#picturesque. hm.

[mxddyhero]

Oh WOW Juza's AUs? would you mind sharing some? <3

Oh sure!

I've prolly mentioned this one before, but I'm obsessed with the playback sr story... like. Imagine if instead of no one else in his class voting for a play, it wins. Some of his classmates grumble about it, sure, and Juza never reveals that he was the one to nominate it... but still! This is his opportunity, to rectify the mistake he made so many years ago of resigning himself to stagehand work. But without the enthusiasm of his classmates, without the support network and patience and understanding of Izumi and the autumn troupe, he becomes disillusioned with acting entirely. The teacher just gets frustrated with his clumsy attempts to get through the lines, his peers whisper and giggle while he's rereading the lines over and over again. Hell, he can't even practice at home because he's terrified his brother will see what a terrible actor he is... and to make matters worse, when he sees muku on stage with summer troupe, so full of life and confidence, he can't help but be jealous that it should've been him... but he gave it a shot already. What would change?

That's the main one at least, I will write it one day... maybe...

[munsonsmixtapes]

What a Lovely View

rockstar!eddie x wife!reader

summary: You and Eddie go on a Christmas vacation after weeks of not seeing each other and make up for lost time.

cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) unprotected sex, spanking, breeding kink

You and Eddie enter the apartment where you’ll be staying for the next week for Christmas. This year, you’ve decided to have some time to yourselves since he’s been on tour and you’ve been working a lot because of the holidays.

You look around as you roll your suitcase further into the apartment and can’t help but gasp at how large and prettily decorated it is. There’s a giant Christmas tree in the living room against the giant window that looks out over the city. The tree with all the pretty lights outside behind it makes for such a picturesque view.

Eddie stands behind you, resting his hands on your waist as his chin sits atop your shoulder, a contented sigh passing through his lips as he does so. He’s missed you so much and being here with you for some much needed alone time is all he’s been thinking about for weeks.

Honestly, all he’s been thinking about is fucking you ok every single surface in the apartment and he intends to do so since you have all well. He hadn’t realized how much he needed your touch until he hugged you at the airport. Having you in his arms, holding your closing, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist, he was rock hard right then and there. It took everything in him to not take you to the nearest restroom and have his way with you.

But now he can so he takes the opportunity when he sees your exposed neck. He presses his lips to it gently at first, but when he hears you hum, he goes full force, sucking on the skin, his fingers curling into your waist as your shirt bunches up, exposing some skin where eddie is quick to find purchase as you tilt your head to the side to give him more room to work.

“Eddie,” you moan. “Almost forgot how good you are with your mouth.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” he mumbles against your skin before turning you around to face him, his lips finding yours in a searing kiss. His hands move up your shirt while yours fist his as his tongue explores your mouth, both of your moaning as you do so.

You’re making up for lost time as you take off each other’s clothes, the garments flying across the room as you’re both so desperate to see each other naked. It’s been months and having only the company of your hands while you video chat isn’t exactly ideal even though it often does the trick.

“Fuck, you’re even more beautiful than I remember, Eddie breaths, taking in your naked body as his pulls you to him. You can feel his rock hard cock against you as he kisses you again, making you feel dizzy.

“Need you inside me,” you tell him as you grab his waist, pushing his cock against you even more. Eddie presses his lips to yours as he backs you up to the window and pounds into you as he grabs your legs and wraps them around his waist, thrusting in and out of you as you buck your hips against his.

The window is nothing but cold against your back, but you actually think it feels kind of nice since you’ve gotten so hot with Eddie’s body against yours. His fingers are digging into your waist and even though it hurts like hell, you don’t dare stop him. It feels too good.

“That’s it, baby,” he says. “Just like that. See? After a few months, we’ve still got it. God, you feel so good. Kept it loose for me, huh? So I was able to slide right in? How thoughtful of you.”

“You’ve helped me get off every single night we’ve been apart. You should have known it’d be like this.” He rams into you so hard that you hit the window again, your head also hitting the window. But you couldn’t care less. All you want is for him to do this until you feel like absolute jelly in his arms.

“I should have,” he rasps. “Always such a good girl for me, hm?”

“Always,” you reply as your legs wrap tighter around his waist, your cunt clenching around his cock as he holds it there, all of him inside you as he’s finally gotten the last bit in.

“God, wanna fill you up so good, baby. Wanna make you a mother.” This doesn’t surprise you in the slightest. You and Eddie have spoken multiple times about how you want to have children and you can’t think of a better time to actually have your first.

“Then make me a mother,” you tell him and he goes even harder, his thrusts more frequent and hard, eliciting moan after moan from you.

“So fucking pretty,” Eddie says as his lips find yours, pushing you even more against the glass as he turns his head to the side. You orgasm into his mouth as his tongue finds its way into your own mouth, swirling around yours and his hands find their way to your ass, digging into the skin and you really hope he leaves marks. “You’re gonna be so hot with your stomach getting bigger. God, I’m getting hard just thinking about it sweetheart.”

He pulls you away from the window and brings you over to the couch where he lies, you collapsing on top of him with a gasp. You’re flat on top of him and his hands find their way to your ass, digging his nails into your cheeks as his lips find yours again before giving it a hard slap.

You gasp into his mouth and he can’t help but grin as he does it again, harder this time before massaging it to soothe the pain. You want him to do more, but know that he never wants to actually hurt you so you straddle his waist and begin to ride him as a thank him for fucking your brains out only moments earlier.

“Gonna make such a good mom, swear to god,” he breathes. “I’m gonna be a good dad, right?”

“Of course you are, Ed,” you tell him as your hips roll against his. “You’re gonna be a great dad. Amazing, even.”

“Always say everything I want to hear, don’t you sweetheart?” He winks as hips buck against yours and his fingers dig further into your ass cheeks with so much force that you swear you’re going to bleed. But that’s the least of your worries. Eddie already looks fucked out and you smile to yourself with pride at your boyfriend who’s eyes are definitely rolling into the back of his head and you’ve barely even done anything.

You hold onto his shoulders as you pick up the pace, waiting to get to what you were doing before, wanting to make him feel as good as he made you feel. He continues to buck his hips against yours and maybe it’s because you haven’t done this in weeks or maybe it’s all the traveling you’ve done all day, but you feel like the both of you don’t have the energy or stamina that you used to.

“Fuck fuck fuck, baby,” he moans as he reaches his orgasm and bucks his hip against yours one last time before his back hits the couch. You lie on top of him, the two of you out of breath and he doesn’t bother pulling out as he wants to be as close to you as possible.

He flips you over and pulls out, lowering himself down to your stomach, peppering it with kisses, telling you how much he loves you and that even though he just came inside of you, that he doesn’t care if you wind up pregnant or not. He’s still going to love you for the rest of his life. And you feel the exact same way about him.

[ddarker-dreams]

Do you have any Chrollo crumbs for those of us who are down bad for this loser of a man? Truly a curse to be attracted to him 😔

"Would you kill someone for me, if I asked?"

You're sitting cross-legged atop freshly washed linens, which smell faintly of laundry detergent and dryer sheets. Before you unceremoniously flung yourself onto the bed, with all the grace of a newborn fawn, it appeared picturesque, like the cleaning staff had ironed out every wrinkle.

In Chrollo's brief absence, you've made the king-sized bed your own. The pillows have been adjusted to your liking. You used the extras to build your ill-fated bulwark down the bed's center, in what would separate you from the enemy for an estimated two or three minutes.

"Where's this coming from?"

While asking this, he gets to work dismantling your barricade, not even dignifying the architectural wonder with a comment.

"A place of curiosity."

"Hm," he hums. "It'd depend on the target."

You scuttle toward the furthest reaches of the bed as he makes himself comfortable, mourning your barricade's demise.

"... Does that mean there are people stronger than you out there?" You ask. He regards you with a blank expression. "I'm trying to gauge my options."

Chrollo closes his eyes and smiles softly. "How morbid."

"Yeah, it's almost like I'm stuck with a person who is a terrible influence," you eye the hand that creeps your way like it's a viper. It lunges out at you, finding your wrist and gently tugging you closer to the serpent. Freeing yourself from the maws of a starving beast would be easier.

"Would that make you feel better?" Hearing his voice so close to your ear makes your skin crawl. You can feel his warm breath, smell the remnants of the cologne he applied in the morning and the complimentary mint left on the suite's countertop. "You're not worried some other scoundrel, far worse than I, might snatch you up?"

You swallow thickly. "I think someone's projecting their own fears."

"Maybe."

He rubs his thumb along your inner wrist's pulse.

"Even your contempt is alluring," he murmurs. There's a breathiness to his voice that makes you shiver. "It's like you were made to punish me."

You scoff at the proposition. "Please. What would that make you, then?"

Chrollo laces his fingers with yours and gives your hand a playful squeeze.

"A budding masochist."

[rafey-baby]

sweet treat 4

construction worker!rafe and shy!reader spending their day off together (as one does) but rafe simply can not keep his hands off her, can he? And maybe she just really needs him...

18+ mdni!

c/w: fluff, rafe being a tease, semi-public thigh riding

wc: 1.9k

part 1 part 2 part 3 & part 5

i have such a soft spot for him so hope u enjoy xx

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It’s a tranquil Tuesday; they’re strolling around town and soaking up the last lemony rays of the August sun before autumn drops all the marmalade leaves and brings a chilly breeze along with its visit.  

The balmy weather of the sunlit afternoon coaxes her to remove her cardigan; a featherlight fabric she brought in case the wind decided to pick up. However, she doesn’t need it, not when it’s so pleasantly mellow and thermal. Without a word, Rafe reaches an arm out and plucks the piece of clothing from her, nonchalantly throwing it over his shoulder and holding it for her.  

She mumbles out a soft thank you, and even if the thin material really doesn’t weigh a thing and it wouldn’t have been that much of a bother to hold onto it herself, she still feels all gooey inside from the attentive sentiment.  

They have lunch at her favorite place; a small picturesque restaurant with leafy vines and scarlet roses trickling down the brick wall as they sit outside on a little patio, enjoying their meals with cheery bluebirds chirping and the passing laughter of pedestrians on the lively streets as their background music.  

When their tummies are full of yummy food, they decide to get ice cream. But as they’re padding along the pavement and she’s licking her cone contently, some of the sweet treat drips down her chin without her noticing.  

“You’re so messy,” Rafe tuts and reaches out to grab her jaw in his hand, tilting her up to face him. 

“What would you do without me, hm?” he murmurs out as he swipes a thumb under her bottom lip; catching the cold dessert and tucking the digit into his mouth, humming when strawberry ice cream melts on his tongue. 

Her eyes round out at the nearly obscene sight.  

“Mm, that’s good. But mine’s better,” he thinks out loud, laving his tongue over his own mint chocolate chip flavor.  

He notices her gaze lingering, the corners of his mouth tugging up. “Want some?” 

“Um…no. It tastes like toothpaste,” she complains, trying to clear her suddenly foggy head.  

“Yeah, but in a good way,” he grins. 

“There’s no good way for ice cream to taste like toothpaste,” her brows crease. 

“There is, alright? Here, try it,” and instead of offering his cone to her like a normal person, he dips his thumb (the one that was just in his mouth) into the frozen delicacy and pushes it past her lips before she has the chance to refuse.  

A surprised noise escapes her throat when he presses down on her tongue, letting her get a proper taste of the minty sweetness. He lingers for a moment too long when there’s an itch in his lower abdomen from the sight of her sucking on his thumb; an urge to tuck another digit in and push in deeper, make her gag around his fingers.  

He clears his throat in order to shake the thoughts away, pulling his thumb out from her greedy little mouth, no complaints or grumbling about toothpaste following after. She solely blinks up at him with her doe eyes all dumb, seemingly having lost the ability to speak.  

“It’s good, right?” He asks, a mocking lilt to his tone. 

“Mhm,” she manages out, brain mushy and mind clouding over with a starry haze that seems to follow her for the rest of their walk, merely nodding and humming out responses to his questions. He finds all this entirely too amusing, unable to wipe the taunting smile off his face.  

When a group of people pass them by on the narrow sidewalk, Rafe settles a heavy palm on her waist, pulling her closer and preventing her from stumbling into them. However, instead of removing his hold on her altogether after they’ve successfully bypassed them, he opts to slip a warm hand in the back pocket of her jeans; tugging her to his side. And she really can’t withhold a stupid smile from pulling at her lips or the way her cheeks dust over with a plum tinge.  

He continues on with whatever story he was telling her (she stopped listening halfway through the moment she felt his touch on her) as if this is all completely mundane for him and they aren’t walking around like an enamored couple right now.  

Then, as if for good measure, he mindlessly squeezes her ass with the hand stuffed in her back pocket, making her look up him, but there’s merely a lazy grin hanging on the raspberry mouth she remembers all too well kissing just the other day on his couch.  

Her cerebrum short-circuits and she has half the mind to scold him. After all, they’re in public and he’s groping her rather immodestly. However, how is she meant to do that when he gazes down at her and his eyes mirror cerulean droplets of early morning dew underneath the amber glow of the waking sunbeams?  

“So, what do you think?” His question suddenly reaches her eardrums.  

“About…what?”  

An amused chuckle tumbles from his throat.  

“Said your boss wanted to renovate the cafe, right? Could help with that, give her a discount and shit?” 

“Oh. That’d be— great, yeah. I’ll make sure to…let her know,” she barely manages the words out because his palm resting on her ass is making her thighs press together and it’s getting more arduous to inhale and exhale like a regular human by every passing second.  

Once they’re back in the shelter of his truck, instead of starting the engine, he turns to look at her. She shifts ungracefully in the leather seat, trying to ignore the ache deep in her marrow that’s been bothering her their whole way back. He’s wearing shorts and her eyes zone in on his legs, heavy lids blinking sluggishly as she avoids his piercing stare. 

“You want something?” 

“Hm? Oh, no… what— what do you mean?” She stutters.  

