice a whisper.

#bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x you #bruce wayne x y/n #gn reader #gn!reader #gender neutral reader #batman x reader #batman #batman x you

173 notes · View notes

bestofmultiverse · 8 months ago

Text

Between the pages || 4

Aubrey plaza x fem!reader

"It’s hard to save people from themselves. But if they’re willing to try, it’s worth the risk.”

- Paperweight by Meg Haston

A/N : this part talks about mental health, i don't know if its on triggering level but it was important for me to let yall know.

Got inspired by my trip to the ER today because of anxiety attack that left me feeling like i was literally dying. Im okay, conveniently had a therapy session as well afterwards so had a pretty rough day- but pushing trough it 🤍

I love you guys hope you will like this one x

1 • 2 • 3 • 5

When Aubrey stormed into the ER, she wasn’t sure what she was more furious about: the fact that her girlfriend hadn’t told her she was there or the casually infuriating way she explained it when she finally did.

“I didn’t want to bother you,” her girlfriend had said with a weak shrug, as if chest pain and difficulty breathing were minor inconveniences she could brush off.

“Didn’t want to bother me?” Aubrey had echoed, disbelief flaring in her voice.

The younger woman, seated in one of those awful plastic chairs, simply nodded, her eyes heavy with exhaustion. “It’s not the first time,” she added lightly.

That had nearly sent Aubrey over the edge, but then her anger had crumbled the moment she took in her girlfriend’s slumped posture, the way her hands trembled slightly in her lap. The fight in her drained away, replaced by a deep, aching worry.

Without a word, Aubrey knelt in front of her and wrapped her arms around her tightly. Her girlfriend stiffened for a moment before her shoulders sagged, and tears, born of frustration and weariness, spilled from her tired brown eyes.

“You scared the hell out of me,” Aubrey murmured against her temple, her voice breaking.

“I’m sorry,” came the hoarse reply.

“What did the doctor say?” Aubrey asked after a beat.

“Nothing yet. It’s been two hours since they checked me, so I guess that’s a good sign,” her girlfriend said, trying for humor, but the weak smile didn’t reach her eyes.

Aubrey frowned and brushed a stray strand of hair from her girlfriend’s face. “What made you come in today?”

Her girlfriend hesitated, looking down at her hands. “A coworker noticed I was struggling and told my supervisor. They basically forced me to come.”

Aubrey’s heart clenched at the thought of her being too stubborn—or scared—to seek help on her own. “I’m sorry that happened, baby.”

“It’s not your fault,” her girlfriend said softly, shaking her head.

Aubrey pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Still. I wish you’d told me sooner.”

“I didn’t want to worry you,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Aubrey sighed, her thumb tracing comforting circles over her girlfriend’s hand. “I’m going to talk to the nurse and see what’s going on.”

Her girlfriend grabbed her wrist, her grip surprisingly firm. “Please don’t make a scene. They’re doing their best.”

“I won’t, I promise,” Aubrey said with a small smile. “But I’m not just going to sit here while you suffer.”

She stood and approached the front desk, her patience already worn thin. “Excuse me,” she said, keeping her tone calm but firm. “My girlfriend’s been waiting for two hours with chest pain and trouble breathing. Is there any way to get an update?”

The nurse didn’t even glance up. “It takes time,” she said dismissively.

“I understand that,” Aubrey replied, clenching her jaw. “But is there any way to know how much time?”

Before the nurse could respond, a doctor appeared in the doorway, clipboard in hand. “Y/N?” she called out.

Relief washed over Aubrey as she hurried back to her girlfriend. “Come on,” she said gently, helping her to her feet.

They followed the doctor into an exam room, and Aubrey stayed close, her hand never leaving her girlfriend’s.

“After running several tests, we didn’t find anything concerning,” the doctor began, offering a reassuring smile. “Your heart and lungs are healthy, and your bloodwork came back normal.”

Aubrey’s girlfriend nodded slowly, her expression conflicted.

