#my shoulder hurts from how I had to sit and my eye is itching and I had to skip breakfast for it

[tarantula-hawk-wasp]

Unironically i love managing things and being in charge like yes let me be in control rather than someone else

[reidrum]

exile

note: happy december i hope ur all doing well <3 a little something to hold u over until next friday when i start 12 days of reidrumas ok love u

summary: in which you and JJ are the ones held hostage in truth or dare

cw: spoilers for 14x15 truth or dare, hurt/comfort, angst, fem!reader, a heated makeout, reader wears a dress and heels, take a shot everytime reader tears up

wc: 3.6k

p.s. i am a glutton for praise if you couldn't tell from any of my fics but i love hearing what y'all think so plsplspls lemme know your thoughts in a comment or drop in my ask box!!!!

You’re not really sure where it went wrong.

When you joined JJ to pursue Casey, it was out of convenience. You both were simply closer to his last location. No one could’ve predicted he’d take you both hostage or make you play a twisted game of truth or dare at gunpoint.

No one could have predicted that Casey would force you and JJ to reveal details that hadn’t seen the light of day. He didn’t even care for those secrets, egging you both on to reveal something that would satisfy his masochistic itch. When he realizes that neither of you would break, he ups the ante by angling the gun to the middle of your head. JJ panics and speaks before she can even process what she said.

Because as you’re staring down the barrel of the gun clocked at your forehead, you realize the bullet isn’t inside the cylinder, it’s in JJ’s next words.

I’ve always loved Spencer.

You look at her mouth agape, blood draining from your face and tears springing to your eyes. She returns your gaze with one full of remorse and pity. To any onlooker, it would seem like a harmless confession. But they didn’t know the times you confided in JJ about your feelings for Spencer, the late nights at the office she’d stay with you giving advice and words of wisdom, when all JJ wanted was for her friend to be happy.

But now, how much of that can you believe to be true?

Casey seems to be satisfied with your reaction as he lowers his gun, with you reacting quickly grabbing your hidden second pistol and gunning him down. The only audible noise left is the heavy breathing of you both, the adrenaline rush starting to fade. JJ says your name remorsefully, but she’s interrupted by the rest of the team and police arriving to the scene.

The next thing you remember is sitting outside on the back of an ambulance rig, blankly staring out at your new reality. JJ loves Spencer.

You couldn’t compete, how could you? She was JJ. and you were, you. You had lost before you even began, you might as well toss the towel now.

It makes hugging Spence for what could be the last time—not to be dramatic—bittersweet. To know that this is an insignificantly normal moment he won’t remember, but one that you’ll play on repeat for the rest of your life.

Spencer holds you close into his chest with his arm smoothing out your back, “Thank god you’re okay, are you hurt?”

You scoff internally. Yes, but not in a way that can be fixed. In a way that you are not privy to yet, but once you are it will rip us to shreds.

“I’m fine, just a few scratches.”

He nods while examining you with his own mental checklist, “Okay, if your head starts hurting or your vision gets blurry you need to tell the EMT.” you nod as he adds on, “I’m gonna go check on JJ, you’ll be okay?”

No, no I won’t. There is no reality that exists where I can be okay anymore.

“I’m good. Go.”

He squeezes your shoulders and with another nod he walks over to where JJ rests on another ambulance rig, her arms instantly opening to welcome Spencer’s warm embrace. His back is facing you and JJ’s face rests over his shoulder, her eyes meeting yours in a look of sadness, grief. You look away before you can read more into it.

Wrapping the foil blanket around you tighter you let your head fall back and stare at the night sky, hoping there was a message out in the stars that would tell you what to do.

Your relationship with Spencer was, on the surface, nothing more than a friendship. He had joined the BAU only a year prior to you and when you came along it was clear from the first second that you two would be inseparable. Small talks in the bullpen quickly turned into mornings spent at the coffee shop, into weekly movie nights debating the superior science fiction franchise, to holding his hand when he needed a friend.

To Spencer, you were his anchor. Through all the trials and tribulations his life had dealt him, he knew he didn’t need to worry so much as long as you were around.

To you, Spencer was all consuming. He was threaded through every neuron and vessel in your body, intricately and impossibly tethered to you that it would take the work of the divine to painfully separate him from you.

Or, one Jennifer Jaraeu.

You don’t even realize tears are falling down your face until the EMT taps your shoulder and asks if anything has started to hurt again. Quickly shaking your head, you unravel yourself from the foil blanket and hand it back to her. You spare one last glance back at Spencer and JJ, eyes immediately zeroing on their joined hands, his thumb gently brushing the top of hers.

Your feet trudge you back to where the team is set up, one look to Emily and she’s already excusing herself from her conversation. She walks over to you phone up to her ear, saying something about you. You’re not really sure, it’s all water noise.

“Anderson will be here in about five minutes to take you home,”

You nod silently, not willing to make eye contact. Emily could sense your turmoil from a mile away, chalk it up to the Pisces moon in her but behind the hard exterior she put up there lay Emily, your empathetic friend who just wanted to hug your shattered pieces back together.

“You’ll be okay?” The second time you’ve been asked, your answer is still unchanged.

No. “Yeah.”

She sighs knowingly. The reason the two of you were such close friends was because of your similar ability to remain emotionally bottled up until it was too late, resulting in an outburst enough to take out armies and yourselves.

Anderson honks the car as he pulls up, alerting you of his arrival. Emily looks from the car back to you,  “I should go check on JJ.”

“Woman of the hour, it seems.” you chuckle under your breath.

Emily gives you that look, the conflicted ‘I’m sorry our friend made you feel this way, I still have to check on her.” look.

You brush her off, your casualness hopefully sending the message that the situation isn’t that deep. For her, you think.

The sound of the car unlocking rings through your ear as you hop in the passenger seat. Anderson tries to make small talk with you to no success, settling for the late night 00s radio station as he pulls up to your house, driving off as you bid him goodnight with a wave.

The breeze of your empty apartment greets you as you open the door, the air chillier than you’d expect for the season. You tug your shoes off harshly, placing your keys on the mail table next to the door. Your heart drops as you catch sight of a floral embossed card lying on top of your mail on the table.

Rossi’s wedding.

The one you were told to absolutely prioritize, the one in which JJ had helped you find a dress for, the one where you hoped you’d feel brave enough to tell Spencer how you truly felt.

You sigh deeply knowing you still had to show up and look presentable tomorrow despite being held hostage only 24 hours prior. But, maybe this is how you make a clean break. All this time you’ve been in love with Spencer and nothing has happened, despite all the signs you think you’re giving him. Maybe this is the opportunity to save Spencer from further tension, albeit unknown to him at this point, and let him finally be happy.

You knew about the Redskins game, how excited he was to go with JJ and yet it turned into something he hadn’t anticipated. You were new to the BAU at the time but your heart still ached for him, unable to understand how anyone would pass up on someone so special like Spencer Reid. It seems she’s finally come to her senses.

You take your dead phone out of your pocket to place it on the charger and you head into the bathroom to take a quick shower. The hot water loosens your tense muscles enough to prick tears in the back of your eyes, and you turn off the water before you can get too worked up. Once you’ve dried off you check on your phone on the bedside table seeing it’s turned back on, a flurry of missed texts and calls showing up.

11:14PM - Emily: Get home safe?

You heart the message and reply with a simple ‘Yes.’, scrolling to the next messages.

10:09PM - JJ:  Did you get home? 10:10PM - Missed Call from JJ 10:15PM - (2) Missed Calls from JJ 10:24PM - JJ:  I’m sorry, please let me explain. 10:25PM - Missed Call from JJ

You consider leaving her on read, not willing to entertain a conversation at this point, but you settle for an ‘It’s fine.’ for the sake of having communicated your safety.

10:13PM - Spence: Hey, where are you? 10:20PM - Spence: The EMT said you took off? Did you leave? 11:34PM - Spence: Emily just told me Anderson drove you back. You could’ve told me, I would have taken you home.

Your chuckle sadly at the text, Spencer hated driving but he would do it for you. It almost makes you think that your relationship could withstand the harsh weathering it’s been subjected to.

12:07AM - You: Sorry, phone died. I’m home now.

A response dings through a minute later.

12:08AM - Spence: I’ll go to the store tomorrow and get you a portable charger to keep in your bag. You should get some rest, I’ll see you tomorrow for the wedding right? Well, the wedding that’s today seeing as it’s past midnight. You know what I mean.

A single tear falls down your face at his rambling words. Oh, how you’d miss this once he learns what’s really happened.

12:10AM - You: I’ll be there. See you tomorrow, or today? You know what I mean. Good night.

12:11AM - Spence: Good night :)

—

You smooth out your dress before going up the steps, making eyes with Penelope at the top. You’re wearing a silk chiffon dress in purple, deliberately picked for Spencer’s favorite color, some strappy heels and some dainty jewelry painting you in as the picture of elegance.

“Hey hot stuff, look at you!” Penelope exclaims squeezing you tightly, “You look sooo pretty, doesn’t she look so pretty?” she gestures to the two men behind her you now acknowledge to be Luke and Spencer.

“Like a dream.” Luke agrees.

“Yeah,” Spencer clears his throat, “You look…beautiful.”

Penelope the Oracle of All Time quickly senses the 

atmosphere created and grabs Luke’s forearm, “Come on, you owe me that dance now!” She looks back and slyly gives you a thumbs up before dragging Luke further onto the dance floor.

Spencer slips into the vacated space to be right next to you, “How are you feeling?”

You know he’s asking about how you were held hostage at gunpoint, and not about how he’s about to become the loss of your life.

“ ‘M fine,” you swirl your champagne glass, “You?”

“Better now.”

A ghost of a smile creeps up on you, but you don’t let it travel further than that. He’s just being nice.

“Well, I’m just going to find the bathroom really quick.”

He holds a hand out for your glass, “Here, I’ll hold it.”

Your smile returns with bearings this time as you wander off in search of the bathroom. You’d feel embarrassed by how long it took you to find it but this place was massive, the Rossi money ran deep. Retracing your steps back to the main room you find Spencer and your glass not in the same place he was when you left. You scan the room looking for him and finally find him deep in conversation with—oh.

They’re too far for you to be able to hear them, but you can imagine that it’s the conversation. You watch JJ squeeze his forearm with affection and suddenly you can’t take it anymore. You couldn’t stand there and watch yourself become collateral in real time. Spencer turns at the sound of rustling up the spiral staircase followed by a door closing, catching the last glimpse of purple before it vanishes.

Spencer feels sick. He’s overwhelmed and overstimulated at the new information he’s learned about what really happened in the gas station. Then he comes to the realization of how walking in on him and JJ talking must have made you feel. His feet are carrying him up the stairs before he even realizes he’s made the choice. 

He finds you at the end of the hallway and calls out your name with a firmness you’d never heard from him. But you’ve cut all the strings of sanity by now, and you whip around and snap, “What?”

He doesn’t like that tone. “JJ told me what happened.”

You snort and don’t meet his eyes, “Oh, did she?”

His brows furrow, “Yes, she did.”

“And?”

“And what?”

And what? Is he serious? Did you have to spell it out for him? It borderlines sadist the way he’s putting you through the ringer.

“What happens now, Spencer?” you exasperate, “Is this the part where you tell me we can’t be friends anymore because she finally confessed?”

Confusion colors his face more, “Why wouldn’t we be friends?”

A halfway scream—groan leaves your throat in frustration. “Spencer, come on.”

“Honey, I don’t understand—“

“That! See, you can’t just say things like that knowing what has to happen, and expect me to react like a normal person.” you exclaim with hands flailing.

“I’m really confused—“

“Because I’m in love with you!” you cry, “Now do you see why?”

Time all but stills in the hallway you’ve found yourselves in. You don’t know how long you’ve been up here. It’s a little farther down from the stairways so there’s no threat of evesdroppers, but with how worked up you’re getting the proximity renders itself useless. The faint muffle of animated conversations and lively jazz music fills the silence between you and Spencer, who looks like…well, actually for once you can’t decipher what he’s feeling. 

He looks like he’s about to open his mouth when you both turn your head to the ascending footsteps—JJ looking for you, or Spencer probably, to come cut the cake. Spencer darts his eyes between the walls, a nervous tic you’d caught on to, before you realize he’s looking for a door and pulling you inside one. You yelp at the unexpected force and quickly quiet down again. The light switches on and based on the furniture you conclude that it’s a powder room, because of course Rossi’s venue has a powder room.

It’s a tiny room, big enough for a vanity table and a chaise lounge. Small enough to not have any room to leave without going past him. You stand an arm’s length away from him, the faint muffles of talk and music replaced by your sniffling. You shouldn’t have come, you start to realize. Having to say goodbye to him in person might actually rip you apart. Your chest weighs heavy with that familiar sad irony of mourning someone who hasn’t even told you they’re leaving yet. Preemptive measures that turned into routine practice. 

You sniffle, “Look, it doesn’t matter anymore, not that it ever did. I’m sorry I just sprung it on you like that, that was unfair. JJ…I thought JJ was my friend, I guess she is still but I’m not too sure now. But…she’s JJ and I’m just me and I know both of your pasts with each other so obviously it would be her. I’m making this too big a deal, I think. I just want you to be happy, in whatever capacity that looks like and I know it’s not with me so—“

Spencer stops your rambling by silently reaching out for your arm to pull you right in front of him, his hands reach to cup your face up to his, thumbs naturally swiping away the tears. He says your name like a coo, with a softness and delicacy you don’t feel you deserve right now. It hurts your heart entirely.

“Please don’t make this harder than it is.” you whisper through soft sobs.

You don’t know when it happens. Maybe in between scrunching your eyes or staring at your feet—but it happens. A cold pressure, then warmth, his lips are warm when he kisses you. A little surprising that he still tastes like Penelope’s sugary mocktail from earlier. A welcome pressure on your face as he holds you in place, as if you’d slip away further if he let go.

He stills in place, thinking he’s overstepped, until you finally remember that his lips are on your lips. You return the force back with as much as he gave you and let your arms loop around his neck, his own sliding from your face to take purchase on your hips.

That’s when Spencer starts kissing you. His hands grip your hips and tug you even closer as he deepens the kiss, plunging deeper back into the plush of your thighs to sit you on top of the vanity table. He slots himself between your legs, your hands wandering up to tug at the hairs on the nape of his neck. A soft groan leaves his throat and he detaches from your lips to amble down your neck, leaving a trail of lovebites in its wake.

This is wrong, like so wrong. You’re practically opening a salt box and pouring its entire contents on your wounds. But dammit, if this is the only time you’ll ever get to kiss Spencer, you’re sure as hell going to make the most out of the fleeting moment.