“You don’t think I see the way you keep looking at me?” He rasps out, brows raising. “Been feeling a little needy after you sucked on my thumb, have you?”  

“I…um—” 

“Bet you’re so sticky right now. Shit, must be uncomfortable at this point, no?” His face creases in mock concern as a faint whine leaves her. 

“C’mere,” he encourages, patting his thigh.  

“O— okay,” she clumsily wobbles over the console, settling on his lap.  

“Didn’t tell you to sit there, did I?” He says before he’s lifting her up and then setting her back down until she’s properly straddling his thigh. “Now that’s better, isn’t it?” 

“Rafe…someone could see us,” she suddenly remembers, turning her head around, peering through the car window at the busy parking lot, people striding along the pavement; girls in bikinis carrying towels, couples laughing and chatty families all thriving under the beaming sun.  

“Honestly don’t really give a shit. Why don’t we just…let them see how much of a dirty girl you are, yeah?” He grins at her; showcasing pearly white teeth and making her whine in response.  

With her eyes flitting to the window once more, she inspects the seas of people loitering about, but she doesn’t think anyone’s noticed them yet. However, she doesn’t have any more time to observe them before he’s yanking her back to face him, fingers digging into her jaw.  

“Look at me,” his brows furrow, seemingly upset that her attention isn’t on him. 

“Sorry, I just...” 

“Relax, alright? They can’t even see your face, just a horny slut humping my leg,” he reassures her, mushing her cheeks together and smudging a sloppy kiss on her puckered lips when she drags out his name, flushing in humiliation.  

“Why don’t we take these off, hm?” He mutters, not even bothering to wait for a response before he’s dragging down the zipper of her jeans. Then he’s tugging them down her legs, leaving her in just a flimsy pair of underwear.  

She gasps, eyes rounding out when she feels his firm thigh against her drippy cunt, relieving some of the tension in her limbs.  

“This shit gets you off, doesn’t it? The fact that anyone could just look through the window and see how fucking desperate you get for me?” He asks, something mean glinting in his gaze. 

“Go on then, if you want it, gotta work for it, yeah?” He’s lazily leaning back against the seat, long legs spread out and a smirk painted on his face as he simply gazes at her.  

She doesn’t think she’s ever felt more embarrassed, cheeks burning when she gives a tentative roll of her hips against him, whimpering out because the fabric between them is not only paper thin but also soaked through at this point.  

“There you go, Sweetheart. That feel good?”  

She mewls, nodding all frantic; rutting against his thigh some more. Then he’s plucking at her panties, pulling the sodden material to the side, allowing for her to really feel the sturdy muscles there; skin to skin.  

She’s becoming louder and louder as her swollen clit keeps occasionally bumping against him, making him smear his mouth on hers; muffling her whining in the process when her thighs begin to grow sore.  

“Rafe…I’m tired— can you…” she complains.   

“You’re tired? What if I’m tired too?” There’s something in his mocking question that tells her he’s anything but.  

 “Rafe, can you just— can you help?” 

“Where’d your manners go, hm? Why don’t you ask nicely?”  

“Rafe please, I need to…can you help me please I need you to— need you to help,” her distressed eyes are becoming watery and he chuckles, low from his chest. 

“You don’t even know what you’re saying, do you? Get so dumb every time we do this. Couldn’t even fuck you properly before you passed out on me that night in your bed, remember?” 

“Hey, that’s not fair. I was so sleepy—” 

“What’s not fair is me constantly having to do all the work while you just whine like a helpless baby,” his voice is condescending, making wet droplets stain her cheeks.   

“I’m sorry, don’t mean to...”  

“I know, Sweetheart. I know,” he says while gripping at her hips, supporting her weight and dragging her over his solid thigh, making her moan out loud.  

“Can’t do anything yourself, can you? Need my help with everything, yeah?” His rugged paws roll her hips against him, hard, again and again.  

“Mhm. Need you—” a loud noise leaves her throat when he pushes his leg up against her; forcing her puffy clit to harshly rub against the skin that her weepy cunt has made so wet, to the point where he can feel it whenever she glides against it. “Rafe, I’m gonna…” 

“Yeah? Gonna come? Soak my thigh more for me?”  

She whimpers when he presses her down firmer. 

“Shit, Sweetheart. Look so fucking pretty like this,” he mutters out, blue gemstones fixated on her trembling form before the knot in her stomach begins to loosen, the piece of yarn snapping as she begins to unspool in his arms, crying out because she feels so delighted she doesn’t know what to do.  

“There you go, just do anything I ask, don’t you?” He murmurs when her head drops against his steady chest as he rakes his fingertips through the strands of her hair; blunt nails scratching at her scalp.  

There are stars in her eyesight, nearly a full-blown galaxy and she thinks she could die happy right now; his strong grip steadying her and making her feel like nothing else matters. There’s only this moment. Him and her.  

She wants to stay in the safety of his hold for evermore because she’s positive the only reason her poor heart is beating in her ribcage these days is because of him.  

As an afterthought, she wonders if maybe she’s just in love.  

[lay-z]

🌲 Day 6 ‒  A Christmas tree disaster

Synopsis: This was supposed to be a relaxing, fun getaway for the three of you, – spending Christmas leave in a cosy cottage in the Scottish Highlands, – but for some reason, your two lovers just don’t seem to be getting along.

Pairing: Simon Ghost Riley x fem!Reader x John Soap MacTavish

Warnings/Info: NSFW, 18+ | multiple POV’s; military!Reader; established poly!relationship; cussing; humour; domesticity; sexual roleplay; dirty talk; breeding kink; voyeurism; angst; edging; orgasm denial; miscommunication (Don't worry, though!)

Word count: 2.9k

↳ back to 🎅🏼 Masterlist ☃️

Happy St. Nicholas’ Day! Hope you’ll enjoy this. 🎅🏼❤️

Blowing softly on the steaming cup of black tea clutched between your palms, you watch from the large kitchen window front as the snowy blanket covering the scenery outside thickens with the steady flutter of big, fluffy snowflakes.  

The snowfall is creating a beautiful, tranquil atmosphere that seems like a perfect setting for a romantic getaway, it’s been snowing consistently since you’ve arrived at the cottage last night and it doesn’t look like it will let up anytime soon, judging by the grey sky. 

You let out a soft sigh, your thoughts turning to the approaching Christmas Eve tomorrow.  

You're finally on leave with Simon and Johnny, who have rented a cosy cottage in the picturesque Scottish Highlands for some much-needed R&R, after Johnny had practically begged you two to visit Scotland with him over the holidays. 

“There ye are, hen,” Johnny coos as he approaches from behind; two warm, beefy arms, clad in a deep blue chequered lumberjack shirt, wrap around your waist from behind as he pulls you into himself, your back moulding against his bulky chest. 

“Enjoyin’ the bonnie view, hm?” He asks softly, voice muffled as he buries his face into your neck. 

Your heart flutters at his unexpected embrace, the warmth of his arms enveloping you like a comforting blanket. The snowy scenery outside might be beautiful, but the feeling of his strong, solid presence behind you is what truly captures your attention and helps you relax. 

“Hmmm,” you hum in contentment, putting the hot mug down on the counter in front of you before leaning back into him. “Yeah, it's gorgeous out here. Perfect for a cosy holiday getaway. Good job renting this place for us, baby.” 

Johnny grins, his voice a soft rumble. “Knew it'd be nice. Cannae wait ta spend the week all by ourselves – with ye and the Grinch.” His fingers splay across your abdomen, his arms wrapping around you tighter. 

“We can unwind here, or even go out some. Have a proper snowball war,” he suggests, nuzzling into your neck, “– or stay inside an’ have some fun.” He teases, the smirk evident in his deep voice, his warm breath fanning over you, sending a shiver down your spine. 

You squirm in his embrace, giggling softly, when his fingers sneak underneath the hem of your beige wool sweater, tickling along your warm skin. 

“Will you stop calling Simon a Grinch? Because he will clock you if he hears it again.” 

Johnny chuckles against your neck, his fingers roaming beneath your sweater and brushing over the underside of your bra-clad breasts, “But it's fitting, innit? He is grouchy as hell, more so than usual.” He objects, his featherlight touch sending sparks of desire to your core. 

“And let tha’ big geezer try. I can take him any day.” He murmurs jokingly, pressing a soft kiss to your nape as his hands cup your breasts over your soft bra, groping them sensually while he pushes the growing bulge inside his jeans against your rear. 

You moan softly at his teasing, your breath hitching as you feel his muscular body pressing flush against yours. Your hips instinctively push back against him, your head tilting as his mouth peppers kisses along the side of your neck, the rough stubble of his chin adding to the sensation. 

“Ah, careful… Johnny,” you murmur, your fingers reaching up and behind you to thread through his dark, short Mohawk while his hands cup your breasts, pinching your stiffening nipples through the fabric.  

“We need to help Simon relax and unwind. You know that he’s still adjusting to… this relationship. Plus, you know that the holidays aren’t easy for him.” Johnny hums along as you speak; still pre-occupied with kissing your neck and groping your body, so you give his Mohawk a tug that has him growling in return. 

“Where is he anyway?” You ask eventually, concern lacing your voice as you let out another contented sigh while you try not to get too distracted by your other boyfriend and his ministrations – or shenanigans. 

Johnny mutters in between teasing nips, “Said he’s gonna take a walk… Talkin’ about ‘checkin’ the bloody perimeter’.” He snorts, his breath puffing against your shoulder, “I was thinkin’ we could ah– christen the kitchen now, hm? Give him somethin’ nice ta look at when he comes back. Whaddaya think, hen?” 

Your fingers carding through his hair loosen their grip and your arm drops to your side, resolve crumbling when one of his big hands lets go of your breast to slip beneath the waistband of your matching beige leisure pants. 

“You–You can’t keep saying that Simon is a voyeur, baby,” you almost whine, your voice already breathless as his fingers start teasing your rapidly dampening slit and swelling clit through your panties. 

“Ach, our Grinch’s a bloody voyeur and ’m a nasty mutt and ye luv us both for it,” Johnny growls against your nape, biting down playfully as he pushes your panties aside and plunges a finger past your sopping entrance while his other hand pushes your bra up to free your breasts beneath your sweater.  

“Now… be a good wifey and let me fill you up with my cum, aye? Gonna breed you fuckin’ nicely over the holidays– make sure ye’re kept all warm an’ stuffed, an’ ask Simon ta take turns with me.” 

Your knees nearly buckle as he adds a second finger into your cunt, thick digits working their magic to prepare you for his girthy cock, your breath coming in ragged gasps. You can't deny the truth in his words. Yes, Simon is a voyeur, and yes, Johnny is a naughty, eager brat. And yes, you love them both more than anything. 

The mention of being Johnny’s ‘wifey’ causes a shiver to pass through your body and you feel like your pussy reacts even harder, gushing with arousal as he keeps pumping and scissoring his fingers, muttering filth into your ear with his Scottish brogue. The idea of submitting to him, to both of them, being their ‘good wife’... it's incredibly intoxicating. 

Eventually, your sweater is pulled over your head along with your bra and dropped onto the dark kitchen tiles; your skin pebbles with goose bumps when Johnny pushes you forward, making you brace your hands on the brown marble kitchen counter while you hear him fumble with his belt and zipper behind you. 

He pushes your soft pants and panties down your hips, letting the fabric pool at your feet as he nudges them apart with his boot, “Fuckin’ hell, look at tha’ bonnie cunt. Ye’re already drippin’ f’me, wifey.” 

Simon closes the heavy, dark cedar wood door behind him with his usual finesse, making little to no sound, even as he steps inside the spacious entrance area, gently placing the freshly chopped logs for the fireplace down in a corner, before brushing the powdery snow off of his warm black bomber jacket, kicking off his wet winter boots next. 

He feels better after his walk, having swept the perimeter and gotten familiar with the surroundings of the cottage where they will be residing at for the next couple of days; it eases his anxiety and soothes his paranoia, knowing his way around here, even though both you and Johnny are more than capable enough to handle possible danger and threats, no matter where. 

After hanging up his jacket next to yours and Johnny’s, he knows that the both of you are either still settling in or lounging around somewhere. 

However, when Simon saunters down the hallway toward the open living room area, his trained ears pick up the odd sound of rapid skin on skin contact coming from the kitchen and his stomach drops and tightens into knots, synapses firing in his brain, once he makes the connection and comes to the most logical conclusion. 

Of course, you two would be doing that.  

A part of him wants to simply leave and find some other way to occupy himself, but he has to admit, his curiosity and the shameless urge to watch you get fucked by Johnny wins out – always does. So, he slowly strides toward the kitchen, his sock-footed steps silent and measured, while the sound of slapping flesh, your wanton moans and Johnny’s hoarse groans become louder as he approaches. 

When Simon comes to stand inside the open kitchen doorway, a shockwave of blasting desire shoots through his lower abdomen, makes his groin throb and his cock chuff inside his boxers at the obscene sight in front of him. 

His sharp eyes land on Johnny’s bare ass and clothed torso, jeans pooling at his boot-clad ankles; plump ass cheeks and hairy thighs flexing as he pounds into you from behind while one of his meaty hands is wrapped around the back of your neck, pushing your naked body down against the counter while the fingers of his other hand dig into the fat of your hip to keep you steady.  

Simon tries to keep his breathing steady, but his blood starts rushing and simmering, knuckles turning white as he balls his hands into tight fists at his sides to keep his composure while heat starts licking up his spine, flushing his pale cheeks which are still stinging from the biting cold outside. 

The way your smooth back arches as you take Johnny’s fat cock, makes Simon want to jump into action himself and lick his flat tongue along your spine, get a good taste of your sweat and skin. He can clearly see your legs quaking; can hear how wet you are as Johnny’s heavy sac slaps against your flesh. It’s making him dizzy, and he bites back a low groan bubbling up in his chest. 

Simon’s painfully hard now, dick straining against his underwear, and he knows – one flick of your pretty tongue over his flushed cockhead would have him buckle and come undone within seconds, erupting like a bloody volcano.  