“So what’s causing this?” Aubrey asked, her tone carefully measured.

The doctor hesitated before answering. “It seems to be psychological—likely a panic attack.”

Aubrey’s girlfriend let out a bitter laugh. “Figures.”

“It’s more common than you think,” the doctor said gently. “There’s nothing physically wrong with you, which is good news. But I’d recommend following up with a therapist to explore potential triggers and coping strategies.”

“Right,” her girlfriend muttered as she stood, grabbing her bag. “So, I’m crazy. Got it.”

“You’re not crazy,” Aubrey said firmly, standing as well and pulling her into a hug. She held her close, one hand cradling the back of her head as her girlfriend let out a shaky breath against her shoulder.

“Thank you, doctor,” Aubrey said softly before leading her girlfriend out of the hospital.

The drive home was quiet, the radio turned off at her girlfriend’s request. When they reached Aubrey’s apartment—a place that had gradually become their shared home—they settled on the couch, the silence stretching between them.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Aubrey asked after a while. “No pressure, but… I’m here.”

Her girlfriend pulled her knees to her chest, resting her chin on them. “It’s just… stuff. Work’s been rough, and… other things too.”

“Other things?” Aubrey prompted gently.

Her girlfriend hesitated. “It started about five months ago.”

Aubrey froze. Five months ago—the same time the media had started dissecting their relationship, plastering their faces across magazines and social media.

Her girlfriend must have noticed the look on her face because she quickly added, “This isn’t your fault, Aubrey. Please don’t think that.”

Aubrey shook her head. “I should’ve protected you from all of that.”

“You couldn’t have. I chose this. I chose you,” her girlfriend said, her voice trembling. “And I’d choose you again. Every time.”

Aubrey pulled her into her arms, kissing her temple. “I’d choose you too. Always.” She paused, stroking her girlfriend’s hair. “But I think we need help—someone who can help us make sense of this.”

Her girlfriend looked up at her, confused.

“I’m talking about therapy,” Aubrey said gently. “For you, if you want it. And maybe for us. Together.”

Her girlfriend frowned. “You think we need couples therapy?”

“I think it’s worth trying,” Aubrey said honestly. “You were scared to tell me what you’ve been going through, and I can’t stop blaming myself for what you’ve been feeling. I don’t want either of us to carry that alone.”

Her girlfriend sighed, her shoulders slumping. “I’ll think about it,” she said quietly.

“That’s all I’m asking,” Aubrey said, kissing her hand.

After a moment, her girlfriend stood. “I need a bath. I feel gross.”

“Want company?” Aubrey offered with a small smile.

Her girlfriend nodded. “Yeah. I don’t want to be alone.”

Aubrey followed her into the bathroom, and they sank into the warm, bubble-filled tub together, with a book of y/n's choice as their worries temporarily melting away in the comfort of each other’s arms.

#anxitey #panic attack #fic writing #aubrey plaza x reader #aubrey plaza #rio vidal x reader #rio vidal #agathario #agatha x rio #agatha all along #agatha harkness x rio vidal #wlw

292 notes · View notes

xanaxiii · 9 months ago

Text

"WE WERE BORN TO DIE"

cw: ENGLISH ISN’T MY FIRST LANGUAGE! slightly smut, no use of y/n, pet names, dom/sub dynamic, mentions of death, bad health etc.

words: 1.6k

an: i fucking love old man logan. and im so fucking horny after rewatching this movie so. enjoy. ♡

Taking care of Logan was a difficult and tiring task. Despite the relationship you two had, he still felt that he couldn't let his guard down and allow himself to get any help. He considered it pointless...after all, his time would come to die too. Looking at how he used his last moments in this world, death was on his tail. It didn't move away even a step.

Unfortunately for Logan, you were stubborn and wouldn't let yourself watch your partner die day by day. Raised in a way that the act of helping those in need was the most important thing you could do, especially helping someone close to you, you helped him, ignoring Logan's protests. You helped him with the smallest things, trifles. Getting out of bed, getting dressed. Sometimes even washing.