He mumbles something in between kisses to your neck, you instinctively ask him to say it again not expecting a response, and you immediately regret it as you feel his presence get lighter as he pulls away.

One more kiss to the spot behind your ear, he feels you preening below him and makes note of this—amongst everything else—for later, he pulls back to meet your eyes again.

“I love you.”

Your face drops, “That’s not funny.”

“I’m not being funny.”

Yes he is, he has to be. Because the universe in which Spencer Reid allows a piece of—the whole of it according to him, unbeknownst to you—his heart to be fully yours is not this one. You’ve never had luck like that.

“Then you’re lying to me, and that’s worse.” your voice cracks, Spencer feels the same crack imprinted on his heart.

“Sweetheart, I’m not lying. I love you.” He says it again to your surprise, the tenderness of his touch returning as he deliberates how to disarm you. The defensiveness you have isn’t surprising to him, it’s the note of insecurity in your tone he isn’t ready for, like you are unable to even believe it could be you. 

You’re a dandelion, he thinks, the puffballs teetering attachment to their base with one wrong move sending them astray into the wind. He’s wading treacherous weather but he finds that for you he’d do anything and everything eyes closed if he had to.

“…Really?” you ask meekly. He nods slowly, never breaking his gaze on you. “But…JJ.”

His eyes soften and he nods in understanding, “There was a point in my life where, yes that was all I was waiting to hear,” he starts, “But, I am no longer at that point in my life anymore. I’m here now. She knows that.”

You’re unconvinced, Spencer can see it clear as day. Maybe it’s more apprehensive than unconvinced, but no one could blame you. How are you to believe anything when you went through what you did in the last 24 hours? You look defeated if anything, like you’d accepted your fate of always coming second place.

Spencer racks his brain hard trying to think of a way to show you that the podium doesn’t even exist, it’s only ever been you.

He pulls out his wallet and rifles through the many things inside, finding what he’s looking for before handing it to you. You look up at him in confusion when you make it out to be a movie ticket stub from the Korean film festival you’d both attended a little after you started at the BAU, the first time the two of you ever spent time together. The edges are soft and smoothed out as a result of time, like it’s been held and comforted for many days.

“There’s more in my apartment.”

“Movie ticket stubs?” you ask bemused.

“Commemorations of you,” his fingers brush the span of your arm up and down soothingly, “I probably have something for every time we’ve ever hung out. If it reminds me of you, I have it.”

Tears well up in your eyes for the umpteenth time, a few spilling over rapidly.

“Hey no, you’re not supposed to cry at that.” he whispers softly between you, his thumb taking the rightful and familiar place under your eye to catch the tears.

You shake your head, “I don’t think I’ve ever been loved like this.”

His heart tightens, “No? Well, I think you have to get used to it now.”

“No choice?” you pout.

He catches the timbre of humor in your voice and smiles widely. He hugs you tightly, pressing your head into his chest, “I guess you don’t have to. Just because you’re not used to it doesn’t mean I’ll stop. If you’re like this now, wait till you see the box I have of our things.”

You sniffle again, your head reeling as your tears stain his shirt and the scent of him invades your being. It’s overwhelming and all consuming, just how you know Spencer to be. He doesn’t expect you to believe him right away, you’ve been through so much that it would be unfair to ask that of you. You don’t know what tomorrow holds, or even the rest of this night, but one thing you have learned is that to Spencer you are known, and therefore you are loved.

[hoshigray]

Hey 🫶🏻 Can I request having sex with Sukuna when he is extremely jealous? Like reader is kinda popular and other guys always tryna flirt with her and shit (she is not interested ofc) So when Sukuna saw another man shooting his shot he needs to blow off steam by fucking you dumb 🤕 and he saying shit like “what a good little cocksucker, maybe I should record you and send this video to all those bastards, so they would know who’s dick you’re gagging on” 😭 I’m so sorry if this is too specific, feel free to ignore 😭

Love your works 🥰

𝐚. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: ofc ofccc !! and ty for loving my stuff~

⊹ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Sukuna x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - modern setting; you and Sukuna are college seniors - rough sex - fingering (f! receiving) - impact play (spanking + pussy slaps) - oral (m! receiving) - dumbification - choking - backshots + legs-up positions - degradation (cocksucker, dumb bitch, slut, whore) - overstimulation - clitoral play (pinching and swiping) - pet names (dove, little girl, princess, woman) - possessive behavior (it's sukuna, duh) - use of a phone; sexual photography and videography - heavy depictions of a blowjob - mention of tears and spit.

⊹ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.5k

“—Khaahh, oohhh!! Sukuna, pleasee, it hurts—Ahhhnn...!”

“Who said you’re in any position to tell me how to handle you, woman?… Fucking shit, you’re tight as hell…”

Everyone knows that you are off-limits. Knowledge of this fact is the bare minimum when dealing with the one known as “Sukuna’s girl” — no one should dare lay a finger or bat an eye on his woman. And yet, somehow, Sukuna continues to find strays that think this rule doesn’t apply to all. 

He saw it not too long ago today when a guy came your direction at the hall, concealing himself in the shadows to eavesdrop. The junior was dumb enough to invite you to some get-together, foolish enough to think he should even be speaking to the partner of the cold and intimidating Ryōmen Sukuna. 

You were the most popular girl in the class year — expected as Sukuna wouldn’t deal with someone who wasn’t [barely] on equal footing as him. However, unlike him, you carried a much kinder cadence. You greet others with sweet words, converse with professors in a mutual light, and engage with everyone with a compassionate and tranquil soul. — the complete opposite compared to your boyfriend. So, of course, it would be hard for you to turn away people when they come to you for guidance or opinions. 

In this case, you had expressed to the junior that you weren’t interested and had plans to study at your boyfriend’s apartment later. It wasn’t a complete lie, yet a respectful diversion that was expected of you and pleased Sukuna observing.

However, the dull-witted brat put his hand on your shoulder and continued to press on, emphasizing that you’d miss out on people wanting to have a good time with you. A ballsy thing to remark as if saying your boyfriend holds no priority over some boring party. Besides, the man had to stop the itch of coming out of the shadows to strangle the kid for laying his hands on you.

Nonetheless, you gracefully pushed his hand aside and apologized again for declining his offer before heading on your way. The situation was disentangled, both parties carrying on with their days. But that wasn’t enough to calm the salmon-haired man. 

Especially when you were in his apartment, protected under his gaze the entire time; you were sitting across from him at the coffee table while sorting through your coursework, unaware of the fixed look of his red eyes on your frame. Because all he could do was look at you, replaying the interaction from earlier today. 

It all angered him deeply — how the junior said your name so casually, the laughs you shared with him, and the touch on your shoulder. Everything from that moment added fuel to the fire scorching in his gut. He couldn’t relax, knowing there were still imbeciles who had the gall to act so familiar with you, his princess. 

The twitch of his brow couldn’t cease, same with the bounce of his knee – his nerves having an inner battle of maintaining a low profile. And being the caring piece in this relationship, you noticed. You blinked up to where he sat, “Is everything okay?” 

Of course not, woman. As much as he wants to put all the blame on the guy, Sukuna felt that you also played a part in this charade. To him, you were just as worse as that fucker. How could you, his precious dove, allow such trash to be so close to you? Allowing that thing to touch you was such an insult to him, downright disrespectful to the man you call your boyfriend. And the fact that you didn’t think of telling him — believing that you could keep this as a small matter insignificant to his awareness — left a sour taste in his mouth.

In his philosophy, Sukuna knew you were in the wrong as well. And for that, you would also have to be dealt with by him, to be reminded of your place in all this.

“Ohoooo! Ooof!! ‘kunaaaa, your fingersss…! Too fast, please slow—Daaahhh!!”

He’d smack your wet cunt, forcing you to grip his satin sheets. You’d instantly try to close your legs, but Sukuna wasn’t having any of that, quick to pinch the skin of your inner thigh to correct you. 

“Dumb bitch,” he throws insults, void of caring that you were on the brink of tears. He brings a hand to your throat, resulting in you gagging from your circulation being cut off. “I told you to keep those legs open. First, you let some fucker touch you, and now you can’t obey me when necessary? Do you enjoy disrespecting me like this?”

“Ahck! I–hic–I’m sorryyy,” he could feel you clench on his fingers, gripping them as if you refused to let them go.

It humored Sukuna, who effortlessly removed his digits to give your slit another harsh slap that made you gasp for air. An action proved difficult with his whole right hand constricting your airways. “Are you? How can you be sorry when you’re latching onto my fingers like a slut?” His hold on your neck goes tighter; your hands claw at his forearm, a desperate plea that doesn’t sway him. “Say it like you mean it, Y/n.”

“Khh..Ahh—Please, forgive me, Sukuna…!” Your apology came through wheezes, tears now welling up to fall on your pretty face, yet you knew it wasn��t enough. “I should have…Never let that junior tou—Mmmph! …Touch me… I’m your princess, only yours.”

A pink brow is lifted, but his expression remains unchanged. With one last slap to your leaking chasm, Sukuna lets go of your throat for you to cough and gasp as much air as you can. While you do that, he removes his turtleneck and unbuttons his dark jeans, bringing his briefs down to spring his erection out before lying back onto the pillows against the bed headboard. “Prove it then,” his voice has you turn to listen. “Suck me off the way I like it.” 

You are in no position to resent him, crawling towards him on all fours and immediately going to work. Your tongue greets his reddish-pink glans with swirls, licking his frenulum and nibbling on the skin before taking the head to your mouth. You lather his cock with your spit as you bob your head, hallowing your cheeks to take in every inch while your hand glides up and down his shaft. 

“Nnmph, fuck,” Sukuna groans at the feeling of your feverish sucks of his cockhead, your hand stroking him while you tend to him with your mouth feels too good. He peers down to watch you suck hard on his tip, and you return his gaze with a hooded look while sucking on his balls, causing him to hum. You then bring the tip back into your lips, making raunchy noises as you take his girth and lick his precum. 

“Heh, what a nasty little girl,” he comments after you exude a trail of spit onto his dick before hurriedly slurping him back inside your warm mouth. “I outta take a picture of you…No, a video is better.” He’s pleased to see your watery eyes twinkle with dread when he pulls out his phone from his jean pocket. He slides to open the camera application, “Maybe I should show that fool how such a good cocksucker you are for me.”

“S–Sukuna, please, anything but—Mmmm!” Again, no one said you were in a position to speak out of turn. Hence why, your boyfriend grabs your cheeks roughly with a single hand. Crimson eyes pierce through your fragile skin, and your figure fills with fright within milliseconds. 

“What did I say about giving me orders?” His tone is enough to send shivers down your spine, his nails denting your cheeks. “Does my woman want me to expose them for the filthy whore they are? Cause I couldn’t care less if I one day start leaking these shits and have your reputation crumble in seconds as a lesson.”

A tiny bit of you wants to believe he wasn’t serious; however, the single tear shed from your unblinking eyes tells a different conscience. You reply with a shaky breath and a quivering lip. “No, Sukuna...Please forgive me.”

He releases your chin with a push of the thumb. “Then get back to it, dove.” The sweetness of that pet name wasn’t present as he smacked your cheek with his length. You listen to him, taking him back into your throat with a euphoric mewl while cupping and kneading his balls. He sneers and presses the record button, “Just like that, princess.”

And don’t think that it ends there — because it doesn’t. 

“Ahhhnn! Oooooh, my God, ‘Kuna..’kunaaaa, I can’t—Ahahnn!”

“—Nngh, that’s right, Y/n; scream for me…Fuck, this tight ass pussy…”

Sukuna now has your face down ass up, pinning you to the satin mattress by the shoulders and hammering his bare cock right into your messy cunt. Your cries are muffled by the sheets you bite into, tears streaming down hot cheeks as your boyfriend plows himself deep side your core. The commotion coming between your sexes fills his bedroom outside of the squeals that bounce against the walls.

Your figure jolts with every thrust, Sukuna’s pelvis smacking on your ass that stings with hot skin after taking onslaughts of slaps from his hands. Your clitoris, exhausted from the constant tweaks and pinches, rests with the cool air treating the sore button. Sweat is covered all over your nude body, evidence that you and your boyfriend have been going about this for a long while, and of course, you’re getting a bit fatigued and overly sensitive to his every touch. But you know he doesn’t care; this is all for your punishment.

Sukuna throws your butt another smack, having your vaginal walls instinctively contract around his girth. He hisses with a grin, “Damn, I love seein’ you like this.” His eyes trail down from your sweaty shoulders, following your spine and hips, down to your ass, where he sees the insertion of his dick being swallowed by you. Seeing the white, soapy ring shielded around his cock makes him bite his lip. “All sore and dirty for me…Mmmph, gripping on me like a slut, going dumb on my cock.”

His hips then propel erratically, having your howl with eyes shooting up. You were too far gone to think of proper thought, with your brain churned into mush and your head pounding nonstop. The heat on your face is just as unbearable as the throbbing sensation down south. Your trembling legs try so hard not to give in and slump, yet you can’t lie; you’re tired, sore, and sticky all over. 

“Nmaahh! OhhhJesussss, ‘kuna, pleaseeee, lemme cummm—Mmaahh!” Another smash to your ass, followed by a pinch to your clitoris to juxtapose with the slow strokes he uses to massage the delicate spots of your walls.

“Why do you think I should let you cum, woman?” He swipes on your clit, listening intently to the whines that climb higher with the brush of his finger. 

Your words come out in slurs, yet you must answer to him. “I’m shorryy, I didn’t mean to—oh, fuck…do you wrong. Yer the only man who can touch me, wound me,” You peer over your shoulder to see Sukuna, an action that has him release your clit and hear what you have to say. “And love me…just as I love you, and only you. No one else can have me like you…Hahhh, I’m yours, both in mind and body…” Salmon brows furrow as you continue. “I love only you and want only you to touch me, ‘Kuna..Please forgive me, I won’t do it again…”

He was already sold once you turned to look at him, you little minx. Your watery eyes suddenly struck his heart — you are the only thing in the world that could do that, his little dove. He can tell by your heaves and pants that you wish to rest, that you had enough of his lesson and want to be in his embrace. 

However, no unpleasant deed shouldn’t go unpunished. Within a second, Sukuna has you flipped on your back with your legs brought up to his left shoulder. He brings out his phone once again, swiping to put on the camera after inserting his length back inside you.  “Hey, princess,” he calls to you. “Why don’t you say hello to the camera for me? Want something to look back to.”

You gulp with a dry throat, sheepishly smiling at the camera phone. “Hello, I’m Y/n—Ooohh!!” He surprises you with more ruts to your chasm, clamping onto him as if your life depended on it. 