Suddenly, his right hand cups his throbbing erection through his black cargo pants, heart thudding violently against his ribcage as he rubs himself, sucking in a sharp breath through his nostrils as his own touch ease some of the pressure. 

Slowly, his dark eyes move lower, his gaze fixated on your face and the way it contorts in pleasure, lips parted with keening moans while your eyes are squeezed shut. He tries to keep his expression neutral, despite the ache between his thighs, but his jaw ticks and the vein in his neck throbs with restraint. Watching you and Johnny... despite how much it turns him on, it always makes him feel insignificant, inadequate, redundant... 

Simon hates how he’s feeling about this relationship lately. How envious he is and how he thinks of himself as an intruder rather than your equal lover and boyfriend. An equal with Johnny, despite slipping and sliding into your relationship later than the Scot.  

And now, he’s stuck with the two people who he cares most about and loves for vastly different reasons on this godforsaken planet, unable to enjoy this R&R, because he doesn’t know and has never learned how to relax and unwind and enjoy these holidays that everyone seems to love so bloody much. He’s sure neither you nor Johnny would bat an eyelash at those sentiments of his and he can’t even blame either of you for that. 

“Can feel ye squeezin’ me, hen, – Fuck! Ye gonna cum f’me, aye?” Johnny taunts you, his voice strained and husky with desire, “Ah, F–Fuck! ‘m close, baby! Ye ready?” 

The way you whimper and moan for Johnny, blabbering gibberish in ecstasy, has Simon gritting his teeth as his chest clenches and his cock throbs, ready to burst so soon with little to no stimulation, but he can’t – can’t allow himself to use you two and finish in his pants like this. It feels wrong and pathetic, like he doesn’t deserve nor earned it yet. 

Your words come out chopped, breath hitching with each thrust of Johnny’s powerful hips, his girthy cock dragging through your slick channel, thick tip nudging against that spongy spot that has your brain go fuzzy as your pitchy whines are torn from your throat and echo through the cottage, “Fuck– ah yes, yes, yes! John-ny–!” 

Even in the throes of passion, Johnny is aware of Simon’s presence; knowing the big bloke is probably standing completely still behind them in the kitchen’s doorway, trying to keep himself from whipping out his cock to stroke it. 

But the stubborn Scotsman has made it his personal mission for the holidays to keep you extra satisfied and happy, and finally make Simon let loose in the process of it. It just hasn’t been working too well so far with the latter, though he’s making progress with the former– 

His grip on your neck tightens as the tension in his lower belly coils deliciously, his balls getting taut with his impending release as he snaps his hips forward, making sure to keep the right angle, keep you moaning his name with that saccharine voice of yours as his meaty cock pistons in and out of your wet cunt while your rippling walls clench tightly around his shaft, trying to suck him in deeper. 

Johnny eases his grip on your neck with a deep grunt and lets his warm, big palm run down the curve of your back, arched so sweetly for him, before he lifts it to smack your right ass cheeks harshly, watching the fat jiggle as you yelp. 

As soon as you cry out in pleasure and your body starts tensing, Johnny knows you’re about ready to tip over the edge, so he grabs your hips with both hands and doubles the effort, eager to follow you into the abyss. 

“You better fuckin’ stop, MacTavish, and don’t you fuckin’ dare come inside her now.” 

Johnny’s breath stutters, thrusts faltering as soon as Simon’s booming, gravelly voice resounds behind him. And just like that, his chance to climax and fill you up with his cum is popped and broken like a flimsy balloon. 

The intensity in Simon's voice is like a bucket of cold water, snapping you out of your haze of pleasure, and you tense, perking up as you grip the kitchen counter before glancing over your shoulder with widened doe-eyes, shocked gaze flickering between Johnny and Simon. In an instant, the atmosphere changes and things get tense – the sexual tension in the air transforming into something more volatile, something potentially explosive. 

“We got stuff do to, shite to prepare for tomorrow and you two are shagging,” Simon scoffs, trying to keep his voice nonchalant while ignoring the obvious, raging boner in his cargo pants, “Typical.” 

“Stuff ta prepare?” Johnny huffs a laugh, raising his brows in amused disbelief while his hips keep grinding into your pulsating heat shamelessly, “Mate, we’re on vacation,” he says matter-of-factly, holding your hips tighter as you try to pull away, “There’s not a feckin’ thing more important than peace, love, food, and ‘specially this–” He gives your ass cheek a couple more teasing pats as Simon saunters into the kitchen, squaring his broad shoulders. 

Meanwhile, there is nothing else you’d rather do than melt into a puddle and seep into the floor in shame and embarrassment. 

Your cheeks heat up even hotter, when Simon comes to stand beside you, scrutinizing you thoroughly with his icy, unwavering gaze before he reaches out with one hand to brush his rough, cold knuckles over the side of your face lovingly. 

“You did want a Christmas tree, right, lovey?” 

Your whole body shudders and your throat goes dry, completely caught off guard by the sudden display of tenderness from Simon after catching you in such a vulnerable, obscene position. Still, your brows draw together in a thankful frown as you nod slowly. 

The corners of Simon’s eyes crinkle the tiniest bit as his gaze softens for you, “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he rumbles, brushing his knuckles along your tense jawline as you whimper, “Gonna make this Christmas special f’ya.” 

“Oh... fuck–” Johnny huffs, chest heaving before he chuckles with a playful glint in his cobalt blue eyes, “Our bonnie lass loves ye an’ yer voice, Si. Her pretty cunny is grippin’–” 

“Enough, Johnny!” Simon barks, making you flinch, “Now put your fuckin’ dick away and help her get dressed. We gotta go cut down that tree before the bloody sun sets.” 

[holybibly]

Bunnies, are you ready?

These are the unholy thoughts of the day: hot cowboys with a lactation kink and a strong oral fixation who find it difficult to keep their hands to themselves when they meet a pretty busty waitress in a saloon who works part-time as a breastfeeding nanny during the day.

Your town wasn't big, but it was certainly a picturesque place to relax, so when rumours spread through the bustling streets and saloons about four damn good-looking cowboys from the big city, you didn't pay much attention. Cowboys often came to your town to take a break from the hustle and bustle. For you, they were just extra income as hot, horny things dropped fabulous amounts of money in your saloon to drink and entertain.

Especially as you've been so busy lately with your part-time job as a breastfeeding nanny that all you can think about is how much your breasts ache from all that milk and how much you want to milk yourself to relieve their heavy weight and plumpness.

When a noisy, chaotic crowd poured into your saloon this evening, it took your table, and you didn't expect much. Just another customer on another night, but God, how wrong you were, especially when the blue-haired cowboy, whose name you later learned was Hongjoong, wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you onto his lap, playfully running his fingers into your deep cleavage.

"Sweet lady, will you join us today, hm?" He purred in your ear, pulling down the hem of your blouse slightly, exposing your plump, milky tits even more to the gaze of his friends.

"I don't think so." You slapped his arm, freeing yourself from his grip. The cocky cowboy grinned, letting you go easily but not losing sight of the wet stains on your blouse, and the other guy at once commented that.

"Pretty lady, is breast-feeding? Or is there a milkshake on the menu?" His cat-like eyes narrow and focus on your cleavage as his tongue runs along his bottom lip, leaving a wet, glistening mark.

"Lord, San, don't be so shameless; you can't say such things." Another guy, with long hair and scarlet lips, rebuked him. And you were about to thank him, but his next sentence made you abandon that idea completely. "I wouldn't mind tasting that milk, though. I bet the taste is simply divine."

"Hmm..." The last guy sitting in the corner of the booth hummed. "Are you free, doll, or is someone already milking your pretty tits?"

"Assholes," you hissed, adjusting your corset. The tension of the fabric on your sensitive nipples only made you leak more milk. You sighed heavily, wanting to get away from the brazen, shameless cowboys whose eyes were now literally devouring you.

"Oh, don't be angry, beautiful." The blue-haired guy laughed and leaned back against the soft wall of the booth. "I'm Hongjoong; this is Seonghwa." He pointed at a guy with long hair. "San, but you've heard his name before. And this is Mingi." He pointed to a tall guy in the corner of the booth. "We're new here, and you're so gorgeous; can you blame us for being interested? But still, do you have someone, or should we try our luck?"

You roll your eyes in annoyance and look from one guy to the other until your eyes meet Hongjoong's.

"You're not my type, stud. So calm down, place your order, or get out of here. You know, there are a lot of other people who would like to be in your place.".

"The only place I want to be right now is..." San didn't get to finish because Seonghwa covered his mouth with his hand, but he didn't have to finish for you to understand what he meant.

"Don't pay any attention to him, doll. San is a very straightforward guy, but he's harmless." Mingi said, leaning towards you, only to wrap his arm around your hips and pull you towards him. "You know what they say, doll, safe the horse, ride the cowboy. Want to try?"

"Isn't someone falling for that?" You ask, squirming in Mingi's arms.

"Usually it works, yes." Seonghwa notices and reaches out to you, cupping your chin with his fingers and forcing you to look into his eyes. "I hope you can ride horses well, because we're going to give you a real wild rodeo, little flower."

[merlucide]

Prayers in Silk

pairings 𓇼 Highschool!Satoru x Fem!Reader (enemies to lovers type)

synopsis 𓇼 it was new years in 2006, and as the year changes, so do the hearts of two people. At the shrine on the cold new years morning, you and Satoru make your wishes, unaware that the prayer he holds is far more significant than you realize.

warnings 𓇼 light cursing, cheesy bit at the end

word-count 𓇼 2.6k

“Ehhh?! You’re seriously wearing a kimono?! In this weather!?” Gojo bafflingly exclaimed, pointing at your satin yellow kimono. “Uhh? You aren’t dressed up?!” You glare at his comment, crossing your arms. He was wearing his grey sweatpants and a his navy blue jacket, quite boring compared to your glamorous look. It was New Year’s Day and you were going to Hatsumode, which is the first shrine visit of the new year. You wanted to look nice in the presence of the Kami’s, is there something so wrong with that?

To Gojo Satoru, apparently it was. “Too much effort, and like, it’s freezing,” He retorted stuffing his hands back into his jacket. It wasn’t actively snowing, but ice ice glazed the sidewalks, and frost dusted the bamboo, creating a picturesque—albeit chilly—path to the shrine. You had originally made plans with Shoko to go to the shrines, that somehow turned into an invitation for Gojo and Geto as well. And you had no problem with that, except Gojo. He was insufferable—loud, smug, and annoyingly good at getting under your skin, and unfortunately he liked getting under yours the best.

You let out a dry sigh and rub your hands together, “Where’s Geto?” You ask, looking around for the black-haired boy. those two are like one in the same, it’s odd to catch one without the other. “They needed him for an emergency mission or something,” He answered nonchalantly. You hummed in acknowledgement, a few minutes later a ‘ding!��� went off and you pulled out your phone. A notification from ‘Shoko-tan<3’. you opened the message.

‘Hey sorry can’t meet- they dragged me in on an emergency mission. Sorry again (*´Д｀*)’

You sighed deeply through your nose and closed the lid, sliding it back into your kimono’s obi securely. Gojo’s brow raised at you slightly, an amused glint in his eyes as if he was about to comment on how “traditional” you looked, but he bit back the remark with a smirk.

You clapped your hands against your red cheeks and turned towards the frozen stone steps. “Shoko can’t come, I’m going now,” you firmly state, not sparing a glance at the snow-haired boy as you make your ways into the bamboo enclosed path. Gojo blinks a few times and trails behind eyeing you. The path to the shrine was filled of red and black torii above your heads. “Sooo, whatcha gonna ask for eh?” He drawls, blowing air into his hands. You sigh, “I don’t know yet.” “You should pray for a boyfriend, you probably won’t get one otherwise,” He smirks, head tilted towards the sky, avoiding your gaze.

You abruptly turn “Excuse me?!” You scoff, “Well for your information I was asked out multiple times in the past few months!” You glare at him, which he just sticks his tongue out tauntingly. Your dating life has always been amusing to Gojo for some reason. Always poking fun at you for not having a boyfriend yet or how you’ll end up alone or whatever nonsense he can come up with to elicit a reaction from you.

You sharply exhale and continue down the path, it was a bit busy as expected, but not nearly as busy as you thought it would be. You also went much earlier to avoid the crowd. “Well then, what are you going to ask for, hm?” You spare a quick glance to him. “Meh, I don’t care, maybe a free ticket to America. Never been,” you stare at him baffled, ‘seriously?’ you think. “..You’re going to ask… for a plane ticket?” You echo. “Yeah, never been sounds cool, besides the chicks there are super hot,” he exclaimed on the last bit. “A plane ticket? Are you serious?” You exasperatedly ask. “What? It’s a wish, isn’t it?” He grinned. “Don’t worry. I’ll send you a postcard.”

“You know this is the time to ask about like— health and happiness right?”

“Duuuh, I did grow up ‘tradish’ y’know,” he replies mockingly, adjusting his glasses up. You just shrug and turn your gaze to the shrines entrance. You step underneath the temizuya, the water basin had ice on the sides of the walls, the temple keepers had already cleared the ice out, no doubt it was freezing. You took your right hand and took the ladle, scooping it and pouring the water into your left hand. ‘Oh it was freezing!’ You shudder, “You’d think they’d have like, a heater or something, ugh,” you groan, switching the ladle to your left hand and pouring it on your right. This was the purification process, it’s how you show respect and properly participate in the ritual. And as much as you want to make the Kami’s proud and honor them, this sucked ass.

You poured a little bit of water into your left, holding it up to your lips and rinse your mouth. Now’s not the time to think of germs. You swish it around a few times, then spit it to the side of the basin. Gojo chuckles behind you about who knows what, “Oh hush, it’ll be your turn soon,” you tilt the ladle upright, watching the water trickle back down into basin. Then you hand it to Gojo, who takes it and steals your place. He repeats the process with a little more complaints than you, ‘THIS IS FUCKING COLD.’ You just snicker watching him, then you continue into the shrine.