When it came to the latter, Logan would have to be in a real state of intoxication at that point, because he would rather be renewing the X-men than letting anyone help him with such intimate matters.

It wasn't that he was ashamed. He just knew he couldn't afford something like that. He was dying, yes, but he had the strength to wash his dick, damn it.

And, despite his age, Logan still had a hell of a high libido. Maybe his movements weren't as fast and agile as they used to be, but now all he needed was a gentle touch. And your hands were gentle. They were downright angelic as they brushed over his rough, barely healed skin covered in scars and wounds.

That's why every time you helped him wash, it ended with sex. But Logan didn't always feel like it or have the time, so he avoided it like the plague. Ignoring the pain and the pure need for someone by his side. He could imagine how pathetic it would be to die in the middle of a bath, which made him think about the act with less and less pleasure every day.

Bright sunlight came through the window, blocked by thick curtains to illuminate the bedroom with its warm, bright rays. Logan turned over, mumbling something incomprehensible into the pillow. He lay exposed, his chest painfully rising and falling as he breathed, snoring softly and sighing. Strands of his gray hair brushed his forehead, his muscles tense even in his sleep. Which was no wonder, since he had been plagued by nightmares since he was a child. He sighed heavily, opening his blurry eyes, looking around the bedroom. He swallowed, feeling the dryness in his burning throat, and slowly sat up in bed. His feet hit the cold floor, his rough hands rubbed his tired face. His gray beard itched, and the heaviness in his heart made him want to leave it all behind long ago if he could.

But he couldn't do it. He wouldn't leave you. He wouldn't forgive himself for that.

The corners of his mouth moved as he heard the door creak open and your slow footsteps approaching him. He raised his head, meeting your gaze full of love and lust. It was amazing to him that despite his age, you still considered him the most attractive man on the planet.

“You woke up.” - your sweet voice, he heard it so often that he memorized what you sounded like. He replays it in his dreams, in his fantasies. With quick steps, you found yourself on the bed next to him, sliding onto his lap. You heard his quiet hiss of pain, for which you immediately apologized.

Your scent surrounded him. The new perfume he bought you turned out to be a success. The aroma of strawberries and vanilla took over his senses, so without holding back, he lowered his head and smelled you. You giggled, lifting your head to place a kiss on his temple.

Logan moved his large hands to your waist, kneading the soft skin, tugging at the silk material of your nightie.

You were so beautiful. The way you looked, the way you presented yourself. You were like an angel sent from heaven, to him, even though he didn't deserve it. Logan had become completely addicted to you. You worked on each other like the most wonderful drug, completely controlling each other.

"I woke up. I see you've become an early bird." - he whispered, his voice rough and deep, sending shivers down your spine. You wrapped your arms around his neck, brushing your fingers along his muscular back, digging your nails into it, scratching and teasing him. He removed his hands from your waist, grazing your wrists, pushing you away. His gaze was narrowed, but not angry.

"What? Don't you like it anymore, James?"

"Don't call me that…" - he mumbled, lowering his head, touching your heated skin with his cold lips. You were so smooth, so perfect. Logan decided that with each next approach, he would treat you like you were made of porcelain. He was afraid that if he squeezed you too hard, you would fall apart in his hands.

"…Why? That's your name, right?"

He shook his head, parting his lips to clamp his teeth on your neck. You sighed, leaning back a little to give him more space.

"No. I'm not who I was anymore, doll." - saying that, he began to place pleasantly painful kisses on your face. - with that, he began to press pleasantly painful kisses against your skin, forcing your wrists to grip his shoulders. He didn't let go of your hands, even though the urge to roam your body was incredibly tempting. But he wasn't in the mood for teasing this morning. No, he was in the mood for morning, bittersweet sex. You could feel his beard, tickling you as he moved his lips along your throat, biting, licking and soaking like an animal preparing to eat its prey.