“Who do you belong to, Y/n?” He calls out to you with a steady breath, as if his pelvis wasn’t poisoning deep to grind your insides to evoke pretty moans to escape puffy lips. 

“Hahaaa!! I—Hnnph..I belong to Sukuna Ryō–hic…men…”

“Who does this pussy belong to, Y/n?” Ruts become harsher with every word.

“—Mmoohhh, fuuuhuck, it’s yours, only yoursss,” you voluntarily take up your legs and hold them from behind your knees, bringing them to your chest. “Me and this pussy belong to only Sukuna, no one else can touch me…!”

Sukuna pans the phone down to the union of his dick, moving to and fro from your slit. The white essence painting both sexes was making an erotic mess, strings of his come covering his girth with every push and pull. He chuckles to himself. “This right here is all mine, ya hear?” He looks at you to see you nod your head hurriedly. “Don’t you ever forget that, understand?” You nod again, clenching around him when he drops the phone and leans towards you to place his hands on yours.

It’s here that he finally finishes with you, pounding his hips into you as hard as he can. Your voice gets higher and higher, your headache getting intense with the ruts on your cunt. And with how he stretches and grazes your walls? Jesus, it was terrible to control yourself, your orgasm increasing by the second. “I wanna cumm, ‘kunaaa, let me cum on you, pleaseee….!!”

“Heh, desperate to tighten some more for me, huh.” He adds more weight onto you, forcing you to submit to him. You shudder under his bow, “You may now cum, dove.” 

As if on command, you let yourself loose and allow the climax to finally be free, wailing during yet another crescendo as your vagina flutters around him for the fourth time that night. And Sukuna relishes the feeling of you tightening on him, doing excruciating slow strokes to enjoy the moment. 

“Hmmm, that’s it, just like that…Remember this, princess,” He bends down to lick the tears on your cheeks before kissing them. “Know your place.” He then brings the phone back up to close this session.

“Now smile for me.”

requests/thirsts are open hehe~ 🧸

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 – reblogs and comments are wholeheartedly appreciated ☆ header edit done by me, dividers by @/benkeibear.

[writtenbymoonflower]

how about

and hear me out

room mate! marauders who are obsessed with their shy roomate

oh trust me, hunny, i am hearing you. hope this is okay! shy gn!reader x poly!marauders

cw: nothing really, just fluff, reader is very flustered

1.1k words

Your eyes were blurry as you shuffled into the sunny kitchen. You weren’t used to waking up to the curtains open and breakfast on the stove. You’d lived with people before of course, but none as lively as this bunch. You weren’t complaining, though, you were quickly warming to them, even though you had probably spoken a total of 50 words to your new housemates in the three weeks you had lived with them. Most of these words likely consisting of sorry, excuse me, thank you. 

They had been talking though. Ever since the day you met they had been treating you like their best friend. Not even that. They were all best friends. (Though you considered that wasn’t all, on more than one occasion you had caught Sirius with his head in James’ lap, or Remus’ legs swung over one of the other boys. You had also observed a fair number of kisses between the three boys). But rather, they treated you like something precious, like a porcelain doll they were begging to get a hold of.

That thought made you immediately think of the nickname Sirius (or ‘Pads’ as the boys occasionally called him) had stuck you with. 

“Hey, dollface! You sleep well?” The coal-haired boy looked like he was itching to beckon you under his arm, but resisted. You were thankful, not knowing if you could survive that.

“It was good.” You hummed, barely legible to James over the sound of his bacon sizzling. You padded over to the breakfast table, sitting one chair away from Sirius and his huge bowl of cereal. No sooner had you sat down when a steaming cup of coffee was placed in front of you by a spindly hand. 

“Here you go, dovey.” Remus sat in the chair between you and Sirius. 

“Oi, Moons. You’re blocking my view.” You turned in your chair to look behind you at the ‘view’ he was referring to, brows scrunching in confusion when all you saw was the archway. You heard a light chuckle from Remus and a snicker from Sirius as you whipped back around. The possible meaning dawned on you, making you his your heated face in your mug.

“Don’t torture the poor thing.” James scolded, giving a (what you were sure he believed was comforting) squeeze to your shoulder before he sat on your other side.

“I never tortured anyone.” Remus corrected from behind his morning paper, slowly eating a cup of berry-yogurt. “Collective punishment is a war crime, Prongs” 

“Leavin’ me to the wolves huh, Moons?” Sirius sassed, sipping on his coffee that was mostly just cream and sugar. 

“Oh trust me, I’m sure we all know how much you’d love to be left to the wolf.” James smirked, clearly in on a joke that you had no idea about. He abandoned his teasing to turn to you, fixing a horribly kind look that made your tummy turn to mush. “There is some bacon and eggs on the stove for breakfast, but I’m sure Sirius would let you into his cereal.” 

“There’s also yogurt.” Remus looked pointedly to his near-empty cup. 

“Oh no, I’m okay. I could never take your food. I’m not hungry anyway.” You muttered into your mug. 

“You’ve gotta eat somethin’ babydoll. Can’t have you skipping meals.” Sirius had a playful, if not protective tilt to his tone. 

“I’ll find somethin’ don’t worry.” You scrubbed your bleary eyes with irritated cadence, still on the brink of sleep despite the warm caffeine swirling in your system. Thick fingers wrapped around your wrist to pull your offending hand away. 

“Gentle, sweetheart.” James scolded lightly. “Gonna hurt yourself like that.” He squeezed your hand before letting it go but it felt oddly like your face and your lungs were being squeezed as well. If this was the boys normal, you weren’t sure if you were going to survive. 

You mumbled a sorry looking at the mahogany table like it held the meaning of life, or the extra hour of sleep you desperately craved. 

“What’ve we told you? You say sorry too much, sweet thing. It’s like, your favorite word or something.” Sirius laughed, slurping down his cereal milk and licking his chops. You bit back another apology and rubbed your eyes again, though much more gentle this time. James cooed in sympathy. 

“You still sleepy?” He rubbed your back again, which made you both more heated and more drowsy. 

“Yeah.” You hummed, shamefaced as you played with the hem of your oversized t-shirt. You were thankful that you were still too shy to not wear long pants around them, because they would definitely be able to tell how tensed your legs were. Remus set his paper down.

“Do you have work today, love?” 

“No, ‘s my day off.” James grinned at that, but Sirius spoke up. 

“Happy coincidence! It’s ours too.” He grinned. “How about we all watch something? We can put something on in the lounge room and you can catch a bit of sleep on the settee?” He suggested. You shrunk at the thought of sleeping in front of them, but weren’t opposed to the idea.

“We’ll make sure to wake you up so you don’t sleep the day away.” James added, still rubbing your back. You were easily convinced. 

“Okay, that does sound nice.” Barely above a whisper. 

“We can all have a big lunch when you get up, too. Maybe we could go out?” Remus suggested as he led you gently to the living room. You tried to make your way to the armchair, but you were tugged to the couch. 

“That won’t be comfy, dollface. Here you go.” Sirius sat on the settee close to one arm, Remus by the other. Sirius pulled you between them while James sat on the floor and you whined in protest. 

“No, I’ll move. You sit here, James.”

Remus swore that was the loudest he had ever heard you speak. 

“No, I’m good right here. Thanks though, sweetness.” James reassured. He was sat in the middle, though rather close to Remus so the mousy boy could reach out with one hand and scratch James’ scalp, roving his long fingers through the thick curls. You were so distracted that you were startled when Sirius tugged on you again, maneuvering your head onto a pillow that laid on his lap. You tensed before relaxing into his warmth. You tucked your legs into yourself as Remus covered you with a blanket before going back to loving on James. 

“There you go, baby. That feel nice?” Sirius said, unfamiliarly soft as he stroked your hair, hand a welcome warmth on your scalp. 

Baby. Baby. Baby.

It would surprise you if you woke up from this nap. Your heart had nearly stopped on the spot.

[etfrin]

⤷❝Blood Red Roses | Coriolanus Snow❞ˎˊ-

⇢☾Warning: NSFW | blood play, riding, pinv sex, crying during sex, dubcon if you squint, period sex, marking, biting, Snow is his own warning, creampie, belly bulge, unprotected sex (wrap it dumbfucks), breath play, dom sub undertones, fingering (f. receiving) | lmk if I forgot anything

⇢☾Pairing: young Coriolanus Snow x fem! Reader

⇢☾Summary: filthy porn <3

⇢☾A/N: read at your own damn risk, idc how filthy this is :D

< masterlist > < bc: @cafekitsune > < taglist >

He's supposed to be disgusted, in a sense he is. Even as he pushed you to the bed, despite your protests, his mind was reeling but he was desperate. Desperate in the most pitiful way possible. Desperate in a sense that proved he was a man who easily succumbs to the greed of flesh. Desperate for you.

Nobody could blame him for his actions. His actions switched the position so that he was lying down on the bed. Your legs straddling him on either side. Both of you were exposed to each other's eyes. His dick was leaking pre-cum onto his abs. Your pussy is slick with your arousal and blood from your period. Your inner thighs are covered in the variant shades of blood red.

His eyes look down onto your skin, the shade of red contrasting with your color. His mind itched at him for this was beneath him, having someone like this, being so desperate that you don't worry about the mess it causes. A pearl of blood rolls down your skin, and Snow catches onto his fingertip. The bead of red liquid was interesting in a way he hadn't thought possible. His breath hitches as he spreads the blood onto your skin.

He can't take it anymore, he sits up, surprising you by putting his hand into your hair and pulling you down to catch your lips with his greedy mouth. His tongue ravishes your mouth, swiping over your teeth, stealing your taste and your soul as he bites your lower lip. His palm moved to cup your cunt, his hand getting coated in the mixture of your blood and juices. He groans into your mouth, your slick thicker because of different textures. He immediately knew it would feel different. His lips travel to your jaw to press wet kisses. Snow takes a moment of pause, preparing himself to cross his limits as his fingertip presses to your entrance.

“You don't have to,” you whispered, sensing his tense body, “I could blow you.” “You wish,” he scoffed, “It's your cunt I want, it's your cunt I will get, my bird.” His finger finally slides in, and your tight pussy is wetter than ever before. He easily slips another finger in making you whimper.

You let out soft moans as his fingers stretch you out for his cock, your walls more sensitive than usual. The smell of iron and sex filled the air, making him lightheaded. He looked down, his fingers connecting themselves to you, his hand bloody red. The sight makes him gasp, his mind flashing unpleasant memories but his cock getting incredibly hard that it hurts not to give it any attention.

His head was spinning, his mind disgusted by the filth and the mess but his body was hot. Whatever boundaries he had left for himself died when he took his bloody fingers out and cleaned it up by wiping his hands onto your skin. The red stains your skin in small strokes, underneath your breasts, and your tummy. The sight of it made him snap, his mouth latching onto your nipple sucking onto it like a vampire, a starved one. It makes you cry out, your hands on his shoulder for support.

His mouth sucks your supple breast as much as possible as one of his hands (the bloody one) kneads your other breast, marking you even further. The thought turned him insane, you bloody red, the similar shade to his usual outfit. His teeth sinks around your round flesh making you let out a small scream with how hard it was. “Coryo!” You cry out, your lips gasping from his more than-usual rough behavior.

He pulls back, his blue eyes blown wide into a feral black. His teeth marking your skin, dents into flesh as a small invisible bead of blood begins to form. He had bitten hard enough to break the skin. His tongue lavs around the wound he had caused, his hands now digging into your hip making you gasp, knowing that it will bruise. He lets the taste of blood bloom into his mouth, his mind accepting this as another extension of his sick self.

He repeated the process several times, around your breasts, neck, shoulder, and collarbone. Your skin was tainted with blood, tears falling from your eyes as he licked it all clean and pressed small kisses onto the wound as if to say sorry. Your nails dug into his shoulders as you continued to fall prey to his actions. Deeming himself satisfied as he sees your marked body, his twitching dick finally came to his mind. He drags his lips from your neck to your ear, and he whispers, “Ride me, my dove. Like your life depends on it.”

Knowing him, it might as well do. He leans back, his back onto the mattress. You couldn't enjoy the sight of his bare body because of the tears in your eyes. The pain was overwhelming your veins in the most delicious way possible. Your pussy pulsating with the need for his cock.

You start to sink on him, your cunt so much more wet it seemed impossible, it made the slide graciously smooth that you take him down to the hilt quickly enough despite the burn of the stretch. You both let out moans, his eyes rolling back because of your pussy, your lips letting out a gasp from how good he filled you up with his cock.

“Fuck, Coryo”, you whimper, “fuck.” This angle made his cockhead press into your spongy spot perfectly, making you see stars as you adjust to his length. “Come on, baby,” he whines, his hold on your hips getting harder, “Come on.”

Your eyes closed shut as you raised your hips before falling onto his cock. Moans begin to echo into the room as you get desperate, fucking yourself onto his cock, your blood gushing onto his skin, covering his cock red.

Meanwhile Snow had his brain shut off, his lips panting for dear life as your cunt sucked him in with each thrust your hips made. The glide of his cock so much smoother, your blood making a much better lube than your arousal ever could. He berated himself for his thoughts only for him to know he's right as more blood gushes out of your tight pussy and covers your skin.

You looked so beautiful to him right now, like a goddess trapped in mortal flesh. Not an inch of your upper body was free of marks, your skin perfected with various shades of red, purple and blue hues. Love bites that it would be impossible to cover. His balls tightened as he couldn't keep his eyes off you. Coriolanus never thought his self-control could be tested like this. It took every ounce of his restraint not to fuck you like an animal.

All it took for that mere man to break was a loud moan that escaped your lips when you took deeper him than expected, his cock bumping into your cervix. His eyes roll back, a groan of his mixed with your moans into the air. He snaps. Snow was never a fair man after all, he didn't have to play nice.

He switched positions, hooking your legs onto his shoulders so his cock would reach even deeper, impossibly deep, making you whine that you couldn't possibly take it. He didn't hear your pleas, his mind focused on your warm, wet pussy ruining him for anyone else. “You can,” he sneers, “and you will, my bird.”

And so you do. His dick throbbing inside of you as his thrusts get fast and needy. His self control is completely breaking. For the first time, Corios' actions weren't calculated. His thrusts get sloppier, as he pays you no mind, chasing his own relief like a dog in heat.

His palm pressed into your lower stomach, he feels his cock thrusting in and out of you and smirks, “See? You're taking it.” You couldn't even reply to his teasing, your oversensitive walls fluttering around his length. You were drooling, and never had Snow turned you into such a speechless mess.