“Seriously, that sucked,” Gojo moans, stuffing his wet cold hands back into his jacket. “Shush already, be caaaaalm,” you mock, both of you walking on the side of the path, nodding at those leaving. You make it to the main shrine, it was brown and red, like most temples. this one wasn’t very big, since you didn’t go to the cities shrine, figuring that would be much more busier. It was small and modest. The concrete torii stood in front of the shrine, moss growing on the top, little komainu stood next to it, and there was little circle candles on both sides of the shrine. 

You stood in front of the offering box and dropped in your five yen. Gojo repeated the action, flipping it off his thumb. You both faced the shrine, and bow deeply twice. Then clapped your hands twice, in sync, then you both tilted your head down in prayer.

You had thought deeply a few days prior of what you would ask for. Your life wasn’t perfect, but you were happy—that wasn’t what you wanted to ask for. You weren’t poor, nor were you rich, but that was fine too. What you wanted wasn’t something material. Maybe it was love, maybe it was clarity, or maybe it was just the strength to navigate the path ahead. Man, this was hard. As a jujutsu sorcerer, tomorrow is never promised. You accepted that, you knew one day you would probably die against a curse. That hit harder after your kouhai died. You don’t want anyone around you to have the same fate. You bowed your head slightly and pressed your hands tighter together. “Please let those I care about have a long and happy life… and maybe let me figure out my own along the way.”

You open you eyes and stand up, Gojo was already standing, waiting for you. You bow deeply once more and turn to face him. “So what did you end up asking for?” He asks, piercing blue eyes peeking behind his slipping glasses. You shrugged softly, “For those around me to live their lives to the fullest,” you reply, dusting off your kimono. Gojo snickers, “Gosh you really are so selfless,” He praises mockingly. You click your tongue, “Well then, what did you end up asking for, hm?” “Tickets,” “Are you serious?!” You exclaim. You seriously thought he was joking, how stupid is he. You shake your head. ‘unbelievable’. 

He just gives his cheeky boyish grin he always gives you, oh how you hated that smile. You both left the main shrine, making your way to the shop booth to buy omamori. You figured you’d get one for Shoko since she couldn’t make it. You looked at the colorful options, picking up a blue omamori with written kanji, ‘protection’. You looked for one for yourself, you already asked for protection and guidance, so what charm should you get?

“Hey, what are you getting?” You ask, turning to the lanky boy. “Gotta guarantee that I stay number one,” Gojo smirks, dangling a yellow omamori, kanji reading as ‘success’. “Meh, I’ll get Suguru a ‘protection from bad luck’, sounds good enough.” 

Your fingers ghosted over the pink one, lifting it up and brushing your finger pads over the lettering.

You paid for both of you, because Gojo apparently ‘forgot his wallet’, ironic since he’s fucking loaded. You put yours and Shoko’s omamori into your obi, the tassels sticking out ever so slightly. You both begin the journey out of the shrine grounds. The sun had begun to melt the frost, it hadn’t warmed up much but it still felt warmer. That was when you came face to face with the crowd, oh it’s a wonderful thing you went earlier. It was kind of ridiculous just how many people went to the shrine for Hatsumode. Gojo bends down to the shell of your ear, lowly speaking, “Good thing we got here when we did.” Groups of family and friends pooled in, squeezing against each other. You and Gojo were pushed to the very edge of the path due to the crowd, a girl passed you in a lavender and pink kimono. “See, I’m not the only person dressed up,” you boast, smirking at the boy who was wordlessly mocking your comment. 

You and Gojo squeezed your way through the narrowing path, the weight of the crowd pressing in from all sides. People were pushing and shoving, their chatter creating a constant buzz in the air, but it felt oddly isolating. You were still too aware of Gojo standing just a few inches behind you, his presence impossible to ignore. You could feel the heat of his body just behind you, his breath warm against the back of your neck. It was an oddly intimate feeling, and you refused to acknowledge it. 

But just as you turned to throw a glance back at him, to make sure he was still with you, someone bumped into your shoulder, pushing you backward into Gojo. You stumbled slightly, surprised by the force of the collision, but before you could step away, you realized something was different.

Gojo hadn’t moved.

In fact, his hands—his hands were now firmly holding your arms, steadying you.

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a split second, everything felt oddly still. Gojo’s hands held onto your forearms, and the usual barrier,—the feeling that he was untouchable, inaccessible—had melted away. His Infinity, his usual shield, was absent in that moment.

You didn’t know if he meant to lower it, or if it was a slip-up, but his fingers lingered a little longer than necessary before he quickly pulled back, his usual smirk sliding back into place as though nothing had happened. “You fallin’ for me too?” he said nonchalantly, his tone teasing, but there was something else in his eyes—something fleeting, almost imperceptible.

You cleared your throat, trying to hide the rush of warmth in your cheeks. “Watch where you’re going, dummy,” “YOU BUMPED INTO ME?!” You rolled your eyes and continued pushing through the mess of people. 

The moment passed, but it left an unspoken question hanging in the air between you two. ‘he’s so annoying’ you thought, that’s definitely what you thought.

The crowd was finally thinning out, and with a sigh of relief, you stepped through the last few groups of people, Gojo following at your side. The shrine’s path grounds were gradually clearing, and the chill in the air didn’t feel quite so biting anymore. You adjusted the fabric of your kimono, a subtle movement that caught Gojo’s eye as you did. A small piece of pink caught his attention from the edge of your obi—the tassel of your omamori peeking out.

Gojo didn’t say anything, but his gaze lingered for a moment longer than usual. That pink hue—he knew exactly what it meant. Love. The omamori meant for romance, for heart’s desires. It was so clearly sentimental that it almost made him roll his eyes. He quickly shifted his gaze away, though, as if he hadn’t seen it at all. You were probably the type to hope for something soft, something you could hold onto. He wasn’t the type to believe in things like that.

It wasn’t hard to imagine why you’d chosen it, though the thought of you wishing for something like that… It stirred something strange in him. You’d picked something soft, hopeful. Did you even realize what that said about you? You acted so tough, sharp edges and biting remarks, but this? This was something else entirely.

As you turned ahead, tucking the tassel back into the folds of your kimono, Gojo’s smirk returned, casual, but with an undercurrent of something else. His gaze softened for just a split second before he looked away again. His hands found their way into his jacket pockets, the silence stretching between you both.

“Guess we’re headed in different directions now,” Gojo said, his voice low, almost as if the words didn’t fully match the thoughts behind them. “Good luck with that wish of yours. Cya at school.”

You didn’t quite catch the weight behind his words, brushing them off as just another one of his teasing remarks. You nodded, walking ahead without a second glance. 

As your figure retreated, Gojo lingered behind for a moment longer, standing at the edge of the steps, watching you as you walked away. His hand brushed against the omamori in his pocket, the action so subtle it could’ve been missed by anyone else. But to Gojo, it was something more. It was a reminder of the prayer he made, the charm he chose.

Success, yes. But there was more to it than that. The charm was supposed to symbolize the strength to keep going, to push forward. But what Gojo had truly wished for, what he had really prayed for, was simpler than that. 

—He’d lied, of course—he hadn’t wished for plane tickets. That was just a convenient story to cover up the truth. He’d stood at the shrine, hands clasped loosely, head bowed just enough to make it look like he cared about decorum. But his mind had only been on one thing. On you.

He had wished for you. Not in the way your omamori was about love, no, not that. But he had prayed for the strength to keep you safe, to give you the life you deserved—the life where you didn’t have to fear the world or what it might take from you.

He had prayed for the kind of strength that would allow him to be by your side, to protect you, to ensure that no curse would ever hurt you. Maybe you didn’t realize it, but Gojo saw the way your smile lit up even in the darkest moments, the way you kept going despite everything. And he couldn’t stand the idea of you ever losing that light.

So, he held his omamori tight, fingers curling around the small charm, as a quiet breath slipped past his lips. He didn’t need to tell you what he’d really wished for. You wouldn’t understand. But in that moment, Gojo made a promise to himself: he would do whatever it took to make sure your life, your happiness, was something that could never be taken from you.

You may have prayed for the happiness of others, but Gojo? He prayed for yours—and for the chance to be the one who made it possible.

I have 4 things to say:

This rlly tested my Japanese culture knowledge 😭🙏

I got excited writing this bc there’s a chance I can go back to Japan in a year or two!!

this was mostly proofread but shit probably doesn’t make all sense 😭

oh my gosh editing the colors took forever HELPP

feedback + Reblogs appreciated pls! :)

made November 27th 2024 (I’m excited for Christmas season okay??)

[bloodmoonmuses]

translation: i love you. | mark lee

genre: mark lee x reader, college au (not that important for the context tbh), friends to lovers, fluff, drabble (900 words)

summary: your friends referred to you as the mark lee interpreter. you weren't sure why, but you understood him- even the words he didn't say.

warnings: none!

To many, you were known as the Mark Lee Interpreter. Such was usually said in jest, but you couldn’t help the pride that swelled in your chest when the moniker was bestowed upon you. Sure, the guy rambles a bit, but if you listen- really listen- he has quite a beautiful outlook on the world. 

You and Mark usually conversed in motion. You’ve divulged your deepest secrets to him while on aimless walks. You’ve cracked your wisest jokes to one another while biking. You’ve had entire conversations through your eyes while dancing in grimy bars.

Now was no different, though a more chill variation. It’s Spring, so the two of you are taking a stroll in between classes. The sun knocks the chill off an otherwise too-chilly day, its rays falling on your face like a smattering of kisses. Spring isn’t in its picturesque stage quite yet. The stasis of winter still lingers, trees barren and skies grayish amidst the light that peeks through the cloud coverage. It’s calming.

There’s a creek that runs through the center of campus, a little bridge arching over the widest part. This is where you stood now, watching the water trickle over stones. 

“I think about rocks a lot,” Mark says out of nowhere. (Translation: Nature is so beautiful- even the most mundane and minute aspects of it. Even the parts that people forget. I think about forgotten things a lot, like rocks.) You believe it. Mark thinks a lot about a lot of things.

“They’re, like, soooo varied. Y’know?”

You do know. Large rocks. Mountainous rocks. Boulders. Stones. Pebbles. There are many types of rocks. “The ones in the creek look super smooth. It’s… hypnotizing.” Mark speaks as though he’s constantly in amazement, or on the brink of an epiphany. He’s the embodiment of potential, of the hypothetical, of what could be. You think a lot about what you and Mark could be. 

Of the many possibilities, you conclude that as long as some form of togetherness is involved, you’d be anything for him.

“I think about water a lot,” you respond. 

“What’s your favorite kind of water?” (Translation: Indulge me. How intently do you think about the minutiae of the world? Are you as crazy about water as I am about rocks?)

“Hm,” you say. “Good question. No one’s ever asked me that.” You assume he’s asking you to identify a particular body of water as your favorite. A memory comes to mind. 

It was the summer after freshman year. You and Mark went to the beach everyday together.  You think of the chilly water that rolled over your toes in the waking moments of dawn. You think of how beautiful the sunrise looked reflected on the ocean. You think of Mark waking up with you, despite not being a morning person. That wasn’t your favorite type of water, no. You specifically liked the sea water that danced on the ends of Mark’s hair. The drops that traveled down the follicle, forming shimmering beads, and dripped onto the sand below. You made a game of watching and counting them that summer. (The highest you got was 47.) 

You’re not sure how to consolidate this memory into a sentence that doesn’t sound absolutely insane. You decide to omit the thought entirely. A conversation for a different day, you suppose. 

“The ocean. Cliche, I know,” you say. Mark nods to himself, then hums.

The creek beneath you harmonizes with Mark’s humming. He begins walking again, taking your hand in his. This wasn’t too out of the ordinary for your friendship, but it makes your heart do this twisty thing you can’t quite place. It was the one action of his you couldn’t interpret. Mark doesn’t make a big deal about it, nor does he discuss the matter afterwards. It was almost like he was entitled to your hand, clasping his calloused fingers around yours without a second thought.

You’ve never actually looked at your intertwined hands before. The first time he grabbed it (during one of those days on the beach), Mark acted so nonchalant. You figured the gesture didn’t mean much to him. You were scared that, if provided with a visual, you’d never stop thinking about his stupid hands. 

This time, you allow yourself a peek. The cuff of Mark’s jacket hangs over his fingers, and he squeezes your hand when he realizes you’re looking. (Translation: You’re finally acknowledging this. Are you here? Can you feel me?) 

Your hand is getting sweaty. You pull away to wipe it on your jeans.

Mark can’t believe you’re nervous right now. You’re never nervous around him. The two of you have become accustomed to the wordless ease of your relationship.

Mark’s eyeing you again. You pretend you can’t see him in your peripheral vision. It doesn’t work. “Nervous?”

“Not even a little bit,” you say defiantly. You snatch his hand back into yours as if to prove your point. However, this only does the opposite as you begin to literally tremble.

“You’re so funny,” says Mark, running his thumb over the back of your hand. He slowly lifts your hand to his mouth, but he doesn’t kiss it. He simply presses your knuckles to his lips, maintaining eye contact while he does so. Your breath hitches.

“Mark-” is all you manage to say. You can’t meet his eyes, so you look at your conjoined hands as they swing between the two of you. Elation radiates off Mark’s skin. He’s grinning from ear to ear.

“Your hand is so warm,” Mark says. (Translation: I love you.) 

a/n: feedback is always appreciated! thanks for reading!

[sytoran]

𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐔𝐓𝐘 𝐏𝐓.𝟐

following your erotically fantastical encounter with the mother of the kids you babysit, the aftermath is more of a rollercoaster than you could have ever precedented.