"Mhm…" - you whispered, opening your plush, soft, pink lips, catching heavy breaths. The atmosphere in the room suddenly became deadly steamy, especially when Logan's lips found yours. He grabbed your lower lip, sucking, making it turn purple. His way of showing his love for you, despite how much he wished it would be different, was rather painful. But it didn't bother you. Why should it? You didn't mind any of the things your old man did.

Despite all his flaws, spite and whining, he was a really sweet man. You knew he cared about you. You knew because he did everything he could to show you as often as possible. Gifts, acts of kindness, how he would stay overtime to earn more for the two of you. It hurt your heart that he was sacrificing himself like that. You swore to yourself to protect him and take care of him so that he would never feel tired again.

But Logan was so damn stubborn. No matter what you told him, he would question it. It's not that he didn't believe you. He just thought that since he was definitely older than you, he knew better. Which, unfortunately, was often true.

When you broke the kiss, you looked at Logan with concern in your eyes. His eyes were closed, eyebrows narrowed. The wrinkles on his face were more visible than usual, his mouth slightly open as he drew air into his lungs. He was so beautiful. You could stare at him for hours.

You smiled softly, slowly grasping the hem of your thin nightgown with your fingers. You made eye contact with him until he moved to your naked body underneath. You couldn't count how many times this man had seen you in this vulnerable state, but every time he reacted as if it was the first time.

Your creamy skin, soft curves, it was everything he had ever wanted. You were like a canvas standing in the corner of the room, waiting for him to vent his emotions on you. He let go of your wrists, wrapping his arms around your waist to throw you under him.

He groaned, feeling a sudden pain in his knees. In moments like these, he simply forgot how sick and old he was. He hated it, hated how hard it was for him to do basic things, let alone catch up with you in all those intimate matters. But you obviously didn't mind.

Once he had you under him, he gently cupped your breasts, beginning to knead your flesh. Your erect, aroused nipples brushed against his open palm. He swallowed hard, looking up to meet your gaze. You slid your hand into his hair, scratching his scalp with your nails. He tilted his face down, feeling a shiver of excitement run through him, giving him the energy to continue.

Kneading your tits, his lips began to cover your body with sharp hickeys. After a moment, your neck, sternum, and stomach were covered in burgundy stains. You tightened your grip on the sheet beneath you with your other hand, wriggling and arching your back in a delicious way. Logan, which was rare, smiled, letting your hand tug on his hair as you tried to stop yourself from being dramatic and overreacting when he had barely done anything yet. He let go of your breasts, grabbing his leather belt on his pants. He wrapped his thick fingers around the large buckle, unfastening it, throwing it somewhere to the side. He couldn't get enough of the sight before him. You looked so good when you were all naked and marked by him. A reminder that you were only his. A reminder that he had something and someone to come back to.

He reached into the loops of his belt, twisting them until he finally stepped out of his black, suit pants, leaving them around his ankles. He was damn pleased that you were completely naked, left at his mercy. Waiting for every next move from him. When you bit your lower lip temptingly, wrapping a strand of his gray hair around your index finger, tugging on it, Logan realized that you were getting impatient.

"If you really love me, you'll wait, baby." - He mumbled, leaning down to meet your lips again, his hands sliding down his boxers. You sighed as you felt his cock against your thigh, bringing your other hand up to rest on his shoulder, knowing you would need physical support soon.

“Can you do it? Of course you can. You’re so beautiful. All mine.”- His words were drawn-out praise as he positioned himself over you. He looked into your eyes again, searching for any sign of worry or embarrassment, but the only thing that he see was devotion and desire.

His smile widened, causing his wrinkles in the areas of his mouth and eyes to deepen. So restless, so impatient. He had no reason to be surprised. He spent his days either at work or sleeping off because of nights full of nightmares. He pushed you away from him at every possible opportunity, without power for movement. But today was different. He woke up horny. And that was all he needed to be able to please his princess.

Because for you he would do anything, right?