His hand pressed harder, making you moan. “Yes, fuck, Coryo!” You scream, as your pussy begins to spasm around his cock. The sudden orgasm surprises you as much as him. His cunt continues to milk his cock and as you gasp much needed air. “Cum,” you begin to beg, “I can't- please Coryo!”

His free hand goes to your jaw, gripping it tightly as he leaned down and whispered against your lips, “You can, my dove. You can.” His sickly sweet tone makes your mind believe that you could do it only if your body agreed. You give him a meek nod, your mind filled with pleasure to disobey his words. His lips pressed against yours into a harsh kiss you had no control over. He groans into your mouth, as his pace gets sloppy but harder. His cock twitching inside of your cunt.

His hand that holds your jaw goes to your neck, pressing your throat to restrict your breathing, it makes your pussy clench perfectly around him causing his hips to stutter as he cums in you, filling your womb with his seed. He pulled out, laid beside you. Both of you are catching much needed breath.

Your eyes close, your body and mind exhausted. Coriolanus leans over you, his lips pressing a delicate kiss to your forehead.

“I'll buy you more red dresses, you look pretty in red.”

tags : @stelleduarte @nowitsmissing @lifeonawhim @le-lena @maurdershavemyheart @motley-baby @champomiel @slytherinholland @justacaliforniandreamer

[verstappen-cult]

Having an argument with Max, sounds exhausting. Especially when both of you are stubborn, but guess what? He'd willingly beg for forgiveness if you are still upset with him and avoiding him as a result of the argument

“I can’t do this anymore.” You whisper, shaking your head and taking a step back. 

That is what finally makes Max stop dead in his tracks, mouth hanging open with whatever he was going to say next. 

You’re tired. You woke up less than an hour ago and the first thing you and Max did was argue. And you really didn’t want to start the day this way, but neither of you backed away. Things escalated quickly and you just can’t do it anymore. 

“What are you talking about?” He sounds desperate, his chest heaving. Max clenches his fists by his side, like he wants to reach out. 

You turn your head away, eyes filled with tears. “I’m gonna go see my mother. We’ll talk later.” 

Max feels paralyzed, he can’t seem to do anything but watch you leave. 

*

It’s past eight when you get home. 

The first thing you notice is that the house is lit only by candles. A lot of candles throughout the house. 

Max is nowhere to be seen, Jimmy and Sassy are the ones greeting you by passing between your legs. You bend over to pat their heads and give them a few ear scratches. 

The more you walk into the house, the more your heart breaks. There on the table is a big bouquet of your favorite flowers along with a small card with the word ‘sorry’ written in Max’s handwriting waiting for you. The table is also set with the chinaware you only use on special occasions, and a few more candles. 

When you turn around you see Max curled up on the sofa, your favorite weighted blanket —the one you use when you’re feeling down and Max is away for work— around his shoulders. He looks so cozy, you want to curl up next to him, but you are still a little hurt and angry from the argument you two had in the morning. You’re thinking about what you both said to each other when Max stirs, eyes trying to adjust to seeing in the dim light. 

“Hey,” You say as a greeting, trying not to scare him. 

Max turns around immediately, surprise crossing his features. “You’re home.”

“Yes? Sorry I didn’t say anything but mom wanted me to help her with gardening.” You shrug, leaving your bag and keys on the table next to the couch. 

“I didn’t think you’d come back.” His voice is barely a whisper, but you hear him anyway. Max exhales deeply, clutching the blanket tightly around his shoulders. 

“What?”

“I’m so sorry.” He blurts out, shoulders slumped. Max shuts his eyes tightly, like he’s in so much pain he can barely have them open. “I shouldn’t have talked to you like that. I should’ve listened to you—I’m really sorry. I don’t want us to argue like that again, I felt horrible because I love you and I promised myself I would never do something like this.” You let him talk, to spill everything he has inside of him. “After you left—I wanted to go after you but I knew you needed time. But it made me remember how my dad used to talk to my mom, how they would yell at each other while Vic and I hid in our rooms.” You are already moving towards him, even before you hear how his voice breaks. 

You sit by his side, leaving some space between you two, hands itching to reach out and touch him, to draw him closer to you and hold him. 

“I don’t want to be like him.”

“You’re nothing like him,” You move closer, taking his hands with yours, thumb caressing the back of them. “Don’t you ever dare to go there, okay? You will never be like him, Max. Do you understand?” 

But he doesn’t look at you, he doesn’t say anything. 

“Max, this is not the first and it’s definitely not going to be the last argument we have. But if we talk about it, if we give ourselves some time to think things through like we did today—this doesn’t mean you are a bad person, or that you are turning into your dad.” You cup his cheek with one of your hands, caressing his cheekbone as you look into his stormy blue eyes. 

“I’m so sorry,” He says again, tears in the corners of his eyes. You smile softly at him when he begs for your forgiveness again. 

“Can you forgive me too?” 

“Darling, you’ve nothing to be sorry for.”

“Well, you’re wrong there.” You sniff, already feeling the tears wanting to stream down your face. “We were both wrong, don’t take all the blame.” Max opens his mouth to refute, but you shut him up with a kiss. It’s chaste, full of promises, and leaves you with blood pounding in your ears. 

“Do you forgive me?”

Max nods, gaze fixed on your lips. “Yes,” He directs his gaze back to your eyes, and you can see so much regret in them. “Do you forgive me?” 

“I don’t know,” You tease him by pretending to think about it. “it depends on what you made for dinner.”

A grin spreads across his face and he’s standing up in a second, tugging on your sleeve. “It’s definitely gonna make you forgive me.” He says, pulling the chair out for you to sit. “And if this doesn’t work, I have many other ways to make you forgive me.”

[hearttoofull]

hushed promises with no hints of falsity.

˚ʚ🧁wanderer x reader

˚ʚ synopsis wanderer notices you’ve been acting a bit weird, to put it lightly, and decides to take matters into his own hands.

˚ʚ warning centered around bulimia / eating disorders, pls read at ur own discretion!

An untouched bento box sits in your lap, if you don’t count the few curious nibbles. (In your defense, it was impeccably packed.) Across the table you’re situated at sits Wanderer, who you think you have a good relationship with, despite the abundance of hurdles you’ve had to overcome along the way. Instead of joining you to eat, he opts for green tea in a delicate little cup with dainty pink flowers. You got it for him as a joke for his birthday last year, not actually expecting him to seriously use it.

Minutes continue to go by and you haven’t said a word besides a few mumbles when he asked you a question if the meal was to your liking, considering he’d made it himself.

“Why aren’t you eating on the table? If you drop anything you’ll make a mess, y’know” he muses while idly stirring his tea, keeping his head propped up with his palm. His words make you flit your gaze away from the bento and into his eyes.

Eat on the table? Seriously? And make it even more obvious that the thought had crossed my mind despite the promises I’d made to myself to not do so? Yeah right… is what you want to say, but you find the words itching at your throat, begging to be released. “I dunno, I just…”, the sentence dying at the tip of your tongue, “don’t feel like it”, sounding more like a question instead of a statement.

Wanderer stands up abruptly, the sound of the chair scooting against karmaphala floors louder than usual, given the uncharacteristic quietness of the room. He walks up behind you to gently grip your shoulders, his thumbs beginning to casually rub circles as if he were giving you a massage. “Have you been eating well these days?”, he murmurs while his fingers ghost over your thinning collarbones.

What? “Duh…”, your tone sounding off as you attempted to recollect yourself from his previous words. If any other person had asked you that, there’s no doubt you would’ve stood up right then and there, maybe launching that stupid bento at them in their stupid face.

He pauses his movements on your tense shoulders. “Liar.”

It was meant to sound more like a playful remark, but it comes off as cold as the food in your lap.

What? Is happening.

You turn back in your chair to stare at him with utter disbelief evident in your eyes and a face reddening with embarrassment. At this point, with the rate at how warm your face is getting, you don’t even try to defend yourself. It’s clear that he sees right through you. “You seriously think I wouldn’t notice your little habits?”, his words carrying a softer edge than to what you were used to, making you feel a bit queasy in your seat.

Wanderer walks back over to his previous spot in short strides to bring a chair next to you, not daring to break his eye contact with you in the process.

“I’ve… noticed that you…”, he begins slowly, “don’t like to eat the food I make for you sometimes.” You can tell his words have been carefully cherry-picked in fear that he’ll screw up and hurt you. “You can tell me anything. Anything that happens between us stays between us, remember?”

“I don’t… I-“ Oh god.

You’re terrified of the sudden confrontation. Any time you’d get into petty arguments with each other, you never wanted to admit you were in the wrong. The next day, you’d both act like nothing happened. But how could you just ignore things like that? It’ll remain in your head for the rest of the day, the guilt gnawing at you and leaving you with occasional pains in your chest when you’d think about it too much.

“Come here.” Pulling you from your reverie, he gently embraces you by your waist. It was so sudden, you could’ve sworn the action was a bit needy, with the way he keeps his hands grounded against your back and allows you to bury your head into the crook of his neck. In public settings when your thoughts got to you too much, you’d excuse yourself to the restroom with the sole purpose of crying it out or attempting to purge in the toilets, most of the time it was both. It’s honestly surreal to finally come to the point of realization that there’s no need in hiding it anymore, like it’s a huge secret or something.

“I don’t— know what to do with— myself anymore”, your words are interrupted by violent hiccups akin to a child’s sobs and sniffles, hands covering the pathetic state of your face.

He wishes he can do more to help you, truly, but in all honesty, his knowledge on specific human behaviors are minimal. Sure he knew the gist of your situation, but every time he thought of a possible solution, there was a feeling of doubt lingering in the depths of his mind. He doesn’t want to worsen your condition. He doesn’t want to hurt you. So for now, all he can do is provide you with open arms and whispered words of reassurance against your hair.

“Look at me” he commands gently, urging you to take your hands off and away from your face. It takes a few tries to do so. Once you do, albeit reluctant, he takes your face in his hands to cup your cheeks warmed by tears and embarrassment. “Listen. If you don’t want to tell me anything, that’s okay,” his gaze softer than what you’ve ever seen. “I want you to know that I’ve got you, okay?” You nod hesitantly in understandance, waiting to hear those words from literally anyone.

﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉୨♡୧﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉୨♡୧﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉

After calming down and tucking your pent-up emotions back into the recesses of your heart, all you want is to take a nap, or sleep forever perhaps. Not die, just peacefully rest for eternity. Speaking of, you went to sleep almost immediately after your little breakdown. Or maybe you passed out from an overdose of sadness. The memories following the climax of that afternoon are foggy with gaps. Or maybe you just choose to ignore them. All you can remember with clarity is falling asleep while Wanderer continued to whisper hushed phrases into the shells of your ears, tucking you in a little, maybe, too. You wouldn’t dare to forget that.

˚ʚ a/n hi tumblr… i think i spent like triple the amount of time designing the layout for this compared to the amount of time i took to write this. this feels pretty rushed but hey i think i did good for my first fic,,, i really wanna learn how to convey my feelings so i didn’t quite elaborate here as much as i as want to. the ending was meant to feel like reader is writing in a diary sort of? i hope that anyone who relates to this finds solace in it ♡ anyway peace out i have to do my homework now

[harumasa-wifey]

HIIII I'M ALSO GOING CRAZY OVER HARUMASA I'VE BEEN SAVING UP FOR HIM SINCE I FIRST SAW HIM (BEEN PLAYING SINCE LAUNCH) AND NOW IDK WHAT TO DO WITH MY PULLS AHHHHHH I don't normally request so sorry if this sounds weird in any way but can I request Harumasa with a reader whom he teases a lot cuz he thinks how they react is cute?

Thank you!! ٩(＾◡＾)۶

Harumasa x shy!Fem! Reader

Warning: none just fluff and crack maybe suggestive? If you squint your eyes just one line. Not proofread!

Note: Listen.i do not like angst i mean come on i don't wanna cry not rn BUT MY HANDS WERE ITCHING TO WRITE SOMETHING HERE i held myself back. Here is your request anon and I hope you like it!also i would say get his cons of wtv it's called in zzz because i have the same plans but you do you also don't forget his w-engine

•For someone like him you are too fun to tease.

• He is a little bastard and will not pass on any opportunity to tease you and make you flustered and it happens almost everyday

•What doesn't help the situation is that your seat is literally in front of him yea.

•Imagine you working on the papers yanagi gave you and he is just there slacking off looking at you with those lovesick puppy eyes of his.

•Yea this is going to be the second time yanagi hits him standing behind with a paper roll and bonk!

•Please restore to bonking him too when needed because the things he whispers in your ear is not friendly

•It's a daily occurance of him coming from behind and wrapping his arms around your waist while burying his face in your neck and shoulders.

•No matter how many times he has done this he will never get tired of your reactions. The audacity he has to do this in the office while you are sorting out papers from the mission.Another bonking from yanagi.

•When he is not near you is rare but when he isn't he is always texting some cringey movie pickup lines and when you don't reply to him almost instantly he goes like.

“Guys are you seeing this”

“My girl out here cheating on me”

“YOU GAVE ME 2 MINS TO REPLY WTH”

•Imagine having a movie night with section 6 and soukaku and him choosing a horror movie on purpose and he is literally sitting right behind you.Yea in other words prepare yourself for a heart attack.

•Sneaky bastard finding a place to sneak his hands around your waist at the time of jump scare.

•But it's not like you are not prepared, you have a pillow in hand which goes straight to his face.

•Little shit acted like it hurted so much to make you worried.

“Haru! Are you alright? I am sorry!”

“Ow ow ow no of course i am not that pillow hits hard do you have rocks in there” his next line is

“You can kiss it better tho”

•Yea hit him again. Yanagi had to cover Soukaku's ears because of him. On the other hand, Miyabi is not fazed; she is more interested on the movie that's been playing on the screen but makes sure to give a side eye to him every now and then.

•If he teases you too much, just tease him back it will shut him up real quick. The fastest remedy to repeal against him. Make sure to do it in private tho don't want to yanagi mad and get overtime.

[archive-doll]

tiger!ghost, it's goes on

Author Note: it's been sitting in my draft for weeks, and while I'm not satisfied with it, I still like it somewhat.

Trigger Warning: fantasy of biting into one flesh

The reader's body is mentioned to be fat.

The beast-man has a staring problem.

Everyone who meets him for more than five minutes knows it to be true. His hazel eyes never waver and never seem to blink while he stands there like a statue. Or actually, this morning, sit there.

His little birdie has been scaringly easy to convince into following him home. They even placed a hand into the crook of his elbow, and Simon would never admit it, but his slashed tail puffed out when they giggled and pressed themselves into his side, no sign of fear in their faces or scent.

With kneading paws, Simon guided them into his apartment, suddenly recognizing what Johnny had been saying for the last months—his place did not feel welcoming.