🌸 pairing: milf!pregnant!wanda x dom!babysitter!reader

🌸 cont: smut (18+), mommy kink (wanda), lactation kink, body worship, praise kink, power bottom sex-deprived milf 🤝beefy college service top footballer

🌸 word count: 2042

🌸 note: THIS IS SO LONG-AWAITED im sorry..... also i know im supposed to be writing for kinktober but milf!pregnant!wanda was invading every corner of my mind so here ya go. not proof-read!

part one || main masterlist

“Come on, Y/N, you’re not going to the party tonight?” Natasha grumbles, grabbing the sleeve of your bomber jacket as you try your darndest to escape your friends.

It was the fated next day following your erotically fantastical encounter with Wanda, and you had just completed your classes. As you strolled out of campus grounds, the sun was already setting. It painted a picturesque view of the orange horizon, but truthfully, you only cared about getting back to Wanda for that promised ‘tomorrow’. 

“I told you no, Nat,” you reply with a playful sternness that the others laugh at. It was no secret that Natasha had a crush on you, ever since you first sat next to her in the lecture hall and got a little flirty and perhaps a little too handsy. 

It was also no secret that for every lecture after that, you would sit next to a different girl and activities of the same sort would ensue. Most of the time, those encounters would end up with a pretty girl trapped between the wall of a cramped supply closet and you.

“They’ve probably got a secret girlfriend,” Tony adds unhelpfully, with that classic smirk you want to punch off his face sometimes. 

“Really?” Steve asks genuinely, ever the innocently clueless one. “Is she younger than us?”

“Oh, definitely,” Sam chimes in. “Have you seen the freshmen ‘round our beloved Y/N?”

“Feral,” Carol states in resolution. “They crowd at the field to watch Y/N during football practice.”

“And of course, Y/N doesn’t bother to hide the way she leads them all on!” Natasha adds in partial indignation, nudging you suggestively. “That’s totally your type, hm? Younger, pretty girls who chase after you with a puppy love? Is that why my forward advances have always ended in flames?”

You grin half-heartedly, awkward in the spotlight of your love life. For one, your friends couldn’t be more wrong about this ‘secret girlfriend’ you had. Younger, innocent girls? More like smoking hot single moms in their late thirties.

It was strange, even, how you would normally take these girls’ teasing in your stride, almost basking in the glory of being the most sought-after student on campus. 

But with the looming thought of Wanda intercepting every brain wave of yours, months of pining surmounting to a heated make-out session with the hope for something more, all else was forsaken. 

You try not to think about the implications of that too hard.

As your friends continue to bicker about the prospect of your secret girlfriend, you seize the well-earned distraction and weasel your way out.

Sooner than you’d care to admit, you’re standing outside Wanda’s home, skateboard in hand. You’re buzzing in anticipation with your flushed face and windswept hair.

Before you can doubt yourself and backtrack, you knock on the door sharply, twice. You can’t help but smirk at the muffled shriek that follows, then a muted shuffle, then silence. Your heart hammers in your ribcage. You really were about to do this.

“Come in, sweetheart,” the mother calls out with a sugary tone that feeds your ever-increasing libido.

You open the unlocked door, mentally preparing yourself to face Wanda once more. 

But then you actually lay your eyes upon her ethereal figure, and your athlete-hardened knees nearly buckle.

Fuck.

Sprawled out on the sofa like something out of a classic Renaissance painting is Wanda, clad in nothing but a lacy set of dark red lingerie, the most sultry look on her face that draws all the air out of your lungs.

You’d never seen a more attractive woman, pregnant or not.

The way the lacy bra hugs her swollen breasts tighter, pushing the cleavage to be even more visible, the way her thick thighs are spread to reveal those beautiful stretch marks.

“Fuck,” you say, a lot higher pitched than you would care to admit. It seems to be the only word currently circulating in your mind, your studied vocabulary flying out of the window at the sight of Wanda presenting herself for you like a well-earned present.

“See something you like?��� Wanda dares to tease, left hand trailing along the lace of her bra, dipping into the ample cleavage that leaves you salivating. 

It takes approximately three seconds for you to kick the door shut, yank off your jacket and nearly dislocate your shoulder, then press against Wanda like it was always meant to be.

The kiss you pull her into is the opposite of gentle, your head slanting to deepen the kiss immediately, tongues meeting like planets bound to collide, bound to cross paths and cause an eclipse.

Wanda moans into the kiss, and you can barely hide your pleasure at that noise. You wanted to hear it a thousand times over, the breathless cry of your name, the begging tone of the older woman.

It was so wrong, but nothing had felt more right.

Wanda’s relinquishment of power doesn’t last too long, though, because before you can impatiently rip off the fabric of her lingerie, she threads her fingers into your hair and forcefully tugs you closer to her chest.

“My house, my rules,” Wanda states, and you’d be lying if you didn’t feel a rush of arousal coursing through your veins at Wanda’s motherly sense of control.

“Yes, ma’am,” you mutter, half-jokingly, but when your peripheral view catches Wanda visibly aroused by that, you know it isn’t going to be the last time you address her as that.

Your hand slides under Wanda’s body to unclasp the bra, letting out an affected noise at the sight of her full tits on display.

“Shit,” you grunt, pausing for a moment to admire the view.

Throughout the months of babysitting Billy and Tommy, you had only ever discreetly checked out Wanda’s cleavage, or perhaps stare a little too hard when she wore scanty dresses that showed off her side boobs.

Now, with those perfect, swollen mounds right before your face, you give into your urges to bury your face between them. You groan at the sensation of Wanda’s milk leaking out of her hardened nipples, your mouth moving to suckle at her breasts.

“Shit, baby,” Wanda cries, throwing her head back as you drink right out of her breasts, lapping fervently. It wasn’t entirely sexual per se, but the sheer relief of lightening that weight load in her breasts was a pleasure in itself.

You get slightly drunk off the feeling of Wanda’s breasts in your mouth, and it takes Wanda a surprising amount of strength to get your head away from her chest eventually.

“You’re a bit too obsessed with my tits,” Wanda teases, swiping her milk off your lips with her thumb, tilting your head down to lock eyes with her. The tension between the two of you is palpable, thick in the air, and you long to drown in that desire.

You only smirk back, hands resting on the hem of her thong. “May I undress you now, ma’am?” you emphasise, tilting your head to the side in faux innocence.

“So polite,” Wanda retorts right back, fingertips tracing the curve of your jawline as a smile plays on her lips. “How could I say no to such a gentleman?”

That’s all the confirmation you need before you snap the elastic of Wanda’s red thong, stuffing the flimsy material into the pocket of your pants. What you’d do with it later was for another day.

You kiss down Wanda’s breasts to her swollen belly, firm but gentle, then you flatten out your tongue when it reaches her wet heat.

“I couldn’t pay attention,” you growl, licking a long stripe up Wanda’s pussy. “In any of my fucking classes today,” you continue, tongue flicking at her puffy clit. “‘Cause I was thinking ‘bout all the ways I could fuck that pretty cunt.” 

The filthy moan that leaves Wanda’s lips at your words rings around the confines of the four walls. 

It had been so long since Wanda experienced such mindblowing sex; She had been sexually repressed because of Vision’s busy schedule, and it was torture because pregnancy pretty much solidified her daily sexual arousal. 

But what with her split from him meaning no more mediocre sex, and the prospect of a hot babysitter entering her life, Wanda’s pregnancy hormones had skyrocketed to an all-time high.

Long gone were the nights she held a vibrator against her clit under the sheets, eyes screwed shut as thoughts of you swam in her head. Long gone were the times she helplessly fingered herself in the shower, wishing her fingers belonged to you instead. 

Now, your head was buried between her thighs, your mouth like the devil on her cunt, fast-paced and unforgiving and everything Wanda had always longed for.

“You’re perfect,” you grunt into the older woman’s wet heat, the vibrations of your rough tone sending jolts of arousal up Wanda’s body. “You’re so fucking perfect, Wanda.”

“D-Don’t say that,” she answers breathlessly, fingernails digging into your scalp. “You’ve slept with plenty of other younger, prettier girls than me.” 

The insecurity Wanda felt about her body had mainly stemmed from Vision, who was always going on about how she had become less attractive after pregnancy, with the stretch marks and the added fat and other blemishes on her skin.

“I don’t know about that,” you say, relentless in your worshipping of Wanda’s body. The way you were treating her like a temple was overriding the false beliefs Vision had planted into her head. “‘Cause now when I think about those other girls in bed they all end up looking like you.”

At that, Wanda feels tears prick in the back of her eyes, her gaze blurring as she stares at you. ‘

You, who had entered her life like a ray of hope, brightening up her every day with a blindingly charming smile and a selfless heart. You, who had treated her with more care and respect than any man she had ever been with before. You, who tied up all her loose ends and sewed it up to form the shape of a pretty little heart.

“I love you,” Wanda whispers, the words spilling from the tip of her tongue before she can control it. Her breath constricts afterwards when your mouth finally stops to register her words. 

“I don’t know why it’s taken me so long to realize it,” Wanda continues, breathless, pushing aside your hair to properly look at you in the eyes. “But I do love you, Y/N L/N.”

Wanda feels something wet on her inner thigh, something that’s not her own slick. It takes a moment for her to realize that it’s your tears.

“I’ve loved you since I first laid my eyes on you,” you confess, eyes shining. “I think I was just scared to believe it until today, too.”

Heartstrings get tugged like a harp, crescendoing into a beautiful symphony that was finally requited love, finally coming to a high, finally reaching its summit.

The lust that encaptures the two of you dissipates into a warm glow of love, the tension easing into trials of romance. 

When you dive back in between Wanda’s thighs, you’re determined and emotional and ultimately choked with new possibilities.

You could already imagine cooking dinners together with Wanda, reading the kids bedtime stories, chastising them to go and brush their teeth, stealing kisses when they fell asleep.

You could already map out a navigation of your future years, down millions of paths and possibilites that all brought you to Wanda Maximoff. She was your life, your truth, your unbreakable vow.

With that, her first orgasm comes in a tidal wave, like rushing water breaking free from a dam. 

Wanda sobs, riding your face as she comes harder than she’s ever had in her life, squirting all over your face and the sofa, all else forgotten.

Your expert tongue and naturally-skilled fingers bring her to another plane of existence, where she was floating above the universe, where your name was chanted like a mantra.

The world around you faded as Wanda’s thighs wrapped around your head, as you dived down once more to worship, as you dived down once more to chase the love of your life.

This was the only happy ever after you needed.

hope yall liked it 😋 reblogs are much appreciated!!

main masterlist || AO3

[missmimii]

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 | 𝐌－𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐎

୨ৎ － 𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 | In which Matt had gotten lost in a game rather then the deprivation of touch he’d felt the whole night.

୨ৎ — 𝐂𝐖. 18+, Sub!Matt, fem!reader/dom!reader, smut, language, dirty talk, light degradation, pet names, teasing, dom/sub!relationship, fem!receiving oral, Matt the munch!

♡︎－ℳ𝒾𝓂𝒾’𝓈 𝓃ℴ𝓉ℯ𝓈 | Mimi finally posts! Surgery + School has been kicking my ass, so I sincerely apologize for my absence. But I’m back! And ready to get back to my usual schedule.

Butterflies swarmed the girl’s gut as a kitten like peck was placed right atop her belly button, making her squirm a little as two blue hooded eyes peeked up at her. “What’s this?” Matt murmured softly, though his tone remained gruff with a hint of exhaustion lacing the undertone. “Hm?” She propped up her upper half with both elbows, head tilting to the side as she watched as her boyfriend’s thumb run over the slight, faded purple scar above her bellybutton. “Does it hurt?” Her head shook slightly, a subtle smile tainting her bitten lips as the adoring boy hummed, placing yet another kiss atop the mark. “I used to have a piercing there, it left a scar.”

Matt cooed ever so slightly, and inwardly, so did she. He looked so perfect, and at peace. His brunette hair was untamed and just barely overgrown, small pieces lying around his eyebrows and forehead. Blue eyes accompanied by faint bags underneath, a picturesque proof of just how long he’d been up. And his lips, slick with his saliva as he ran his tongue along the soft skin, the rough stubble of his jaw pressing into her abdomen as he allowed his head to rest. “Tired, baby?”

Matt’s eyes batted as a soft sigh escaped his lips as her hand cupped his jaw delicately, the pad of her thumb guiding it’s way under his one eye. “No.” The boy mumbled, peeking his eyes open to look up at his girlfriend. “wanna’ spend time with you.” His eyes were groggy, slow blinks sent her way as he peered up at her with such intensity. Warmth swirled in her core at the innocence written all over her face, knowing it was all a facade. “Spend time with me? baby you’ve had all night to be with me.” He whined at the tone of her voice, lowering his gaze as he pressed his face into her tummy, inhaling.

Vanilla and remains of her body lotion that had a reminiscent hint of shea engulfed his nose as he resisted the need to nip at her lustrous skin, the smell so intoxicating as he felt himself ache for the girl. “M’sorry. Nate wanted to play a game with me before he went to bed,” she hummed in understanding, already knowing the circumstances. “You don’t have to be sorry, baby.” The girl knew he felt guilty the second his PC had shut off, the room going dark with the subtle hue of a candle as he crawled onto the bed and lying himself between her parted thighs.

It started off innocent, just like it always did before he got worked up. ‘You looked so pretty today’ he’d whisper, the praise muffled as he pressed his lips to the skin of her navel. ‘missed you so much’ his hands would glide up her chest, innocently toying with the frilly hem of her bra. ‘Wanted to touch you so bad’ and that’s when she’d know, realization coming over her just as he unintentionally would rut his hips against the bedsheets.

The girl let out a huff of amusement as she felt the boy’s teeth graze her tummy, just before his eyes slid up to hers, a mischievous glint behind the blue surface. “Yes?” Yet again, he whines while she guided his chin up with her palm. “Please?” Oh~, She cooed, watching as Matt’s lips parted oh so sweetly, her thumb trailing across his bottom lip that had pushed out into a pout. “You’ve had all night.” I know, he whimpered out. “Speak up.” The girl murmured, tilting her head at him in disapproval. “I know.” The triplet repeated breathily, his voice now verging on a groan.