"I need… I need you, Logan, please." - you whimpered, your sweet voice breaking as you narrowed your eyes, raising your altitude higher by listening to him. He let out a quiet laugh, deep and growling, straight from his irritated throat.

Ah. who was he to refuse you?

#xanaxiii writes 🦢#old man logan x reader #logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #logan 2017 #hugh jackman #old man logan #hugh jackman x reader #x men movies #james logan howlett #slightly suggestive #smut #x reader #fem reader #one shot #i need that old man #oh god.

169 notes · View notes

n1ght0f-nyx · 3 months ago

Text

six is a die.

poly 141 x reader

tags-minor suggestiveness cause im too lazy to write smut :P absolute shit but i needed to post, written in first person cause i wanted to experiment but i ended up regretting half way through oh well

word count-755

The quiet had settled like a soft blanket over the room. Lights dimmed. doors locked, Dishes washed, and now we were all gathered in the bedroom, bodies draped over the bed in various stages of tired.

I was curled between Gaz and Soap, still warm from the shower, hair damp and sticking to my neck. Gaz was trailing slow fingers up and down my spine, and Soap had one arm slung over my waist, his nose buried in my shoulder.

“M’never goin’ back to single life,” Soap mumbled against my skin, voice low and lazy. “This is heaven.”

Ghost stood at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, watching us with that unreadable stare. But I could see it—the way his eyes kept flicking to my bare thigh, the soft curve of Gaz’s hand on my hip, the way Soap kept shifting his leg just to press closer.

Price came in from the hall in nothing but sweatpants, towel still over his shoulders, and gave Ghost a knowing look. “They’re riled up.”

“Bit obvious,” Ghost muttered.

Price glanced down at me, lifted a brow. “That true, sweetheart?”

I didn’t answer with words. Just let my hand drift under the sheet, fingertips brushing up over Soap’s chest, feeling the way he twitched and let out a soft, breathy curse.

“Shit—”

Gaz let out a low chuckle and nipped at my ear. “Little tease.”

“Who said I was teasing?” I murmured, rolling over onto my back so all three of them could see the way my shirt clung to my chest. I wasn’t wearing much—just that loose, worn tee that belonged to Price and barely anything underneath.

“You gonna do something about it, or just look at me like that?” I asked, gaze flicking between Ghost and Price.

Price didn’t hesitate. He came over, hand gripping my chin gently as he leaned down, lips brushing mine. “You sure?”

I nodded, breath shallow. “All of you.”

Ghost finally moved, tugging off his shirt in one clean motion. Soap whistled low. “Christ, mate—warn us before you do that. I think my heart stopped.”

“Good,” Ghost muttered, climbing onto the bed behind me. “Don’t need you talking for this part.”

“Gonna make me shut up?” Soap teased, but his voice cracked a little when my hand slid down to his waistband.

“Oh, we’ll make you shut up,” Gaz grinned, shifting between my legs, hands firm on my thighs as he dipped his head and pressed a kiss just above my navel.

I gasped, arching under him, and suddenly the room felt hot—body against body, mouth against skin, and the weight of them, all of them, surrounding me.

They didn’t rush.

That was the thing about being loved by four soldiers who knew pain and pressure and control. They worshipped slowly. Reverently.

Price’s hand held mine the whole time, murmuring praise between kisses. Soap tangled his fingers in my hair and whispered filth in my ear between breathless laughter. Gaz explored me like he hadn’t already memorized every inch, like I was brand new every time. And Ghost—God, Ghost—he was quiet but intentional, lips against my throat, hands stroking down my hips, voice low and rough when he finally spoke.

“Look at you,” he whispered. “So fucking perfect… and you’re ours.”

Ours.

That word echoed through me harder than any touch. It was always “ours.” Never possession. Never control. Just... belonging.

I’d never felt more safe, more desired, more seen.

Their bodies moved with mine, against mine, like music—no jealousy, no ego, just heat and mouths and hands everywhere. It didn’t matter who kissed me next, who touched what, who made who moan. It all bled together in sensation and want and love.