Or rather, it doesn't look like a home. His sharp eyes pinch back, pressing into the puff of blond hair at the top of his hair as he waits for the fairy tale to break apart. But, they look over their shoulders where his hands rest and smile at him. It feels like staring at the sun. His eyes hurt, but the idea of looking away is more painful than that bullet he took in one arsecheek.

"C'mon birdie, wat'r. Then, bed."

They didn't try to say no this time, and after a short moment of pressing clothes into their hands - a tee shirt and a boxer - they were softly snoring between his sheets.

Since then, Simon has been looking. Or staring, it depends on the point of view, maybe. They're curled into a ball while he sits on the foot of the bed, guardian body securing the door and seeing the window from the corner of his eye. And he keeps staring.

It is strange, to have another into his flat. Nothing actually changed, it's all the same. But their scents recover the itching smell of mould and the dust there. Maybe he should open his windows once in a while. Once he's certain their scents will never leave. He should arrange the place so they feel at ease coming here.

His keen eyes watch how their chest heaves with every breath, some perspiration pearling at the crown of their hair. The tee-shirt is flowing around them, the collar barely staying around their shoulders. And the fact they're wearing his boxer beneath the comforter keeping them warm, makes an unfamiliar heat burn the apple of his cheeks.

The sun is rising as he shifts on the bed, thick fingers finding the tip of their feet, and staying there. He can feel the eat of their flesh, the curves of their toes under the rubbing of his feet, and the comfort their presence brings is his salvation. The soft light of the morning passes through the curtain and he swallows into his heart the little crunch of their nose when it hits their face. He doesn't dare to move.

Simon only goes away to fetch them water, hours later, and painkillers. They're dishevelled, leaning into the wall behind the bed when he presses his palm under the glass of water, placing it against their pouty lips. There are marks on their cheeks from the pillowcase, and now, he can see the arch of their cupid bow. His ears twitch, eyes entranced seeing how their throat shift and moves with every gulp and he can't control it. Or maybe he doesn't want to.

His fingers pat the top of their head, pinching some strands between his fingertips and adjusting it all before his knuckles rub against the softness of their jaw. They're all plump everywhere, and the tent in his trousers grows when they lap at the water straying on their bottom lip.

"Good?"

"Mhm."

The glass of water is forgotten on the cupboard he uses as a nightstand, hands pawing and grabbing at their body until they're laying down again, head finding the old pillow there. There's a sight and soft touches that find his arms. His hips twitch in the air when they murmur his name, when did he tell them? Simon doesn't remember. He doesn't care too with how sweet it sounds, like honey falling from their tongue.

Their fingers find repose along the heavy curve of his biceps while he continues his shaky coddling, tee shirt settling by their waist. It's doughy there, plush and it waves beneath his hands when he presses one palm on their stomach. Simon sooth their angry tummy, gaze devouring the softening curl of their eyebrow.

"You were supposed to call me first, kitty. Not bring me to your bed."

They blink up, quietness overwhelming the bedroom before they grin up at him at the surprise in his eyes. Even though sleep keeps their face hazy, it's dizzying. They look cheeky and the desire to sink his teeth into the swell of their chin is overflowing.

He growls, the scars around his mouth twisting as they chuckle, and presses the tip of his fingers under her ribs, watching the thickness of their abdomen bend to make a place for him. It's hypnotizing, the sight of it.

"Need to eat som'thin', birdie."

No one called him kitty and survived the affront for a very long time. He wants to taste the sound from their mouth. But, it seems he will have to tame them first, teach 'em some manners too. The bed creaks as he rises up, and they let out a gasp when the mattress quivers, hands empty now before he strides toward the door.

"Kitchen, now."

Their laughter hits him like a kick in the gut.

"I need some coffee first, knighty!"

"Tea."

The bedroom door is left open as he disappears into his apartment, searching for his phone He can't wait to see the tears on their face when he buries himself into their mouth. Maybe that'd shut them up.

© archive-doll - all rights reserved. reposting or modifying, including translating or use on AI is not permitted. original characters are not my own but the stories and writing are.

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Migraine Ministrations

Sam and Dean Winchester & little sister!reader

Requested by @wasteofatoolbox

Synopsis: you get a migraine during a hunt, and things go wrong.

Not now not now not now, please not now.

The mantra played over and over in your mind, as if you could wish away the pain that was beginning behind your eyes—wouldn’t that be nice.

Instead, the pain got worse as the Impala roared down the side road; which of course was full of potholes.

“Road’s gonna ruin my tires,” Dean grumbled, oblivious to the way you cringed at every jolt and jump. Or at least, he was oblivious so far. You’d have to hide it better before the three of you arrived at your destination, or Dean would make you sit out on the hunt.

He’d only decided a few months ago that you were old enough to start hunting, and since then he’d been very picky about what hunts you were allowed on. It had been weeks of “too dangerous” hunts since you’d been invited to come, and you were itching to join in.

But if Dean found out you were getting a migraine, he definitely wouldn’t let you go. Once you coughed too many times last month, and Dean made you sit out the hunt because you “sounded like you’re getting sick.”

You didn’t notice the Impala pulling to a stop until Dean was turning in his seat to check on you.

“Grab your machete, and don’t forget the—hey, you ok?”

You looked up, forcing your face into a neutral expression; you didn’t want to look pained, but smiling would be too far.

“Yeah, I’m great. You sure you’re ready, old man?”

Dean’s concern dropped immediately, a prideful smirk on his face.

“Oh, it’s on newbie.”

…

You were cornered, but not worried. One vamp had taken it upon himself to go after the smallest human, and you let him back you into a corner—now he had no choice but to get close to you, and all you’d have to do was swing.

You were adjusting your grip on your machete, waiting for just the right moment, when the pain that had been beating behind your eyes suddenly pulsed painfully. It was so sudden and extreme that your eyes shut of their own accord for just a split second…

By the time you could force your eyes open through the pain, the vamp was already on the move, and you couldn’t get your machete up fast enough.

You cried out when he grabbed hold of your arm and slammed it hard against the brick behind you, forcing you to drop your machete.

He was leaning his head down, his vampire teeth extending from his gums in more detail than you’d ever seen—you didn’t appreciate the close-up.

He didn’t get the chance to sink his teeth into your neck. His head was on the floor before you even noticed Dean sneaking up behind him.

“You ok?” Dean demanded.

You tried to assess yourself for injuries, but it was hard to do when your migraine was the worst pain you felt; nothing else really registered.

“I’m…I think so,” you mumbled, swaying a little on your feet.

“Whoa, hey.” Dean grabbed your shoulders to steady you. “You didn’t get bit, right?” Dean’s loud voice had you cringing in pain.

You shook your head, lifting your hands up to rub your eyes—you couldn’t hide the pain anymore; you didn’t even know how long you’d be able to stand.

“What’s going on?” Sam’s—you assumed—hand was on your arm suddenly. Where had he come from? Last you saw him, he was tackling a couple of vamps. “They’re all dead,” Sam said. “We should get going. Are you hurt?”

You couldn’t tell if he was talking to you or Dean, and you didn’t want to open your eyes to look—the boys had turned the lights on in the building to disorient the vamps, and even with your eyes shut the light was nearly unbearable.

“Is it a migraine, kiddo?” Dean’s voice was softer now, which you appreciated.

Despite not wanting him to know, you have a tiny nod, knowing that trying to hide it was pointless.

“Alright, ok, we’re gonna get you back to the bunker.” Dean tugged on your arm and guided you outside and into the Impala.

“Here,” Sam said, pressing a water bottle into your hands. “Drink this.”

Ignoring Sam’s order, you just pressed the cold bottle against your forehead.

“Hey,” Dean spoke up once he was on the road. “How long have you had a migraine?”

“An hour or two,” you mumbled, before realizing your mistake.

“You had this before the hunt?” Dean demanded. “And you didn’t say anything? Are you crazy?”

“I didn’t think it was that bad,” you mumbled.

“It’s always that bad,” Sam argued. “And you know better than to go on hunts when you’re not ready.”

“I was ready!” You argued.

“The fact that you lied to me tells me you weren’t,” Dean scoffed. “So…you’re benched from hunts.”

“What?” You finally looked up, regretting it when your head pounded. “For how long?” You cringed.

“I don’t know,” Dean huffed. “Indefinitely. And I don’t ever want you to do something stupid like that again, understand? If you’re not a hundred percent, it puts everybody’s life on the line. Are you hearing me?”

“I understand,” you sighed, dropping your head back into your hands.

“Ok.” Dean’s voice was noticeably gentler. “Good. Now let’s get you home and see if we can do something about that headache. How does a nap sound?”

Despite yourself, a small smile creeped onto your face.

“Yeah, ok. Can I pick a movie tonight?”

“It’s my night,” Sam argued, but at Dean’s glare he huffed. “Ok, ok. Fine.”

“You’re gonna milk this for all its worth, aren’t you?” Dean asked. When he glanced back and saw you still smiling, he chuckled. “That’s my girl.”

Taglist:

@nyotamalfoy @mrvlxgrl @chocorade @aestheticdaisies @inlovewhithafairytale @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl @casmustdiee @987coley @deadlymistletoe @wayward-impala83 @whump-loverz

[moonydustx]

I look better under you

Based on the song Snooze - Sza

Roronoa Zoro x F!Reader

Warnings: smut, mentions of scars, jealousy. Doesn't exactly follow plot canon.

Summary: After two years apart after the incident with Kuma in Sabaody, you and Zoro meet again.

A/N: I was thinking about doing some stories based on songs, especially in the future using one from Cowboy Carter for Ace because it makes so much sense to me. While that doesn't happen, we're left with Snooze, which is one of my favorites from Sza.

requests open | one piece masterlist

Long as you dreamin' 'bout me, ain't no problem

I don't got nobody, just with you right now

Tell the truth, I look better under you

I can't lose when I'm with you

How can I snooze and miss the moment?

You just too important

Nobody do body like you do

Your body itched when you saw a handful of greenish hair appearing on the horizon of the Sabaody archipelago. It was two long years without seeing each other, without talking, without the little escapades in the crow's nest where you spent hours tangled up in each other. Before you could prepare to talk to him, Sanji and Luffy also appeared in your field of vision, running in some direction you hadn't noticed yet.

"Let's go!" Luffy passed you who immediately started running to keep up with them.

"Finally a beautiful and real woman." Sanji's eyes practically threw hearts in your direction. "So beautiful, so fragrant, so..."

For a few seconds you thought Zoro was going to complain about Sanji, like they always did, but he remained quiet just as he didn't show any reaction when he saw you.

Your companions didn't know about the little escapades the two of you had and for a long time it was what made sense to you. Until your eyes witnessed Kuma erase Zoro's existence before your eyes, at least that's what you believed for a while.

"Isn't that the pretty girl from Thriller Bark?" Sanji caught your attention. A few meters away you recognized the pink hair and the gothic style.

The woman's face was almost glued to Zoro's as she yelled at him. Too close to be just a coincidence. "Why haven't you left here yet?" "I brought you here for nothing." Perhaps your vision was obstructed by the anxiety of being back - which now became a bitterness on your lips. Apparently the two years passed differently for him.

Ignoring the confused feelings, you and your companions ran towards the Sunny and before the navy even thought about reaching you, the ship was already sailing towards the next island.

"It's so good to have everyone back!" Nami hugged you tightly in a hug. "Come on, tell me what you were doing this whole time."

Islands with carnivorous plants, strange laboratories, giant birds, a castle with a certain girl with pink hair. Zoro was sitting next to you. As they listened to everyone talk, something about his posture seemed to show some discomfort in being there.

Everyone seemed to accumulate stories and adventures to tell and despite the small puddle of hurt that accumulated in you, you were happy to see your friends again.

"And you." Robin turned towards you. "What challenges have you encountered?"

"I went to a village that was being attacked by venomous insects. We had to keep shooting at them all the time and maybe that improved my aim." You took one of the small knives from your waistband and threw it past the small gap between Nami's neck and hair.

"Shown off." Zoro murmured next to you, attracting your attention for a brief second.

"Did the animals do this?" Usopp pointed to your arm.

Attracting everyone's eyes, you turned your arm, showing the scars that started on your fingers and went almost to the height of your shoulder.

"No." you smiled sympathetically as the shooter looked on attentively. "Let's just say not everyone on this island was nice or interested in the end of the demonic insects."

The others nodded and it didn't take long for them to engage in another story, paying attention to all the news. Even though you weren't looking in his direction, you could feel yourself being watched the entire time.

After a long conversation, everyone decided to explore Sunny. Review what they left behind, prepare for the next challenges. Before you could do the same, you felt an arm pulling you towards one of the rooms.

"What the hell is this." you saw Zoro in your field of vision. One of his hands closed the door and the other rested on the side of your head.

He tried again and saw you repeat the gesture. It took his brain a few seconds to process all the possibilities.

"It's been so long." he murmured, his face seeking the direction of your lips. Begrudgingly, you dodged his kiss. "What?"

"I understand." he started walking away. "Two years is too long, I understand that maybe you found someone else."

"I did this?" The tone of his voice was shrill and full of indignation. "Says the guy who was with the goth girl there. Did you enjoy your enchanting romance in an incredible castle?"

"Are you crazy?" Zoro analyzed you for a few seconds, seeing how safe it was to approach you. His hands found your chin and when you tried to move away from his touch, Zoro held on even tighter. "You know I had nothing to do with her. You know no one is like you."

Your own hands found his and went up to your face, relief was written on your face. Gently, one of your fingers traced the scar that closed his eye.

"Who made this?" you whispered, wanting to hold that little moment between the two of you.

"No one that matters now." He turned his face, kissing one of your hands. His gaze soon reached your immense scar. "About what you said outside, who was the bastard that hurt you?"

"No one that matters now." You smiled, enjoying his touch on your face. "You know I hate her, don't you?"

"Perona?"

"I wish I had killed that bitch in Thriller Bark!" you grumbled, earning a laugh from Zoro.

He wanted to kiss you, heavens he wanted to be able to take you there but he had missed hearing you too much and seeing your eyes shining in his direction. Everything else could wait.

"You only say that because she was playing with the ghosts and you."

"Exactly." your hands went down to the back of his head, pulling him closer. "I'd kill that bitch again just to think of her stealing what's mine."

You could feel Zoro's laughter almost on your skin, given the proximity. "So jealous" he murmured and before his lips stole yours, the two of you were interrupted when you were thrown from the door and the presence of a euphoric Luffy appeared.

"Let's eat! Sanji is going to make a huge feast for you and us." he pulled you by the shoulders. "Can you get your knife between Brook's ribs, say yes, please."