What was he playing at? The girl couldn’t help but feel her lips tug at the corner, watching as Matt slowly lowered his lips to her navel, tongue gliding out and licking a stripe along the surface. “What’re you doing, hm?” She forced her voice to stay strong, despite the shaky undertone it held as he offered an innocent shrug, eyes hooded with desire as he blinked up at her while kissing down her abdomen. Matt got lost in his own little world, panting as his teeth suddenly came in contact with her faded pink bloomer shorts, wanting nothing more then to tug them down.

He needed it, his body pleading for it as he ever so desperately sought his release by rocking his hips into the mattress. “Ah, ah－” a whimper emitted his lips as he drew his gaze upward, hearing his girlfriend’s tut as he stilled. “Where’s your manners?” He whined, sensing her disappointment in his actions. He was being bad. Sorry, he murmured with a whimper lacing his tone. ‘Sorry, sorry, sorry－’ he repeated, rubbing his stubbly cheek agaisnt her soft stomach as a silent apology.

The feeling of his unshaven scruffy jaw tickling her stomach has her thighs twitching, her teeth biting on her lip to keep her composure as she imagines the feeling of his rough cheeks in between her thighs. “Shhh’,” Matt leans into her touch, practically moaning as she threaded a hand through his tousled hair. “Jus’－ please.” It hurt. His loose sweatpants now felt rather snug around his hips, and his skin suddenly grew hot without her hands touchingly trailing across his body.

“Stop whining,” she muttered, and Matt shrunk under her domineering gaze. A darkness had settled behind the surface of her eyes, pupils having grown in size as she follows his every move. “if you want something, ask for it. No more whining.” Sniffling, he felt a pearl of pre-cum drip from the tip of his aching cock, wanting nothing more than to tug off the uncomfortable sweats. “Wan’ you to touch me.” Matt said meekly, looking at the girl with a longing look of desperation.

An hum of understanding left her lips as she brushed a few hairs away from his eyes. “You want me to touch you, baby?” Matt opened his mouth, prepared to let out a soft whine before he was shut down by her hardened glare. “Mommy.” He finally whimpered out, tears sticking to his lower lash line. She couldn’t help but coo at the sight of her boy so desperate. So whiny and pathetic, at the hands of his own actions. “Hm? You want mommy, doll?” Matt’s blinks were long and thick, looking almost as if he were in a trance while gazing at the dominant girl.

“Not wan’, need.” And that was all it took. The girl saw how Matt’s hands softly trembled, seemingly overwhelmed as he huffed out small breaths. “Here, puts those here, hm?” Two of her hands guided his large ones to the hem of her shorts, the boy immediately letting out an incoherent murmur of relief as he began to tug them down her thighs. “Ah, ah－ patience.” She scolded lightly, the bed frame creaking every so slightly has he rutted his hips into the plush mattress.

The shorts toppled off the edge of the bed in a bunch, within seconds Matt was already slipping two fingers on each side of her underwear to slip them down her hips. “－thas’ it- yes, please－” The boy whined small murmurs to himself, his face looking pained as he ran his tongue across his teeth. “Such a good boy.” She praised, cooing. His eyes were hooded, a thick swallow following as he peered up at her. “Mhm.” Matt felt his mouth practically water as her panties finally joined her shirts on the floor, his eyes gleaming as they took in the sight of her glistening, pretty pussy.

His morals were drowned in desperation, the concept of asking －let alone begging, completely dismissed as he lowered his lips. “Matt,” a hand buried itself in the boy’s hair, tugging at the soft strands as she scolded his behaviour. “where’s your manners?” The triplet moaned softly, a hand squeezing her thigh as a silent apology. It was almost amusing. She couldn’t stay mad at him when he was in such a state, drool pooling at his lips as he hungrily took in her bare body. “have I been doing a bad job a teaching you how to be a good boy?” A whine drawled from his lips, frowning as he shook his head vigorously.

It wasn’t his fault, he thought to himself. She was so warm, and smelled so sweet. Her pink hole was dripping, wetting her folds as cum and arousal slid down her cunt. How could he not want to devour her? “Take your time,” her hand fisted his hair, tipping his head down as he let out a gentle breath of relief. “don’t always get to do this do you, hm?” Matt didn’t respond, instead capturing her lower lips with his hot mouth. “Fuck.”

Her jaw went slack as the feeling of his pulsing hot tongue ran up her core, nudging her hole as his breath fanned against her clit. Matt’s hand held her hips in a painful grip as they attempted to rise off the bed, pinning her lower half down with every ounce of strength he had. “－oh fuck, Matt－shit!,” her eyes rolled back as he nipped at her clit, a moan mixed with a pained hiss escaping her parted lips as his rough hands pushed her hips into the bed with force.

He hungrily lapped at her cunt with soft pants and moans, dazed with a pussy-drunk expression gracing his soft features as the girl’s body thrummed. The nerves in her core would spike every time the ridge of his nose nudged against her clit, the stubble scattered across his jaw tickling her inner thighs as he pushes his face deeper into her parted thighs. It’d been weeks, Matt thought as a strings of moans left his girl’s lips.

Tears threatened to fall from his eyes as he panted against her sopping pussy, incoherent babbles leaving his flushed lips as he rutted his hips into the mattress pathetically. “Awh’, baby.” His eyes drooped as a hand tightened around a fistful of his brown locks, tilting his head up to meet the domineering girl’s gaze. “hard to focus on making mommy feel good, and you at the same time?” Spit dribbled from his lips, making her thighs twitch as the string would land directly atop her aching heat.

A small bob of his head was all it took for the girl’s harsh domineer to shatter, eyes softening as she ran the hand down the side of his head. “I’ll help you after you’re done, hm?” The girl offered, tipping her head to the side as she watched his eyes spark with lust. Please, he whined, making the girl chuckle. “Then we gotta’ stop that－don’t we?” She gritted out, eyes hardening as Matt chose just then to rut his hips into the bed.

The same hand that had been resting on his jaw slid down until it was weaved around his neck, making a moan bubble from Matt’s lips as he took then to lick a stripe up her pussy. Her thighs squeezed around his head at the abrupt motion, a moan tearing from her lips as her head craned back. “Fuck－ that’s it－that’sss a g’boy.” It wasn’t often that she allowed Matt to go down on her, but when she did, the girl always wondered why she didn’t let him do it more. It always felt so fucking good, different than how her past partners would make her feel.

She narrowed down to it being because Matt always wanted to do it. It was almost never her who initiated oral－unless it was her going down on him. He pleaded, and begged, cried out just to have a little taste of her until she’d give in. Because when it came down to it, he needed it more than she wanted it.

Matt’s eyelids were heavy, batting with lust as he peered up at her while swivelling his tongue past her lips, savouring the sweet taste of her on his tongue. The muscles of her cunt would tense and tighten around his tongue every time he slid the tip past the divot of her hole, making her thighs twitch. “Matt,” she grunted, eyes clamped shut as she attempted to keep her strong exterior. “Hm?” Fuck. Her jaw fell down as nipped at her clit, a slurping sound filling the room as he molded his raw lips against the sensitive bud.

A euphoric feeling rolled down her spine, as if a pleasurable chill shook her body as she moaned out. “Fuck－ fuck－oh my god－” Something so deep inside of her shattered, a mix of Matt’s breath feathering against her core, the gruff itch of his stubbly cheeks scratching the inside of her thighs, and his hot mouth feasting away at her heat. All of it. “Baby－” Matt let out a small grunt, the sound verging on a subtle moan as her thighs shook aside his head. “God.” Submission.

A warmth enveloped the triplet’s entire body, a cloudy haze surrounding his skin, body, and soul as he felt every worry and doubt soar away from his aura. It was if the switch in his mind that made him feel so human, had just disappeared. Evaporated. Dissociation but in the best way possible, because he had her. “－Matt? －Matt, baby.” The girl’s hoarse voice was muffled to Matt’s ears as he babbled incoherently, eyes fluttering as he felt a gentle hand cup his cheek.

She felt her heart pick up a beat as she caught sight of his eyes, the boy’s pupils bigger than ever as he gazed at her lustfully. He was on a high, and he didn’t know if he wanted to ever come down from it. “I’m here－shhh ..” Matt crawled atop her warm embrace, burying his face into the crook of her neck with a shaky whimper. He felt .. unreal. So amazingly euphoric. “That’s it, that’s a good boy.” Fuck.

The boy’s whimpers slowed into small pants as she ran her pointed nails down his skull, chills erupting down his arms as a shake coursed through his bones. Huh .. the girl let out a small sound, making Matt lift his head from her neck. “Matt?” the boy visibly swallowed, blinking softly as an attempt at easing the trouble he was about to endure. “－did you already come?” Yep, he was royally fucked.

She bit down on her lip and squeezed her thighs around his hips as he just offered a whine, pushing his face into his chest. “M’sorry,” Matt whimpered softly, sniffling. “needed it－felt so good－I’m sorry.” He felt scolded as she hummed. “We’re gonna have to fix that entitlement then, hm?” Matt stilled, lifting his head from her shoulder with a shaky gasp eliciting his bitten lips.

“Get on your knees.”

୨ৎ－ @fratbrochrisgf @jetaimevous @sturnstvs @sturniolosarethebest @stonermattsgf @imwetforyourmom @st7rnioioss @endereies @pkfferoo @mqttittude @mattslolita @muwapsturniolo @cherib3lla

[deathnguts]

Peak Moonwater dynamic is the two most emotionally closed off and introverted people ever who channel their lack of connection and inner turmoil into their art being each others muses, and usually they don’t even mean for it to happen or for the other to find out.

Like imagine Photographer Remus and Regulus, who knows he’s attractive but has never actually felt beautiful because his self esteem eats itself whole in a never ending cycle and dysphoria goes crazy. In a nonmagic AU, this leads him to be extremely camera shy out of genuine fear of immortalizing a face he views as not himself at the worst or just wrong looking at the best. And then Remus comes around and he can’t stop looking at him. His fingers are itching for his camera. When he caves and snaps one, regulus just stares at him in disbelief because what is there to capture? Remus just stares back because he doesn’t know what to do and then they just kind of move on and don’t mention it. Remus feels bad for not asking first, until he does it again. He didn’t mean to, it was instinct again. Regulus was further away now, looking picturesque while he read on the windowsill and he couldn’t help himself! He finds he has another moment like that again and again. And again. And again. And again-

And Artist Regulus who’s always loved charcoal drawing. He loves the messiness of the medium, the smearing for shadows with his fingers feels like pumping warmth into the coal and how his sketches can blend with and become a part of the final piece and making every step part of the overall feeling. He doesn’t really draw people because they don’t interest him, until he meets Remus. He’s so… just… half his desk has scattered sketches of Remus. His nose, his eyes, his scars, his curls, his hands, his collar bones, they’re all heightened in detail but only as one feature per sketch of the boy because regulus simply can’t capture them all together and make it look like Remus. He’s just too… too… hm, there’s another sketch.

[spacecaravan]

Short Stack

pairing: rooster x reader word count: 4.8k 🥞☕🥓

"You're driving me crazy over here, honey," Bradley said with a pout from his spot in your kitchen, whining as he stared at you, your back to his front as you stood at your spot in front of the gas stove. 

It was a picturesque Sunday morning, the air was warm and sweet-smelling as the wind floated in from the open window, dainty linen curtains blowing enchanting shapes in the breeze. You had asked Bradley if he wanted to eat breakfast outside today since, as you had put it, it would be such a waste if we didn't. 

"Hm?" you hummed in response, resting your cheek on your shoulder as you craned your neck to glance over at the pilot, your hands busy tending to pancakes sizzling away on the stovetop "what'd you say, baby?" finding it a little hard to hear him over the speaker you had playing next to you on the countertop.

"You expect me to just sit over here while you're over there looking like that?" he questioned in an incredulous tone, his legs were wide open, palms splayed over his bare thighs while he watched you, his pajama shorts riding high on the tan skin underneath. 

You raised your eyebrows, eyes glinting curiously in his direction before you bent over at the waist to check the bacon crisping up in the oven. Old sweatshirt riding up just enough to drive Bradley wild as you batted your lashes at him, stoking the flames you loved to be warmed by.

"What's that, Bradley?" you said, dimples threatening to break through the coy smile you were trying to hide, "don't you want me to take care of you like I promised?" you teased, reminding Bradley of the moments that had transpired not too long before he was sat sipping coffee in one of his favorite places in the world, your kitchen on a lazy Sunday morning.

"Sleepy girl," 

His favorite way to wake you up on Sundays was to whisper in your ear as he snuck his hand up the front of whatever soft top you happened to fall asleep in. Warm hand reaching for your breasts, but wanting you to be awake before he teased you so he could listen to you react.

"Good morning, baby," he rasped in your ear, his eager fingers ghosting over your bare nipples after he felt you stir, relishing in the pleased little sound you made in the back of your throat in response to his touch, nipples pebbling immediately under the tips of his fingers.  

The night before you promised him you'd wake up early and make him a nice breakfast: fluffy buttermilk pancakes, perfectly cooked bacon, coffee the way he likes it — the works — he deserved it, you'd said. 

You spent that night cooing in his ear about how he worked so hard on base, pressing wet kisses across his bare chest as you praised him, moaning desperately into the air as he pressed his thumb softly on your clit as you rode him—couldn't stop telling him how desperately you wanted to make him feel good.  

"You deserve to feel so fucking good all the time, Bradley Bradshaw," you said, your skin hot and flushed as you fell apart on top of him, "and I'm going to make sure you do. I'm going to treat you so, so good, baby." you moaned into his ear before you felt him filling you up in your favorite way. 

So blinking your eyes open, to see your bedroom bathed in the hazy morning glow while Bradley's hard cock pressed firmly against your ass, was not what you needed to have the productive morning you'd promised. 

"Bradley," you forced out in your rough morning tone, a warning, at least that's how you intended it to sound. 