Later—sweaty, spent, tangled in limbs and the wreckage of our shared hunger—I laid across Price’s chest, Ghost spooning me from behind, Soap draped over my thigh like a clingy cat, and Gaz tucked up under my arm, lips still brushing kisses to my collarbone.

“Worth it?” Price murmured into my hair.

I smiled, a little dazed. “More than worth it.”

Soap hummed. “Y’realize this means you’re stuck with us. Forever. Even if we fight over who finishes the last biscuit.”

“Even if you snore like a chainsaw,” Gaz added.

“Even if you forget to do laundry again,” Ghost rumbled.

I looked at each of them, hearts bared and bodies close.

“Then I guess I’m the luckiest person alive.”

Price chuckled, low and warm. “No. We are.”

132 notes · View notes

jerrysghostwriter · 3 months ago

Text

Exhaustions Reward

(was gonna name this ‘Home Coming’ ifykyk)

Request from @blurry-rep

Nsfw/ mdni

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

You heard the keys jumbling in the door just as you set the plates of food on the table, you turn and a big smile made its across your face as u ran towards the door jumping onto him as he walked in and wrapping your arms around him, though you quickly deflated loosening your grip when he didnt move to hug you back, no "Ive missed you”, no brushing his hands through your hair as he usually did.. just a slumped sigh leaving his mouth.

As you let go to look at him you noticed how exhausted he looked, like a hollowed shell of the man you love, it worried you but he just looked down, not uttering a single word.

“Darling whats wrong?” You asked gently cupping his face so he’d look at you

“Nothing dear” he replied sounding a bit annoyed shaking your hands off of him as he moved to put his bags away

He barely ate the dinner you prepared, choosing to take it to the patio outside rather than eat at the table with you, causing a pain to start in your chest, you barely ate yourself , fiddling with your fork as the nagging little voice inside your head went on and on

“Did I do something wrong?”

“Was there someone else while he was on tour?”

“Why isnt he happy to be back?”

Over and over it went pain staking thoughts filling your mind until eventually you could no longer take it, how he seemed to keep you at arms length hardly ever looking in your direction, giving the shortest of answers and brush offs when you spoke. You found him a little later, after contemplating everything you could say, yet most of which fled your thoughts as you saw he was just sitting at the desk, staring out the window as if something of utmost importance was in front of him

“..Ves?” You asked slowly moving towards him, hesitant to even bring this up

No response

Utter silence

It began to anger you, what is it you could have done when he had been away?? Why couldnt he even look at you with the love and adoration he always had before?

“ Ves, what did i do? Have I done something to upset you?” Your voice had gone raw from the emotion, nearly choking up in your throat, coming out as a hoarse and pained whisper , at that he turned to you, sluggishly but with the most stunned expression you had ever seen on him

“What? Why would you think such a thing?” He rasped , eyebrows drawn together, that reaction and expression seemed to draw the previous anger out of you leaving you feeling just empty and alone.

“You have hardly spoken to me or even looked at me.. i thought maybe id done something, said something to make you regret coming ho-“ you tried to explain but effectively cut yourself off when you start to ramble, feeling your voice become thick with emotion, your eyes stinging with unshed tears

“Stop” he interrupted gently, reaching to grab both your hands in his own pulling you closer towards him, looking up at you as he sat on the edge of the chair

His hands rough after years of abuse from his music, but warm as they brushed over your hands in a sweeping motion, he seemed to try and gather his words, his eyes holding fear, pleading to you, as if he was afraid you wouldn't believe him, that you were actually angry with him

“ you hadnt done anything wrong love, its just the tour took all my energy, im exhausted and was so ready to get home but im all burnt out, all i wanted to do was come home and be with you”

“ you dont look like you want to be here with me..” you murmured looking down at where your hands connected rather than looking him in the eye, a single tear rolling down your cheek that he gently lifted his hand to catch, then grabbing your chin between his fingers to bring your gaze to his face

“Im just so tired, emotionally, but not of you, never of you” he said willing you to believe it “i just need a moment to feel human again” his voice almost begging

At his confession you felt horrible for pushing him, but he seemed to have other plans for you rather than wallowing in your guilt.