"Does he know you want to do this?" you asked him, taking advantage of Zoro's support to stand up.

"He said he'll accept it, if you let him see the color of your panties." Luffy spoke with a naturalness that brought laughter from you and a groan from the swordsman.

"He won't see, but..." you warned, tugging at the waistband of your pants. "It's pink, with white polka dots." Brook's scream outside indicated that he had heard the entire conversation and had probably combusted.

"Hit his head." Zoro grumbled, leaving the room before you.

A lot of thrown knives, a huge feast made by Sanji - and considering that Luffy ate more than half of it claiming he missed the food the cook made. You watched some of your friends retreat to your quarters.

"Has anyone seen Zoro?"

"He said he would be upstairs if anyone needed him." Chopper warned you and you thanked him, leaving him behind.

Knowing he would probably be alone, you walked up the stairs to the crow's nest and entered unceremoniously. Zoro was lying down, contemplating the ceiling.

"I thought it would take longer." He stood up, coming towards you.

"It's just that everyone is going to sleep, I think we can talk properly now." the words barely had space to leave your lips before Zoro reached you and crashed his lips into yours.

Your hands were against his chest and even though you wanted to move away to at least try to talk before finding out what happened during this time outside, Zoro's lips took yours in an intoxicating way. Honey, drinks and longing mixed in your mouths.

"We can talk later." he murmured, almost reading your thoughts. "I just miss you."

"Me too." your lips heaved as you felt his arms lift you so that your legs were wrapped around his.

Such a movement was made only so that Zoro could take you to the ground in a strange delicacy on his part. The green threads became your fingers' favorite path while his hands removed the few pieces of clothing that your body still had.

"No one that matters now?" he traced some scars that adorned your back and watched you twitch. "I'll still kill the bastard."

"This someone is no longer here for you to take revenge on." you took his lips as a distraction for your hands to slide over the shoulders hidden in the kimono.

"That's my girl."

Scars, bruises, nothing would take away the pleasure of Zoro's contemplation. The long two years didn't really seem that long until he saw you. How can you wait so long? How did he not go crazy and come back even if he swam to Sabaody?

"Hi greenie." You caught his attention by letting your hands caress his cheek. "Are you ok babe?"

"You are so beautiful." The words came out suddenly as if it were common for you to hear that every day.

If it were up to him alone, he would make a point of repeating that all night and for the rest of the next nights as well. Your eyes looking down at him asking for attention to your body, your legs closing against his body, small sighs as you felt him touch you. You underneath him was one of the best sights Zoro would have for the rest of his life.

His lips traced every contour of your skin. Every shiver was swallowed by a kiss, every shiver was trapped between his lips. The damp fabric of your panties didn't last long as a hindrance to the swordsman who turned you into tatters. It was like enjoying a feast after years of scarcity, drinking the divine honey that flowed from you.

"Still delicious." "I missed you so much."

Zoro couldn't contain a light laugh when he saw you cover your mouth with both hands, avoiding the screams that hit your body as you poured yourself onto his lips. Your waist took on a life of its own with the sensitivity of your pussy against his tongue.

Without any effort, Zoro turned you around and, handling you, placed your body on top of him, in a lotus position. His cock brought friction against your clitoris, your belly burning with pure anxiety and his hands made your hips move against him without even penetrating you. Your lips already hurt from the pressure you used to not let any noise escape.

"Let me hear you, please." One of his hands caught your hair, placing your head against the back of his neck. "Moan just for me baby. I need to hear you."

"Zoro, fuck, don't torture me. Just fuck me, please."

Hearing you beg was the closest thing a devil like him would get to heaven. Wrong, so wrong. Feeling your pussy contract with every inch he put in, that was paradise.

Despite feeling like you could explode at any moment, you moved slowly, not wanting the night to end. The grips against your ass, the eager hands pressing you against the base of his cock. Neither of them seemed to be able to last long.

The peak reached you first, your lips against the sweaty back of your neck, your fingers prickling the green strands begging for more and more, it was enough for Zoro to sink his teeth into your soft skin, containing his own moans and filling you up.

He lay down, still keeping himself inside you and allowing you to lay against his chest.

"You have new ones too." Your fingers traced some new scars.

"You don't like them?"

"Still beautiful, as always. Zo?"

" What do you need, sweet?"

"I know it wasn't our choice, but... Promise that if we get separated again, we'll find a way and find each other." Your eager eyes drew a sigh from the man, who pressed you even tighter against his embrace.

"This is the easiest promise I've ever made."

The sun began to rise when you could no longer keep your eyes open. With your body tied to Zoro's and covered by his kimono, without worrying if anyone would arrive, the two of you both took a snooze.

[evilslushy]

make-up (and irritations)

Hamzah x f!reader

(A/N): no proofread, first time writing hamzah and also anything x reader in a while… hope yall like it idk LOL send me requests maybe??? Idk fuck

“Okay, just don’t move and you won't look stupid in the end.” You hold your hand up to gesture a pause. Hamzah involuntarily paused his movement like a puppy, tensing up as the seconds passed. Somehow, after weeks of pleading, Hamzah found himself stuck in this god forsaken circumstance where you sat opposite him with your make-up bag comfortably still on the coffee table beside his beat up stained couch.

Hamzah broke himself loose from your trance by moving his eyes away from your gesturing hand that had a brush hanging between your index and middle finger to your stern eyes, excitement highlighted all across your face. “I don’t know. Your excitement is kinda freaking me out.” He responded, his eyebrows furrowing at the thought of products rubbing across his sensitive skin.

“You being negative is making me want to make you look stupid.”

Hamzah sighed, throwing his head back to rest it against the sofa, he looked up at the ceiling, murmuring: “I’m not being negative. I’m just being… cautious.”

“Cautious has a negative connotation to it.”

Hamzah only closed his eyes in response. Coming up with something in response only ten seconds later, “Big word alert.” Making you giggle. “Shut up.”

Hamzah’s smile grew at the sound of your laughter—opening his eyes to look at you. Using his hands to sit back up, he crossed his legs and faced you, the sunlight casting a warm glow on his features. There was a relaxed look in his eyes as he settled into the moment, the atmosphere around you charged with an unreadable energy. “Just go.” Your eyes clicked in place with his, your smile still lingering—nothing in your mind anymore other than your comments about how cute he looks.

“Don’t rush me.” You opened your eyeshadow pallet. “This is a form of art. Do you think good art is rushed?” You tapped the powder onto your brush, “you’re taking this way too seriously.” Hamzah’s eyes followed your movement, partially nervous. You clicked your tongue, saying: “hun if you don’t wanna do this we can stop.”

Hamzah looked at you blankly, trying to read if he’s starting to irritate you or not. The last thing anyone wants is an angry girlfriend. The last thing that he wants, matter of fact. Though you weren’t angry—you were genuine about your concerns, you put your brush down to show surrender to his protests. A reassuring smile tilting your lips. A strain in his heart formed at your demonstration of love and care. (Slightly fluttering at the sudden nonchalant nickname drop).

“No. No-no-no. It’s fine. I’m just joking.” He probably looked like an idiot right now. After months of dating he still gets flustered over little things like a teenager. Your hand moved back down to grab the brush again. “You’ll be fine. I know how to do this.” You reassured, smiling as your thumbs glided over his right eyes to close it.

It was quiet, Hamzah relaxing at the feeling of the brush running across his lid. Breathing steadily. You didn’t expect him to be so still. At one point you thought he was asleep. But the random: “my eye itches.” Or “my back hurts.” Reminded you who exactly your boyfriend is. You sighed as you finished one of his eyes.

“My back hurts.” He whined yet again, “I wanna lay my back on the couch.” He continued his whining. You were too focused to notice what he was saying, Hamzah holding your hand away from his face to break out of your focus cycle. “Can we take a break?” A suggestion that almost goes unacknowledged by you when you notice how close you are to his face, for the first time it seemed like you were the flustered one. “Why did you break me away from my art piece?” Hamzah snarked in response.

You pushed his shoulder towards the couch, forcing his back against it. Hamzah raised his eyebrows in curiosity, wondering what you’re doing to him. You uncrossed your legs, your back also aching from being in the same bending position for around fifteen minutes. “What’re you doing?” He asked.

“Sitting on your lap so you’d rest your back against something and stop whining.”

Hamzah liked to pretend like he didn’t care, but he was freaking the fuck out for sure now.

You slid yourself on his lap, not giving attention to the matter. Your right arm wrapping around the back of his neck to prop his head against it. The side of your body resting against his chest, your other hand going back to work and continuing his makeup.

Obviously you weren’t going to address the sudden position change. Especially knowing how Hamzah always reacts to ‘out of nowhere intimacy’ not that he doesn’t like it, it’s just easy to tense him up with—in his opinion, too much—TLC.

You couldn’t help but giggle when you noticed that he stopped breathing for a few seconds. He’s not moving at all. “You okay?” You asked, moving your brush away from his face. “I feel like you're too close, anything and I might mess it up.” He spoke, raising his head up from your arm to look at you.

“Hun, this isn’t a permanent marker, we can wipe it away.” Your thumb wiped the excess eyeshadow powder under his eyes. “Why are you so tense? Relax.” Your hand moving down to his shoulder and squeezing it.

“You’re just pretty, I don’t know.” He rested his head back against your arm, avoiding your eyes as he spoke. His signature awkwardly goofy laugh fills the silence between the both of you. “Wow, such a charming delivery.” You sarcastically teased, “you don’t know?” Both of you started to laugh at the way he phrased his words. Hamzah still avoided looking at you by closing his eyes while he laughed.

“You know what I mean.” Resting his head to the side to continue avoiding eye contact. You raise an eyebrow, holding his chin to turn his face towards you to continue his makeup look. “Yeah well, look at me the next time you compliment me.” You run your brush along the bridge of his nose to contour it. Hamzah’s eyes meeting your focused face, feeling a bit awkward as your comment floated around his subconsciousness. You noticed the way he went silent, regretting not clarifying your tone.

“I’m joking. I know what you mean.” You let out, moving the brush and yourself away from his face. Hamzah sent you a half smile—“I know.”—nodding his head. The guilt for calling him out still weighed heavy on your heart, especially with that look on his face. (By that you mean his awkward half smile, he looked cute.)

You couldn’t help but lean in and give him a rushed peck. Hamzah kissed you back but still gave you a confused look afterwards. “Why?” He asked, unable to hide the warmth spreading from his neck to his ears. It was cute that he wasn’t the kind to flush across his cheeks but rather mainly on the tip of his ears.

You snarked, “not the confusion. Can’t I just kiss you?” Going back to the makeup, starting to set his face. “No, it was out of nowhere.” He responded, “should I give you a countdown next time?”

Hamzah giggled at the thought, “that would be funny, I'm not gonna lie.” His giggle was contagious, because there you go; giggling as well. “Three… two… one. Trigger warning, smooch.”

“Okay, don’t say that word.” He puts his index finger up between your faces, shaking it left and right to shush you. “What?!”

“Millennials' word.”

“Trigger warning millennials.” You say back, making you both go back to the fit of giggles you were sharing a second ago.

[tacticaldiary]

can you do a ghost x head doctor!reader? kind of that scenario where ghost is like, “i don’t want a regular plain nurse; i want reader 🙄” and reader is like, the head doctor of the medical wing or whatever, and doesn’t usually deal with regular military injuries, but puts up with ghost’s shit anyways? 😋

Superficial Wounds, Deep Devotion

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Genre: Fluff; Hurt/Comfort

"Need me to kiss it better?" She quips with a roll of her eyes.

"I'll take anything you prescribe." Comes the smooth answer. It draws out a snort of laughter from her as she turns around with the gauze.

"All you need is to stop scaring away the field medics." She steps in between his legs, wiping down the cut on his shoulder with disinfectant.

Masterlist

"Ghost?" Her head snaps up from the clipboard. "What's wrong with him?" She frowns, pushing down the bubbling panic in her chest.

"He's asking for you to treat him in room Q42."

"Is he bleeding?" The urgency itches just below her skin but her cool professionalism doesn't crack. She doesn't deal with superficial injuries, only the most complex cases. She's seen it all. Mangled faces, guts hanging out, disfigured bodies.

So the fact that they were asking for her-...

Wait.

"Is command asking me to see him?" She says slowly.

The soldier shakes his head. "No ma'am. It was a request from the Lieutenant himself."

She releases a slow exhale, relief tingling. "I'll see to it." She dismisses him with a wave, starting down the hall.

Simon had this...habit of seeking her out. It was a perk of his rank, she supposes, but she'd been the only one to treat him ever since they'd encountered each other way back when she was an on-site combat nurse.

It's impossible to forget seeing him for the first time. That skull mask of his was splattered blood red, a bullet wound in his shoulder as he sat on one of the dusty cots in the emergency tents they'd set up in the middle of the desert.

They'd just clicked.

She ended up treating him again after that, and that's when he started personally requesting her.

It hadn't taken long for the spark between them to explode into something intense and loving. He was the anchor to her stressful life, unshakable and a steady presence. She was his person, one of the only people he trusted with his injuries and his heart, the warmth that let him focus on being better.

Swinging open the door without knocking, the man in question sits there in all his glory in front of her.

Admittedly, the first she stares at is his chest. He's shirtless, a cut that she can tell is superficial and non-fatal from all the way by the door.

"You can come inside." His voice is amused and knowing, the bastard.

"Inviting me into my own house?" She swallows, but listens. The door is kicked shut behind her. The moment it's closed he tugs off his mask, the weary lines of his face much more prominent under the harsh fluorescent lighting of the room. "How was your op?" Stopping by the cot he's sitting on to press a quick kiss to his sweaty head, she breezes past him to the medical trolley nearby.

"Fine. Did what we had to." They both know he won't volunteer any more information. Just as she doesn't confide in him with every horrific injury she deals with, he doesn't expose her to the horrific things he has to do. A mutual withholding of information for the peace of mind of both parties.

"Thought you weren't due to come home until tomorrow. I was gonna meet you on the tarmac and everything."

"Surprise." He deadpans, making her snicker.

"You know, for the big bad Ghost you are, you sure need to cause such a fuss about a little cut." Gathering what she needs, she casts him a glance over her shoulder.

"Thought it was your job to make sure I was in the best state possible for deployment?"

She loves this back-and-forth they have. He does too, if the relaxed way he leans back on his arms is anything to go by. It had taken years and years to get to the place they are right now. Years of work, of communication and trust.

"It's my job to take care of the worst, highest profile cases."

"I'd say this is pretty urgent." This playful side of him came out when they were alone.

"Need me to kiss it better?" She quips with a roll of her eyes.

"I'll take anything you prescribe." Comes the smooth answer. It draws out a snort of laughter from her as she turns around with her spoils.