"Mhm?" Rooster grumbled from behind you, pulling you tighter to his sleep-warmed body as he pushed his wet lips and scratchy mustache into your soft neck. "love hearing you say my name," he mumbled, "lemme hear it again, sweet girl," a tiny kiss pressed into the back of your hairline, "y'smell so good by the way, always do." he said, his tone laced with affection as he inhaled your scent, pressing tender kisses to the sensitive skin of your throat.

"Bradley," you repeated, placing your hand on top of the one he had resting on your hip, managing to flip yourself so that you were facing him, staring directly into his eyes. "good morning." 

You kissed him softly on the lips before taking both of his hands between your bodies and pressing them above your breast, inhaling deeply and letting him feel your heartbeat. Rooster was strong, there was no denying it. But, for all that strength, Bradley was also putty in your hands, made utterly helpless at the site of your eyes on his. His body went completely pliant the moment you locked eyes with him and put your hands anywhere on his body. 

"G'morning," he sighed, losing his train of thought in the way the sunlight made your skin glow. Bradley pressed a soft kiss onto your nose as he breathed you in, his chest pressing against your joined hands as he moved closer, tangling your feet beneath the soft blankets. 

"Remember what I promised?" you reminded him, taking in his dreamy expression, keenly aware of how shallow his breaths were as he gazed at you, "I gotta start cooking, honey. Wanna treat you to this."

His mouth parts, tongue coming out to wet his lips as he watches you speak. Leans in closer to listen to you whisper sweetly about how you wanted to take care of him. 

"Or," he started, mustache quirking slightly as a smirk took over his features, "you stay here," he paused for a moment, his larger hands overlapping yours to bring your knuckles up to his warm lips, "and you let me take care of you — let me make you feel good."

Hearing him say that made your heart pound, made your entire body tingle all over and tempted you to no end. But you wanted, no needed, to do this for Bradley. You had been planning this ever since the last time you cooked for him and he wouldn't shut up about how he loved watching you in the kitchen.

Went on and on about how he was ready to be a stay-at-home anything if it meant getting to watch you act out all the fantasies he held deep inside, close to his heart. Fantasies of domestic bliss, of a life with someone who cares for you, who adores you, and in return, someone to make it all worth giving a shit about. 

And as much as you loved taking care of Bradley, you could never get enough of the way he would playfully nudge you away from the sink the moment he saw you starting to wash up after a meal. He always wanted to help, wanted to be involved, wanted to fill you up with the same type of affection you poured into him. 

"Excuse me miss," he would start, his hip bumping yours as he came to stand at the sink, "what do you think you're doing over here?" his smile was always infectious at this point, his large hands coming in to pluck the sponge straight from your wet fingers, "go relax, go get comfy. I'll do the rest." and with that final word, he would kiss you into total submission and send you on your way with a tap to your bottom.

"Later," you whispered, "stay in bed. I'll bring you coffee in a bit," 

You freed your hands from his grip and gently brushed your fingers over his cheekbone. He immediately leaned into your soft touch, allowing you to rise easily, his lips forming a pout as he watched you move to exit the bedroom. 

"You're torturing me," he said, propping himself up on his palm, elbow digging into the mattress as he shifted, his other palm coming out to reach for you in a desperate final attempt to get you back under the warm sheets.

You couldn't help the grin that blossomed on your face as you basked in Bradley's warm gaze. 

"Lucky for you," you started, cheek pressed to the door frame as you watched him, "you're trained to handle tough situations like this. Aren't you, Lieutenant Bradshaw?" you slipped out before he could give you a response. 

Walking down the hall you heard him groan and flop back down onto the mattress, could clearly picture him running his hands over his face and through his sleep-mussed hair as he shook his head with a smile. 

And that's how you ended up here, sunshine coming softly through your kitchen window while Bradley sat wide-legged at your breakfast nook. His large body settled into the cushion you and your friends had DIY'd one Friday evening, after two bottles of chilled red wine sat happily in your stomachs and shared laughter lit up the room. It's how you ended up with Bradley practically white-knuckling his mug as he watches you cook and fawn over him, sweetly asking him, "Can I top off your coffee, baby?" while you stroke the back of his neck, backing away before he can get his hands on you. 

"Honey," Bradley had moved from his spot, taking a few short strides to stand behind you at the stove. His hands coming to rest on your hips as he drags you back to him, "I can't sit there anymore." 

"No?" you question, your gaze on the cast iron skillet on the burner, the final pancake was cooking away on its shiny black surface as you feigned nonchalance. "What's got you so worked up, Bradshaw?"

Once he heard his last name leave your mouth he knew you were teasing him, and god was he ready to tease you right back. 

"I don't know," he presses a kiss to the side of your neck, "maybe just a pretty little thing making me breakfast," another kiss below your ear, "my girl taking such good care of me," 

Bradley moves his right hand to take the spatula out of your grip, meeting no resistance as you melt into the heat radiating from his naked chest, getting lost in the words coming out of his mouth as you lean into his onslaught of kisses.

"I'll tell you what's got me worked up, baby." 

You feel him inhale deeply behind you, the music playing from the speaker filling up the otherwise quiet room as he deftly flips the pancake on the pan, somehow knowing it was the perfect time to turn it as its golden brown surface shows itself. Soon after his perfect pancake has been flipped, he places the tool down, and using his now free right hand, turns off the stove and the oven, signaling the end of that—kitchen closed. 

Every nerve in your body was lighting up now. You could feel the excitement building in your marrow as he stood calmly behind you. 

"Turn around, and I'll tell you," he whispers in your ear, "lemme see your pretty eyes."

There was no other option but to listen, no choice but to turn around and stare into his lust-filled eyes. 

"So, what is it, Bradshaw?" you practically sigh, turning to him as you try to calm your breathing, willing yourself to fill your lungs slowly before he pushes you over the edge with just his words. 

"It's you," his voice still low as his as he reaches his hand up to brush over your lips. The pad of his thumb swipes back and forth gently over your pouted bottom lip, "it's you in this fucking kitchen looking like a dream. It's you saying my name while you pour me coffee," he pauses briefly, "it's that I know you slept in my sweatshirt last night to drive me fucking crazy this morning." 

"Am I in trouble, Lieutenant Bradshaw?" you say coolly despite the blazing inferno ripping through your entire being, despite his finger still resting on the plush of your lip.

Bradley doesn't answer, simply pushes his thumb past your lips and onto your waiting tongue. He loves the way he can make you mush under his touch. But you never let him have the upper hand for long. He groans and squeezes his eyes shut as you gaze up at him, sucking harshly on the digit and wetting it with your eager tongue. He pulls the finger out of your mouth, hand moving to grip your cheeks in a manner that made your panties flood with wetness. Bradley was practically panting — trying so hard to keep his cool, trying so hard not to spin you around right here and fuck you against the oven.

“Breakfast is gonna have to wait, pretty girl,” he declares, “should have never let you get out of bed this morning.”

After that it's a blur of warm hands grasping for bare skin, a symphony of moaning into open-mouthed kisses and when Bradley moves his hands down your thighs, pulling in a signal you've come to know well, you jump. His capable hands immediately come to your ass as you wrap your legs around his middle. You're nose to nose with him as he walks you back to the bedroom.

"I've got you, baby," he whispers, "gonna make you feel so good."

He's dropping you onto the bed before you know it, towering his body over yours to kiss every inch of skin he can touch. He's pushing up your (his) sweatshirt to reveal the soft skin hidden underneath, stopping to bite and lick your exposed breasts, taking extra care of each nipple as he nips and pinches. 

Rooster tosses away the article of clothing, leaving you lying in the morning light in just your underwear. He takes a single step back, leaving you panting on the bed as you stare up at him. He's obviously hard, his pajama shorts tented and hands flexing at his sides as he looks down at the way your almost naked body is being illuminated by the golden light. 

"You look too fucking good," he whispers mostly to himself, "god damn." 

He drops to his knees in front of you, hands coming to wrap underneath your knees as he drags you to the end of the bed, bringing your covered cunt to his waiting mouth. Rooster immediately presses his nose and lips onto the sodden fabric of your panties, his tongue coming out to taste the wetness soaking the cotton. You could come just from this, just from Bradley Bradshaw breathing into your pussy while he presses his perfect nose against your puffy clit. 

"Want me to taste you, honey?" he whispers into your cunt, and you feel like you're burning alive, "cause I wanna taste you real fuckin' bad."

He pulls away from you again, and it really isn't fair that he looks like that right now. His skin is radiant and ethereal, he smells divine and he's looking at you like he wants to eat you alive. Before you even have a chance to answer, Rooster is gripping the fabric on your underwear tightly, increasing the friction on your clit. A little tease. Maybe a little mean—or even a little needy. 

"Talk to me, baby," he says, fingers still pulling the fabric taut against your dripping center. 

"Please, Bradley," you whisper desperately, chest heaving as you look down at him. "Need you," you add, yes because you mean it, but also because you know he loves to hear it.  

With that, he is swiftly pulling the soaked panties down your legs, flinging them somewhere to be found later while the two of you laugh and make the bed together.

His palms come back to separate your thighs and you could die. You feel like you're about to plunge into icy cold water—the shock of adrenaline as your body adjusts to the frigid temperature. Warmth overtakes every cell in your body, as you gaze down at him. Bradley is staring directly into your wet pussy with a lust-filled glaze in his pretty eyes. With every inhale and exhale you feel more obscene, more spread open.

"So wet," he observes, his voice deep and gruff "you showin' off for me? Gettin' nice and wet just for me, baby?"

He runs his thumb up and down your slit, taking one pass to tease at your aching clit. His thumb is bringing you a pleasure that is making your back arch off the mattress, it feels like he is taking you apart piece by piece. His face is still so close to your pussy you can feel his breath fanning over you. His warm breath is a sharp contrast to the wetness of your weeping hole. 

"Oh, honey," he coos, as he dips his middle finger into your soaked cunt, "bet you were wet this morning too, huh? But my good girl wanted to treat me to a picture-perfect Sunday, didn't she?"

He wants you to answer, you know this.

"Want you so bad, Bradley," you whimper into your palm, having pressed the side of it between your teeth to keep from yelling out, "want you always. Wanna take care of you all the time."

When his mouth finally comes down, it makes you weep, makes you cry out in a tone you've never heard leave your body. His supple mouth and tongue are bringing you so much comfort as they simultaneously send all-encompassing shockwaves of pleasure through you. 

You’re bucking into his mouth, unashamed in your want for him, unabashed in the way you spread your wetness over his gorgeous face. You bring your hands away from your fluttering chest and gasping mouth to pull his hair, hard. He moans loudly when you do, making your tummy do backflips as he feasts on your cunt. Breakfast be damned. 

"My perfect girl," he whispers against your clit, "tastes so good. Such a sweet pussy."

You groan at his words, reveling in his praise and storing it away to replay at a later time. No one has ever made you feel the way Rooster does, no one has ever been able to make you completely unravel in the way he can. 

"Need you, baby," you whine from your spot on the bed, "need to feel you inside me, please. Please, Bradley."

He pulls back enough for you to see his face—lips shining, mustache obscenely wet and it makes you dizzy just to look at him like this. His hands are still gripping your thighs, his touch burning the area his palms are claiming. 

"Can't wait for me to finish?" he taunts, mocking you as he smiles into your wet cunt.

That's when you move to sit up, propping yourself up on your elbows to get better leverage. Wordlessly you slip back away from him, sliding back on the soft sheets to rest your back flat against the headboard. Creating enough distance between the two of you to keep him out of arms reach, the only touch he could lay on you now is a soft graze to your ankle with his fingertips. 

"Come here, Rooster," you say, your sultry tone sounds unfamiliar to you, coated in want and lust, "come and take your pussy, Lieutenant Bradshaw."

A beat passes. You hear him curse under his breath. He's so solid when he comes to stand at the end of the bed. Doesn't take his eyes off yours as he rids himself of his soft shorts. Doesn't make a sound as he palms his erection, stroking the length once, twice, three times before he descends upon you. Once again he's flexing that Navy-earned strength of his to drag your body flush against the mattress. His arms coming to frame your head as he brings his mouth down onto yours, soft and kind, kissing you so sweetly as he leaves the taste of you behind on your tongue. 

"You're gonna be the death of me, baby." he moans into your mouth.

"What a way to go," is all you say before you reach down to rub his cock up and down your wet slit, taking extra care to rub his sensitive tip over your clit driving you both wild in the process. 

He's gripping your wrist tight, halting your movement on his length. His eyes are half-open as they peer into yours, his bottom lip lodged in between his perfect teeth as he places your hand back on the soft sheets below you. 

His plunging inside you so suddenly it pushes all the air out of your lungs. His breath hitches as he settles into the deepest, warmest parts of you—his hands coming up to keep your supple thighs snug around his waist as pleasure rocks through your core. Sometimes he moves so fast you can't keep up, can't keep up with the pillow being shoved under your ass as Bradley strokes deep inside of you. 

“Oh, honey,” he moans, “god that pussy is perfect.” 

Your skin sizzles at his praise, pleasure is working itself down to the very tips of your toes, making you shiver. You're gasping for breath as he pushes himself impossibly deeper inside of you, eyes falling shut as you chase the pleasure he is eliciting from you. Your pussy is clenching around him, he feels so thick and perfect inside you it makes you want to cry. Your hands are gripping the sheets so hard your fingers are cramping. 

"Look at me, pretty baby," he whispers, "let me see my girl."

Your eyes snap open, but your head tilts back with pleasure at his request. You feel so close. You don't know how he gets you teetering over the edge so fast. Maybe it's the husky sound of his voice as he calls you a million different lovely names. Maybe it's the way his tan arms look caging you beneath his body. Or maybe it's the way he gets lost staring in between your bodies. 