“ Can i show you how much ive truly missed you? Please love”

You nodded your head knowing he needed this, at that he stood and shifted closer, pulling you in by your hips as he brushed his lips over yours, once you reciprocated the kisses deepened , not rushed but needy, kissing him like you need him to breath and him kissing you as if he was starved, small whimpers leaving your lips as his hand left your waist sliding up to the nape your neck and into you hair

Slowly and without letting each other go you moved backwards to the bed , choosing to take charge that he willingly gave, you turned him around so you could straddle him, once you sat you broke the kiss to start down nipping at his jaw, you could feel his member growing more prominent, pressing against your core causing you to yank his head back by his hair making him reveal his neck to you, his thick veins so inviting

before going any further you relieve him of his shirt and leave small trails of bites and soft kisses at his ears and collar bone, whispering praises at the soft gasps and whines he let out, you didnt want to rush, he had been pulled in so many directions over the past few months, you just wanted him to let go, to feel human.

“Let me do the work pet” you say, willing him to get out of his head

Your kisses get wetter as you continued down, paying attention to his chest, leaving hickeys and love bites to remind him of this later on, pushing him to lie back you move to his nipples taking one into your mouth causing him to let out a loud moan, he quickly turned away embarrassed, a slight blush framing his cheeks, “always so responsive” you tease while working over his abs with sloppy open mouthed kisses

you decided to move down to make work of his belt, continuing your kisses from his stomach down to his waistline you stopped to look up at him slowly pulling him out, giving him a firm tug, his weight heavy in your hand

“You okay darling?” You ask with a slight smirk on your face seeing him struggling slightly

He nodded and gasped as you stroked him once more before making your way back up from the floor and into his lap, stopping to strip yourself of your own clothes as you went , looking him in the eye you slowly line yourself with the tip of his cock, holding your weight with your hands on his chest as you slid down his length, vessel screwed his eyes shut, tipping his head back and letting out a strangled groan “you feel incredible” he rasped out his hands flying to your hips to steady himself , digging in with enough force to bruise

Once adjusted to his size you rocked your hips back and forth , his own hands encouraging you to move, words of adoration coming from his hushed voice as you gained a rhythm that had the both of you slicked in sweat, the only sounds heard were those of your moans and gasps, your name left his mouth over and over like a plea

You both move in tandem with one another, moving to put your face in the crook of his neck you could feel your hearts beating to the same rhythm , your breaths matching one another, you felt the coil of pleasure building low in your stomach, threatening to snap at any moment, but you want him to cum first, you want to be the one taking care of him

“Let go for me my love” you softly whisper in his ear, soon after the words left your mouth he came with a choked moan, you can feel him filling you completely, his body shaking underneath yours as you soon followed him grinding down into him riding out the aftershocks of your own release , his arms came to wrap around you tightly, he turned his face burying it in you hair and neck

“You really do make me feel human again” he murmured with a hoarse voice “ thank you” he finishes pulling you closer into him

"I will always be here to make you feel human, and….. to make you cum" You cackle out never being one well with serious moments quickly kissing his forehead, basking in the warmth of his arms before you rolled off of him causing him to pout giving you his best puppy dog eyes so you would come back

You tilt your head at him slightly raising your eyebrow "well I was gonna invite you to join me in my shower, butttt considering that frown of yours I guess you don't want to" his brows quickly shot up to his forehead and he raced off the bed almost busting his ass in the process, tumbling into the bathroom turning to me with an expectant look "well? Are you coming?" I smirk "oh I will be"

#sleep token #vessel x reader #vessel x you #sleep token fanfiction #sleeptokenff #fanfic #vessel fanfiction #sleep token smut #sleep token fic #vessel smut

89 notes · View notes