"Can I prescribe you to stop scaring away the field medics?" She steps in between his legs, wiping down the cut on his shoulder with disinfectant. He doesn't wince or cringe or even flinch at the burn, eyes fixed on her face as she works.

"I'm a Lieutenant, I can do what I want."

She pauses, raising an eyebrow. "Are you really pulling rank on me right now?"

He hums, sliding up to hold her hips, tugging her closer. "Don't seem to mind it when we're alone, love." A smirk tugs at his mouth when a flush creeps up the back of her neck. God, he loves that look on her.

"What's gotten into you?" Shaking her head but unable to push down a smile, she works on securing the gauze, taping it down. "Getting clingy, are we now?"

He...well he can't deny it. He doesn't want to tell her the reason for it either, even if she's subtly fishing for answers.

He'd been an inch away from getting shredded by flying shrapnel from a car bomb today.

If Gaz, quick-witted, sharp, Gaz hadn't yelled and yanked him to cover behind a brick wall he would've been embedded with scraps of metal and rusty nails.

Dead, as his namesake.

Ghost wasn't afraid of death. Ghost got up every day ready to not see the sunrise again. Ghost was a cold blooded machine ready to do whatever his orders were.

But Simon wanted to live.

Simon wanted to come home to her. Simon wanted the last thing he saw to be her smile. Simon selfishly wanted her more than any victory his rifle could earn him.

Ghost had been unfazed, Simon had realised the inevitability of the avoided consequence.

Lips press against his bare shoulder. Right, left, and then gently on the gauze. It brings him back to the present, his grip on her tightens for a moment. Her gaze is soft, knowing. Because of course it is. She's the only one who's been able to get into his head like this, been able to crack the code to thoughts he himself doesn't have the key for.

"Any of other glaringly dangerous injuries I need to take a look at?" His eyes follow the smooth line of her neck as she tilts her head towards him. He exhales, shifts, and pulls her closer without warning, banding a strong arm around her.

"Dunno. Think you might have to conduct a comprehensive examination."

She laughs against his lips and goes down with him when he shifts farther up the cot.

Reblog, Like and Comment!

(1/09/2023)

[hiraizyo]

i’m not here, even though you see me

pairing: kim minjeong x female reader

synopsis — minjeong has been your savior time and time again, no matter the pain it brings both you and her. but she’d do it all for you, even if it felt like she was burning herself alive.

tags — angst, hurt no comfort, mature language, implied drug abuse, nonceleb!au

now playing: it’s all my fault, take care

a/n: sooo another attempt at writing angst 😞 minjeong my baby :( i’m sorry y’all, kinda wanted to try experimenting with different topics ??? short cause i just did this as a writing exercise

the lock of the door clicked as minjeong turned the key in its hole, the sound echoing as she pushed the door open timidly. she had used the spare key you’d given her a couple years ago, closing the door behind her once she was inside.

your apartment was dark and eerily quiet. minjeong treaded with caution as she called out your name, but there was no reply. she glanced around the apartment, and she would’ve thought the place was abandoned had it not been for the messy state of the kitchen as she passed by.

minjeong’s heart heavily thumped in her chest, knowing you and her had been down this road before.

she stepped forward again, slow and hesitant.

“yn?” she called once again, her hand clutching the key tight in a fist. there was a shuffle sound coming from the sitting area, then a loud crash, as if something had been dropped.

hastily, minjeong strode over to where the sound had come from, finding you with your back facing her and hunched over a fallen cabinet. your body moved about in a frenzy, unaware of the girl.

“hey,” her voice was light. “yn, can we talk?”

you didn’t bother to face her, responding in a rough manner. “what are you doing here?” your hands filtered through the draws of another cabinet. they were desperate, urgent.

the blonde sighed, watching you. she knew it then, you’d relapsed. she didn’t want to believe it, not after how far you’d come, not after how the last time she nearly lost you.

minjeong pocketed the keys so her hands were free and took two steps forward. “aeri called me. she said— she said you’d been using again.”

even saying the words left a bitter taste in her mouth. how could you?

you froze at her words, momentarily stopping your search. glancing over your shoulder, you noticed minjeong’s timid behavior.

it wasn’t uncommon for her to come looking for you, especially in times like this. it wasn’t the first, and it definitely wasn’t the second. you’d been here before, whether it was coming down from a high, or being plagued by the withdrawal symptoms — minjeong was by your side.

you faced her, eyes hard. “aeri needs to learn to keep her mouth shut.”

minjeong sighed again and walked closer until she was a few feet away, her eyebrows knitting together. “she’s just worried for you.”

and frankly, she was too.

you rolled your eyes and attempted to walk past her, wanting to make your way to the bathroom. minjeong gripped onto your arm, her touch feeling like a fire on your skin.

minjeong didn’t want this to be true. still, she at least hoped you’d admit it to her.

“hey.” she said lowly, “are you?”

she didn’t have to ask the full question for you to understand.

you glared at her, narrowing your eyes, feeling like you were being observed under a microscope. it left an itch on your skin. her tone was far from accusatory, but you were on edge.

“no, i’m not. fuck— why would you even ask me that?” you fumed, looking at her in scrutiny.

minjeong wanted to believe you, she really did, but your pupils were small, the shirt you wore hung baggy on you as if you’d had a sudden drop in weight. there were bags under your eyes too, a clear sign that you hadn’t been sleeping. your hair was messy, tied in a loose ponytail with the front strands falling out of place.

what really caught her attention though was the look of desperation in your eyes, as if you were scouring — feening for your fix. minjeong thought perhaps that was what you’d been searching for when she walked in.

the korean softened her gaze, “don’t lie to me.”

“i’m not lying.” you stressed, leveling your eyes with her. minjeong didn’t look convinced, and it angered you. “you believe your friend over me?”

she shook her head, pleading for you to be honest with. “i don’t— that’s not..” minjeong swallowed hard, “be honest with me, yn. please.”

minjeong’s distress clawed at your heart, but you didn’t owe her an explanation, nor did you owe her the truth. the very fact that she’d come here over aeri’s assumptions had you feeling like you couldn’t be trusted. you were angry at her, but mostly at yourself, for all your hard work to get sober was fruitless. that frustration came out in the worst way, taking it out on the girl before you.

you harshly pulled your arm away, “go fuck yourself.”

minjeong’s eyes widened, her hand falling. she turned quickly to watch as you stomped into the bathroom and shut the door behind you. her body flinched at the loud noise, but she calmed her racing heart, following in your direction.

she wiggled the doorknob to find it locked. minjeong knocked once, lightly, with caution. there was no answer.

the second time she knocked, it was louder and had more force to it. she attempted to listened through the door — for what, she wasn’t sure, but minjeong could hear muffled sounds of your footsteps and the bathroom cabinet opening.

“can you open the door?”

you shut your eyes, angrily yelling. “leave me the fuck alone, minjeong!”

minjeong dropped her head against the door. she mumbled quietly, but you’d still heard it through the wooden surface. “when have i ever left you?”

the girl was right, there had never been a time where she has ever left you.

minjeong was devoted, determined, to help, even when you treated like she was meaningless to you. she’d come back, her faith in you unwavering. she was strong, and you only wished that you could find such strength in yourself.

your hands gripped the sink, knuckles turning white. “you should,” you replied, giving up on searching for what you craved. the cabinet was empty, you’d forgotten minjeong had cleared it out months ago. “you’d be better off.”

“don’t say that.” minjeong shook her head furiously, “please, just open the door.”

her voice croaked, tears filling up in her eyes.

the silence was deafening as minjeong slide down until she sank onto the floor. the side of her body leaned against the door as she waited until you were ready, until you’d finally come to your senses.

inside the bathroom, you looked up at yourself in the mirror, and what you saw, was a poor excuse of a human being.

you felt pathetic.

this wasn’t fair to minjeong, you knew that. this was hurting her, every time you’d crash at her place sleeping off a high, every time she’d find you passed out in your room, every time she’d come running to you over a relapse, she was there. always.

you and minjeong were sort of like parallel lines; always together but never meant to touch, never meant to be as one. it just wouldn’t work.

similarly, you were more than friends, but less than lovers. minjeong was someone you needed in your life, as did she. you grew together, weaving through life as just you and her.

you had a language only the two of you spoke, a language of understanding — you loved her, and she loved you.

but it would never be enough.

at least, not in this lifetime.

you continue to stare at your reflection, the bags underneath your eyes, and the way they sunk in. you felt sick to your stomach.

this was who minjeong was fighting for?

not being able to bare the sight of yourself any longer, you sauntered over to the door. you hand hovered over the doorknob, contemplating if you should open it, but you couldn’t — wouldn’t — let minjeong see you like this again.

you fell to the floor, a thud heard on the door as you lay your head against it. minjeong jumped at the sound, alarmed, about to get up, but then she heard your voice.

“jeongie…” you rasped out, palm against the wooden door. “i don’t want to do this anymore.”

minjeong’s body filled with terror. she pushed again, trying to coax you. “open the door.”

you laughed, though your chest felt hollow. tears flowed down your face uncontrollably, and you laughed harder, but it wasn’t long before it turned into a gut wrenching sob.

minjeong hit at the door, the sound reverberating against your ear. she stood up, wiggling the doorknob again, a burning feeling in her chest. she gasped out, her own tears falling.

the door didn’t opened, at least not until a few moments later.

what minjeong found was you, on the floor, sobbing in hysteria. she wasn’t sure if you were laughing or crying, but she could tell, this was your breaking point.

“do you.. do you think,” you sniffled, looking up at the blonde from the floor. “if things were different we — i — would be better?”

minjeong shushed you, and took you in her arms. she cradled your body, holding you tight, afraid to let go. your tears wet her t-shirt, but she didn’t care, all she wanted was for you to be better. her hand ran through your hair as she mumbled words against your ear.

your heart ached, minjeong’s did too.

they beat together in rhythm, slow, steady, like they were one.

(but it would never be enough.)

anyways…. i’ll post some fluff next :3

[bunniesanddeer]

Heat: Part Two

Part One

Pairing: Alastor x Reader (AFAB) Lamb/Sheep Reader

Warnings: MINORS DNI, Smut, fingering, fluff, very gentle touches, heat, female anatomy

Word Count: 3,128

It’s barely dawn when he wakes. At first, Alastor isn’t sure what had woken him. Although he was often an early riser, he had figured the long night keeping watch over his soul-bonded would have made him sleep later than usual. He flicks his eyes around the room he had moved them to for a moment. It is after he has taken stock of the room, and the dim, red light filtering through the curtains, that he hears it. His little lamb is whimpering. 

Alastor sits all the way up so he can look down at them. His first instinct, had, of course, been to make sure that they weren’t hurt. With the way their brows are scrunched tight, and the soft sounds leaving them, he still wasn’t sure. 

“Ma bichette, you should wake.” He settles his hands on their shoulders, going to shake them, but their eyes pop open.

Their eyes, which are normally blue with black sclera, have become black voids. Alastor felt as if he was staring into empty space. It was oddly hypnotizing. As they move, incomprehensible noises escaping them, their scent drifts up to him. It is almost overpowering, and stronger than it had been in the last two days. His head feels heavy, and the itching beneath his skin returns. 

“Oh, my dearest, I do believe it has begun.” He kicks back the blanket, to help them untangle their legs. His soul-bonded moves around the bed, their eyes scarcely leaving him for even a moment. 

“Alastor,” They whisper. Oh, their voice! It was heavenly, and it only drew him in further. “Alastor, please.”

Their pleading, in their breathy whisper, sends heat down his abdomen. The fiery heat growing within him feels very much like how they had described their symptoms. Every bit of his body felt too confining. But oh! He mustn’t get distracted with his own feelings. His little lamb needed him. 

“Come here, ma moitié,” he calls. He opens his arms, legs swinging over the edge of the bed. He watches as they hesitate, nose twitching as some instinct calls for them to do. With a tilt of their head, something in them decides he is safe, and they crawl to his lap. His arms immediately wrap around them, pressing them as close to his chest as he can get them. Their heat is the comfort of a roaring fireplace in winter, and it makes him shiver. He drags his nose into the wool atop their head, breathing in deeply. They smell so wonderful; there is something heady, but also something comforting and familiar. 

“Mon trésor, can you understand me?” He rubs a claw against their soft cheek, trying to draw their attention. Their ears twitch, and their tail moves at the sound of his voice. “Dearest,” he tries again. “I need you to answer me, if you can. I want to make sure you still want me to help you.”

“Alastor, please. It hurts.” They wiggle back, trying to look him in the eyes. Their pupils are visible again, but only just; they are tiny pinpricks in the void of their eyes. “Please help me.”

Alastor closes his eyes at their request, and his smile loosens. Their request made him feel incredibly strange, as if some ball of energy was bouncing about in his body, begging to be freed. The heat their scent caused, still hadn’t abated. He opens his eyes again, and nods. 

“Of course, mon cœur. Do you wish to remove any of this clothing? You are getting quite warm.” Alastor tugs at the thin tee they wear, and they nod. Without any help from him, they pull the shirt over their head, and their chest is revealed. 

Alastor’s breath hitches. He had been expecting some sort of undergarment, but it is their bare flesh he sees. He was aware that their chest was rather small, compared to the bodies of other female demons, but it didn’t matter to him. His hands almost immediately cup their breasts, rubbing against their already pert nipples.

His little lamb gasps, their breath stopping for a moment. “Oh,” they start, their voice pitched higher than normal. “That feels nice.”

Alastor takes it as his cue to continue exploring everything they’ve laid bare for him. One hand continues to rub at their, so very soft, chest, and his other hand travels downwards. The skin of their belly is also very soft, a slight give beneath it. 

“You are so very soft, little one,” he coos to them. He ducks his face into the junction of their neck, nuzzling against them. He squeezes one of their hips, and they shiver. “What would you like to do? I know it must be getting quite uncomfortable.”

His soul-bonded wiggles, making him pull back so they can move easier. Their eyes seem to scan his form for a moment, before settling on his legs. 

“Can-” their voice cuts off, their already flushed face darkening further. “Can I ride your thigh?” They start shivering, as if their little body couldn’t handle the anticipation. “It’s probably the easiest, for now. I think, uh, that you can use your hands later, if you would like.”

Alastor lets his smile soften. They are so nervous, and it makes his chest ache. How sweet and wonderful they were. He nods, gesturing for them to find a comfortable position. Although the idea of them riding his leg, whatever that meant specifically, was new to him, he knew it must be helpful. They seemed so eager, and he wanted them to feel good. 

Alastor realizes, as they prop themselves on one of his thighs, closer to his knee than his groin, what exactly they mean. He also notices that they are, in fact, only wearing underwear now. It is a thin, soft, red pair, cut high enough to see where their thighs and pelvis meet. His eyes are glued to the soft skin at the point where they meet. Something, deep inside of him, wants him to bite there, and he couldn’t tell where it came from. 

His little lamb settle their hands in front of them, grasping at his thigh for dear life. He watches with fascination as they shift their hips forward. Their entire body seems to light up, breath stuttering. 

“Oh,” they shakily exhale. “That’s- that’s good.” Their eyes flutter closed, and their claws scratch his thigh lightly. Alastor nearly falls forward with the shock of such a feeling. No one had ever touched him like that, without meaning harm. 

He grasps their hips, as if to steady the both of them, and he leans forward just slightly.

“Come on, ma chérie, do what you must.” His voice drops, the static often accompanying it, gone. “Let me see you ‘ride’ me, dearest.”

His voice spurs them into action, and he watches, as if enchanted. The front of their underwear is darkening, and he can feel something damp soaking through his trousers. (He winces, realizing he had slept in his clothes. It was too late to worry about that, he needed to focus). Alastor lets his thumb sweep up their navel, the other hand cupping their face as they rock their body back and forth. 

“Oh, little one, you are so good for me,” he murmurs. They moan, the sound sending his body ablaze. His skin tingles where he touches them, and his groin feels hot and tight. Oh, the things his little soul-bond did to him. Oh, how wondrous! “Yes, ma moitié. Give yourself pleasure, for me.”

“Alastor,” they mewl as their back bows backward. Their heaving breaths draw his attention back to their pert breasts. Unable to stop the strange desire, Alastor catches one of their nipples in his mouth, tongue immediately exploring the surface. They cry out, and their hands clutch at his shoulders. “Oh, please!”

Alastor feels their muscles tighten beneath his hands. He feels each shuddering breath they take, and the way they moan makes his ears twitch. He places one of his hands between their shoulder blades, pressing them closer to his mouth, and he put the other on their hip, guiding them in their rocking. 

“Please what, dearest,” he asks. He lets their nipple free from his mouth, and replaces his head back against their neck. His tongue laps against their neck, prompting a groan from them. Their skin tasted of salt, and their unique taste, (one he had not experienced since they had made their deal). “Oh, you taste wonderful, my dear.”

“Alastor, please,” they beg, again. Their hips are still grinding down against his thigh, which is growing noticeably damp from the slick coating their underwear and the junction of their thighs. “Please.”

Alastor breathes in deeply, scratching his teeth along their throat. His hands tighten in his hold of them, and he grinds their hips down into his leg, harder. The ache in his chest growing too hard to ignore, and the heat in the pit of his abdomen, his lightly bites down on their shoulder. And then they’re keening, a high and breathy thing, that makes his ears limp. He bites down harder, licking at their skin roughly. Alastor can’t get enough of every little noise they make, and he wants more. 

Alastor lets his voice dip to inhuman levels, and makes his made-for-radio accent drop, he growls, 

“Ma Moitie.”  

His little lamb gasps, and their hips stutter in their pace. They convulse strangely, all their muscles bunching up tight. He feels their muscles beneath their navel twitch sporadically, and their breath stop. Alastor thankfully has a good grip on them, because they go limp in his arms a moment later.

“Oh, mon cœur, look at you.” He pulls them into his arms so he can settle them back onto the bed. Their eyes are dazed, pupils visible again and blown wide. Alastor feels almost as if they are a little doll, so easily moved and adjusted. When they are finally settled back onto the bed, he lies beside them, searching their face. 

“How do you feel, my dear?” He rubs their cheek gently, focusing entirely on their reaction. He can hear the light thumb of their tail against the mattress, (and it makes him thankful that his own is too small to make such a noise. Alastor could feel it twitching the entire time they sat upon his leg). 

“Alastor,” they breathe. One of their hands pulls at his suit jacket. “That felt so good.” Their eyes flutter close, and he watches their whole body jerk. “Unfortunately, I don’t think once is enough.”

A grimace crosses their features. Alastor smiles wider, and he rubs their frown lines with his thumb. “Worry not, dear. I am up to the task.” He lets his voice fill with a confidence he does not feel, but he wants this. He wants to make them feel good again, and to end this ‘heat’ that had been forced on them. “You mentioned, that I could use my hands earlier.”

You can still feel your body twitching, the muscles of your pussy clenching around nothing, as you come down from your orgasm. It is while you are still processing the fact that you had ridden Alastor’s thigh like a saddle, that you feel that painful heat in your belly return. It makes your chest seize, and your head feel fuzzy. When you inform Alastor, he almost immediately mentions making use of his hands. Your brain nearly melts.

Although the two of you had been together for some time now, this was your first, even remotely, intimate experience. You had had a handful of kisses, but nothing more than that. He hadn’t even said anything remotely risqué to you! Now here he was, offering to touch you with his hands.

His hands… the thought sent delightful shivers down your spine. His hands were very large, and they were so warm right now. You wanted him to use them to explore every inch of you, to touch you until his every desire was met. Unfortunately, you couldn’t voice more than a, “Yes, please.”

You felt a tiny bit pathetic, at first, but the soft smile on his face stopped that. He almost looked like he actually wanted to. Not just for you, but for him too. The thought made your chest ache, and you wanted nothing more than to curl up against him and tell him everything you felt about him. You could not, however; there were more pressing matters. 

Alastor sits up, and presses his back against the backboard of the bed. He curls a claw at you, wanting you to move closer to him. 

“Come, my dear. Let’s remove these. They will be very useless in a moment,” he says, pulling at the hem of your underwear. Your face flushes with heat. It was the last scrap covering your skin, and it caused anxiety to grow within you. He hadn’t seen you in such a state before. Would he find this part of you attractive? Did he find you attractive at all? Did he actually want you? Your mind spirals with dreaded questions you couldn’t voice. 

“Ma bichette. Come back to me,” he coos, his hands rubbing your chest and one of your hips. “Do you still want me to touch you?”

The soft way he asks nearly makes you cry. How sweet and kind he could be, despite everything. Tears nearly spring to your eyes at how safe he makes you feel. You can do nothing but nods in response, lest you sob as you try to answer.

Alastor holds the back of your head as he leans you back. He pulls your underwear down your legs as he maneuvers them to his liking. Once the cloth is removed and dropped over the side of the bed, he cradles you in his arms, letting your legs go across his lap. “Mwen renmen ou.” His voice is deep and comforting. You have no clue as to what he whispers against your hair, but you let his voice soothe you. 

Alastor keeps whispering to you, even as he trails a hand down your navel and around your mound. With a control over his form, that you haven’t yet mastered, he blunts his claws, and trails his fingers over your newly exposed skin. His lips caress your forehead as he shifts a finger to press between the lips of your slit. A ragged breath escapes you, and your eyes fall on his face.

There is this look that you can’t describe, on his face. His eyes are softer than they have ever been, their radiant glow further softening his whole expression. His smile is small, but more genuine than you had seen it in weeks. Then, he starts whispering again, just as one of his fingers catches against your clit.

Your whole body lurches at the sensation. The hand holding your head tightens, and you’re forced to remain prone as he continues exploring you. 

“J’adore ton sourire, mon cœur,” he purrs, finger pressing harder against your clit. It sends tingles up your body, and a moan escapes you. “Tu es ma joie de vivre.”

Alastor leans down, and finally presses his lips against yours. Your whole body trembles, and for a moment you see stars. His middle finger is pressing against your entrance as his thumb presses your clit firmly. Combined with his soft, warm lips, you feel overwhelmed. He pulls back, eyes hooded, as he presses his finger into you. Your legs clench, and your eyes flutter. Every worry that you had about the experience fades away as he slowly slides his finger in. Despite how slick you are, there is a lot of friction, making his entrance slower.

“Te me rends fou. Tu ma fait me sentir tout chose,” Alastor coos as he finally presses his finger in, all the way to his knuckle. His thumb rubs at the side of your neck as he grunts. “Si serré.” 

“Alastor,” you whisper, your brows furrowing as you try to calm yourself. Your whole body is shaking now, chest and throat tight. You feel like a live wire, electricity coursing through you like a river. 

“Yes, my little lamb?” Alastor asks, finally rubbing your clit again. Despite his inexperience, his touches are deft, and gentle. It feels unfair that he be so good at things he hasn’t done before. 

“Please. I need it,” you beg, softly. Your back arches as he slowly pulls his finger out, and thrusts back in. You need him to just keep touching you. Anything. It feels better than you could have imagined this feeling.

“Of course, little one.” His forehead touches yours, eyes lidded as he gazes at you. “Does this feel right, my dear?”

You nod, trying to kiss him, but the hand on the back of your head keeps you from turning it too far. A breathy chuckle leaves him, and he kisses you.

As your lips connect again, he sets a pace with his fingers. Sparks flare out from beneath your navel, and it just feels so good. Your hands finally give up trying to find purchase with each other, and you grab at the arm reaching across your belly. Your fingers dig in as he curls his finger. 

Alastor leans back from you, watching you closely. “Oh, look at you. Ma bichette. So good for me, aren’t you?” 

His words turn up the heat in your belly, and you feel like you’re going to implode. Noises keep escaping you, and your eyes close tightly. You grasp at his hand, and then he twists it. The move sends you crashing over the edge, one you weren’t aware of being on. 

Your body is white-hot for a brief moment, and then it all fades to static. Not quite like Alastor’s, but more like the fuzzy TV static. It blankets over you as your muscles spasm. Your lungs stutter and heave, muscles failing to find the rhythm you need. You vaguely hear your own voice muttering, and you can feel Alastor’s hand still. 

“Ma moitié. You were so good for me,” Alastor mumbles, his hands cupping your face. “So good.”

“L’ve you, Al,” you whisper, feeling exhaustion crash over you. Your body gives in, and your eyes slide shut. You can feel Alastor stiffen, for just a moment, before he starts whispering words you don’t understand again. 

“Que ferais-je sans vous, mon cœur?” Alastor’s voice is still that deep tone that he rarely lets you hear, and it soothes you. Within a few moments, you succumb to the need to sleep. 

Alastor would stay vigilant, by your side, for the whole night. Even his own eventual need for rest couldn’t prevent him from whispering sweet words to you, and keeping you safe. 

[allykabbet]

Sneezing dynamics I like 2

Small touches of comfort, almost without noticing, more out of habit than anything else. Lightly rubbing the back, a small touch on the forearm or leg, gently stroking the hair.

Extremely polite sneezers. Sneezing into the elbow, wrist, or forearm, or even into the inside of a jacket. Moving away from the person they’re talking to or interacting with in order to sneeze.

Sneeze forceful, congested exhalation. Pressing the bridge of the nose and shaking the head. Blinking several times and trying to focus on the pile of work ahead.

A congested person who doesn’t blow their nose productively because they don’t want to make too much noise and disturb the environment, instead passing a tissue over their nose just to remove the moisture, causing them to constantly sniffle.

*Stifled sneeze* "Bless you. You’re going to hurt yourself, why sneeze like that? / It hurts just to hear you." "That’s how I sneeze, I don’t know any other way." "You sneeze in a very unproductive way." (Casual conversations about sneezing)

Pre-sneezing face on someone who rarely loses control; their usually composed and controlled demeanor fades in a brief moment of vulnerability: their mouth opens slightly, eyes squinting in anticipation, and their expression becomes soft and unguarded, revealing an uncharacteristically delicate side just before the sneeze.

“Excuse me” after sneezing 😳 and if it’s like an exhale or very congested, or still pressing/with the hand on the nose *-*

“Can you pass me a tissue, please…?” In a soft voice, because they’re too focused on not sneezing yet. When the other person hands it over, they quickly bury their face in the tissue and release a stifled or muffled sneeze.

Two people sitting on the bed, chatting, facing each other. One of them sneezes three/four times mid-conversation, suddenly, although they usually sneeze once, maybe twice. "Uh, are you getting sick?" "I don’t know, my nose itches"

Hoarse voice when getting sick. The other people notice they’re sneezing more than usual, scrunching their nose every so often, or getting lost in the conversation/being less attentive than usual. The people around, however, don’t say anything because they know they doesn’t like to show vulnerability, but they make small gestures. They offer hot coffee, press their shoulder when they sneeze, hand them a tissue in silence.

Shivering after sneeze.

Two people sharing a hotel room (in two separate beds or the same). There’s not much trust between them, they’re just sharing space due to circumstances. From the perspective of one of them, X hears, but doesn’t see, that Y is shifting uncomfortably in bed and rubbing their nose. Y starts having a sneezing fit, trying to contain it as much as possible so as not to wake them. X pretends to be asleep but eventually decides to get up and bring them a roll of paper. Neither says anything other than a whispered thank you.

TIRED sneezes. A lingering cold, and sneezes that practically drain all the energy you have, barely coming out through an already scratchy throat and a sore chest.

Offering to turn on the heating when someone is having a sneezing fit, or rubbing their arms to warm them up.

A hand with long, thin fingers, full of rings, holding in a sneeze. No more. 😳

Someone else keeping count of how many sneezes the other have had when the fit goes on.

The head shaking from a forced sneeze, especially when it’s stifled.

Someone who usually stifles their sneezes deliberately to try to stop a sneezing fit. "Finally. A somewhat satisfying sneeze." "Shut up."

Small or gentle sneezes (ApTsch'u! PTschu!) in someone who appears tough, proud, or cocky.

Different ways of blessing. "Bless you" "Bless" "Blessings" "Bless dear" "Gesundheit" Or even saying it in another language if the person speaks a different one: "À tes souhaits" "Salud!"

Okay, let’s talk about allergies. Rapid blinking, throat clearing, twitching the nose and gently passing fingers or knuckles over the nose to avoid itching. Slight sniffles. The nose is slightly redder than usual. Tired sighs.

Someone at a public event, holding a relevant position (perhaps the head of a company, a mafia leader, something like that) and their subordinate are talking to another important person. The high-ranking individual feels the urge to sneeze, and after suppressing it throughout the conversation, they can no longer hold it back. They place a hand on their subordinate’s shoulder and subtly hide behind his/her shoulder to sneeze into their hand. Then composing themselves and apologizing to their interlocutor.

Someone sneezes and forgets what they were saying. The other person notices how lost they are, the rising fever, and their flushed cheeks and nose. Before saying "bless you," they place a hand on their forehead. The other person closes their eyes. What level of intimacy is needed to place a hand on someone’s forehead without them asking for it?

Sneezing when injured. Perhaps a gunshot wound or after surgery, and the wound hurts when they sneeze.

[Thanks for the support on my previous post! <3 Would you like to read fics too?? :) ]