Rooster is obsessed with the way he looks sliding in and out of you while you cry out underneath him. But he can never look away too long, always needing to see the look in your eyes as he fucks you in a way that makes you whine and beg for him—makes you desperate for him in his favorite way. He never gets tired of the shock on your face when he whispers filthy words into your ear as he touches parts of you no one ever has. And you hope to god that no one but him ever will again. 

Did Bradley love seeing you act out his domestic fantasies? Of fucking course. The pilot could hardly keep his hands off you most evenings, barely getting the chance to say hello before he was winded at the sight of you floating around the kitchen. Always humming along to a tune he liked — or at least he liked the sound of it coming sweetly from you — before you noticed he was in the room. You were always stirring this, or chopping that. Asking him to taste this for salt or, like most times, you simply said "sit and relax, Rooster, let me take care of you." like you did this morning. He loved the way you took care of him. You did it without pretense or motive. Just did it because you loved to see him loved. You adored doting on Bradley Bradshaw because you knew he deserved it. You knew how he craved it. 

But, for as much as Bradley liked you sweet and delicate in the kitchen, he loved you fucked out and messy more. He went crazy over the way you'd suck his fingers into your mouth while he was fucking you, doing anything just to feel fuller. Loved the way you teased—all half-lidded eyes and parted lips, walking around half-dressed with an innocent smile on your face as you stepped in front of the TV, interrupting whatever college football game he happened to be watching with a simple Hi, Bradshaw. He lived for the chase and would do stupid, dangerous things for the reward. 

“Bradley,” you whisper, and it elicits another moan from him, one that is throaty and deep, "Make me cum, please,"

He wants to keep teasing you, wants to make you wait so badly, wants to make you yell out his name desperately as he edges you. But he can't—not this morning—not when you look so, so pretty laid out underneath him, like a fucking angel, he thinks to himself. 

"I've got you, pretty honey," he leans down to press his chest into yours, relishing in the feeling of your hard nipples pressed into his heated skin, "don't have to do a thing, sweet girl, just feel how deep that cock is inside you, okay? Can you do that for me?"

"Oh, Bradley," you whine, crying out at the feeling of his shaft hitting parts of you that hurt so goddamn good. Parts of you that made tears prick at the corners of your eyes, made your toes curl and your heart pound out of your chest. 

He's close too, he can never stop talking the closer to release he gets. "That's it, baby, tell me who's making you feel good. Tell me whose cock is gonna make you cum." his words are filthy as he chases his orgasm alongside yours. 

You would tell him anything he wanted to hear right now, confess your deepest darkest secrets if he asked. 

"It's you, Rooster" you moan. "Always you, only you. No one else can fuck me like you Rooster, please. Please." you plead desperately, you're so close to cumming and it's driving you insane, making your skin tingle all over as you stand over the edge waiting to jump. 

Bradley's mind goes blank at your words, he can't do anything but continue to fuck you deeper, soaking in your praise before it shoots straight into his pelvis and grips him tight. 

You hold on to him tightly as you cum, holding him as close as possible as you grind against him, body moving instinctually at this point to chase the most pleasure possible, to milk every last ounce of euphoria you can from him. 

Bradley's own gratification is close, he knew it was the moment he felt your pussy start pulsing around his cock as you came. He was absolutely basking in every little noise coming from as you came undone underneath him, he loved watching you come apart, loved that he was the one doing it. 

"I want it, baby," you preen underneath him, shocking him out of his reverie and snapping his attention to the fucked out expression on your face, "need to feel you cum inside me Bradley, please, baby. Need it so, so bad, honey."

He growls and you know that did it. The deep, raspy noise coming from him as he spills inside you makes you clench down on his shaft, hard. The feeling of your cum soaked pussy clenching around him makes Bradley curse into your ear. Makes him thrust hard into your sensitive hole as he groans out your name.

When you still, the two of you are slick with a fine layer of sweat, bellies moving in tandem as you fight desperately to fill your lungs and steady your heartbeats. 

If there's one thing Bradley loves, it's the afterglow. He could lie on top of you with his cock soft inside your velvet walls for hours. Wouldn't move if he didn't have the unfortunate human need for food and water. On rare occasions, Bradley would be so relaxed post-orgasm, he would doze off on your chest, his breath coming out in gentle puffs over your skin as you pet the top of his head, basking in the sight of him bare and malleable underneath you.  

"I think breakfast might be a little cold, baby," he says with a smile, gazing up at you with a look you could only describe as smitten.

"Shame," you tut, and your hand grips his hair a little tight, nothing that hurt, nothing that no one but a top naval aviator would notice, a little twitch as you considered what to say next. "can I tell you a secret?" you're grinning now too.

"Spill it," his expression is giddy as he waits for your confession. 

"I love doing this with you," you didn't mean to be earnest. You meant to say something witty, something funny. 

But you couldn't, honesty pouring out of you like a tub overflowing with water. Like someone had turned on the faucet and walked away. 

You see his expression soften before he's rolling the two of you over, his eyes never leaving yours as he brings the both of you to lay on your sides, mirroring the position you were in earlier this morning. Hands gripped tightly between each other, chests moving in tandem as you bring your faces impossibly close together. "Me too, baby," he's smiling so sweetly it's making your stomach fill with butterflies "you have no idea."

[paimonial-rage]

cocky bastard vibes - zhongli

ship: zhongli x reader

synopsis: in which reader shares their free thoughts on the liyue statue of seven

notes: standalone snippet part of the bookkeeping!verse

It was a beautiful day in Liyue. The grass was a luscious green and the birds were singing a beautiful song. After a nice stay at the Emerald Maple Inn, you and Mr. Zhongli decided to have a cup of tea next to the Statue of the Seven before heading on your way to Qingce Village. You were to accompany him to pick up supplies for the next funeral rite, and with the way the morning was going, you knew nothing would ruin this peaceful day.

"So how much do you want to bet that Rex Lapis was hot and knew it?”

You ignored the choked sound that came from your side as you gazed up at the picturesque statue. Though your companion would probably consider your question quite out of the blue, you couldn’t say it was the first time you wondered such a thing. Whenever you passed by one of them in Liyue, the thought always plagued your mind for a few hours after. Judging by Mr. Zhongli’s reaction, though, it seemed he did not share your sentiments.

"Ehem… That… certainly is an interesting thought. I can’t say whether or not previous records touched on such a topic."

You hummed, gazing up at the statue. Really? That couldn’t be true. Why wouldn’t anyone talk about a statue looking like that?

“Well there are many reasons why I’d say I’m right. First off, his outfit. He has a hooded cloak on while also being shirtless. There’s absolutely no logical reason to dress like that unless they’re from the deserts of Sumeru, wouldn’t you say? It obviously was a conscious fashion decision. If you pair that with the seductive way he’s sitting, I’d be inclined to assume he’s quite clearly feeling his look.”

Silence came from your side. Hm, Mr. Zhongli still wasn’t convinced? Then you would go on.

“You do see it, right? His posture is relaxed, yet confident. Not to mention the way he’s looking at that cube in his hand with practically bedroom eyes. His knees are apart too. My friend from Sumeru told me that when a man sits like that, he’s displaying his dominance.”

Still silence.

"You can't sit in a seductive pose like that without on some level being aware you look good doing it. I mean look at him! He's shirtless and everything! I've heard even macho fishermen say that they pray to the statue for a good night before coming home to see their wives. You can’t blame them, right?"

A hesitant cough.

"I-I'm sure it was a younger time when those statues were sculpted."

You groaned.

"Maybe, but you’re not even looking! If you did, you’d agree with me that Rex Lapis is clearly exuding such massive 'cocky bastard' vibes!" You countered.

For some reason, the more you spoke, the more flustered he became.

"C'mon, Mr. Zhongli! Why are you so embarrassed? It's not like I'm slandering his good name! I mean, if Rex Lapis didn't want us talking about him like this, maybe he shouldn't have made a statue with abs clean enough to eat off of!"

Okay, maybe at this point, you were piling it on a bit thick. Could anyone blame you? His face was in his hand as if he had a headache, and were his ears tinged the slightest hint of red? It was an interesting sight. Never had you seen him look so completely flustered. Sure you were rather blunt, but you didn't think your words were that provocative. Mr. Zhongli really was practically a 65 year old man.

"I thought you respected the Geo Archon…" He muttered weakly.

You gasped in offense.

"I do! I’d even consider my words the utmost of pious behavior. In Mondstadt, the sisters of the church consider themselves married to Barbatos, the Anemo Archon. So finding the Geo Archon to be a sex god is pretty much the same thing, right?”

“No, it is not.”

[seijorhi]

Shelter from the Storm

Oikawa Tooru x female reader

w.c 8k

tw: yandere, blood, murder, nsfw, smut (sorta), oikawa is awful in this, technically everything is consensual but... big yikes.

A gentle breeze blows past, a lock of loose hair fluttering in its wake. Early still, the sky is painted with buttery oranges and pinks, a perfect, picturesque sunrise. Leaning on the railing of the balcony, you gaze to the city below, lost in thought. 

Behind you, the sliding door opens, a warmth enveloping you, strong, sinewy arms curling around your middle. 

“Morning,” Oikawa murmurs, drawing you closer. His bare chest rumbles at your back when he speaks again, “You want some breakfast? Coffee?”

How many times can you make the same mistake – fall into bed with the same person – and still claim it to be a momentary lapse in judgement? Maybe you’ll set a new record. 

“Oikawa…”

Lips press against the back of your head, strangely affectionate. For all your little indiscretions, the time you’ve spent together, this sort of affection – the casual touching, the… intimacy of it all, feels out of place in broad daylight. “Mm? We could go and get one of those croissants from you like from the place across the road? Or get something delivered if you’d rather stay in?”

“Oikawa,” you sigh again, more insistent this time. You spin in his arms, turning to face him. Hair still mussed from sleep, shirtless, smiling down at you – unfairly handsome in the morning light. 

“What? Not hungry?” he asks, a faint amusement lacing his tone.

Your hands find their way to his chest, your pinky grazing the raised, puckered outline of one of his scars. While curiosity might eat away at you, you’ve never quite mustered the courage to ask him about them.

You’ve heard enough of the rumours that swirl around Oikawa; they won’t be pretty stories. 

“We can’t keep doing this. You have to stop.”

He laughs, surprise flitting across his face, “Me? If I remember correctly, you were more than eager to get those lovely hands of yours on me last night.”

“That’s not–” you break off with a flustered huff, cheeks warming. “That’s not what I meant, stop twisting my words! You work for my father, I can’t keep– we can’t keep doing this.”

A little of the mirth in his expression fades at that, “You don’t think I can handle keeping you safe while we’re sleeping together, ‘s that it?”

“He’s paying you to keep me safe. I’m a job, Oikawa, that’s it. That’s all.” You bite back a sigh, shifting to put some distance between you two – as much as his grip will allow. “This is a bad idea, you know it as well as I do. In a few weeks, or months–”

“So?” he asks, cutting you off. “He can’t say I’m not doing an excellent job, keeping such a careful, close eye on his beloved daughter,” the hands the rest on your waist slide down to your ass, squeezing it appreciatively as he closes the gap between you once more. The grin he wears is nothing short of devilish – not to mention incredibly self satisfied – his mouth a hairsbreadth from your own. He continues, “I’m keeping you safe, satisfied and very, very happy. If anything, I should be getting paid extra for that.”

“Oh yeah, I’m sure that’s how he’ll see it.”

Oikawa leans forward, kisses the tip of your nose, and then your lips. 

“I’d kill for you, how many other guys can say that, hm?” When the joke fails to garner a response, he sighs. “We’re not breaking any rules, and I’m not going anywhere. Stop overthinking it.”

—

In the days following the first threats made against your father, the idea of having a bodyguard shadowing your every step seemed laughable. Ridiculous. You weren’t some darling, young starlet with creepy, obsessive fans. Not a witness set to testify in some groundbreaking criminal case.

No, you’re simply collateral, caught up in a mess of your father’s making, one that has nothing to do with you. 

That you love him in spite of it is an immutable fact. You’ve tried hard – so, so hard – to distance yourself. To separate the life you’re trying to lead and the good you’re trying to do from the shadowy reach of his legacy. 

In any case, you felt perfectly comfortable brushing aside his offer of protection. You neither wanted nor needed someone monitoring your every move under the guise of keeping you safe. 

And then the focus of the threats turned to you. To your step-mother. To Ryo, your little brother – a kid. 

Your father, a man unaccustomed to hearing the word ‘no’, introduced Oikawa the very next morning and would not budge on the issue. ‘You do not have to like him,’ he’d said. ‘But he’ll keep you out of harm’s way, and you will listen to him.’

It was – is – an adjustment. 

Those closest to you, your friends, your work colleagues – the ones you interact with on a daily basis at any rate – have all been made aware of the truth behind his presence. For everyone else–

“Don’t mind him, Oikawa’s my new assistant,” you explain to the hotel’s manager, smiling sweetly at her bemused expression.

Oikawa matches it with one of his own, saccharine and glittering. 

A cup of tea is set out before each of you by one of the hotel’s employees, and he thanks her quietly, swirling the cup round in its saucer to better reach the bone china handle. Lifting it to his lips, he takes a smooth, slow sip. 

“I’m really just here for the free tea and cake.”

One look at the blushing manager, and you can tell she’s thoroughly charmed – which is the only reason you abstain from kicking him under the table. 

“Ignore him, please. I had a thought about letting some of the kids come up and talk on stage as part of the opening speeches, but I wanted to make sure that wouldn’t push us too far behind with the entertainment.” There’s a slight nudge at your thigh, “And um, we also wanted to run through the security measures, if possible.”

Her brow wrinkles, “Security, I– well, we’ll have doormen to check the guest list, and I suppose we could have some of our security staff posted near the ballroom exits if you’d like?”

You nod, “Yes, that’ll be–”

“You should have a few dressed to blend in with the crowd, mingling throughout the room, regular security at the stairs, and we’d like some guards working the backstage area as well,” Oikawa interjects. “Considering the guest list, not to mention the A-list performers we’ve hired for the night, the least they can ask of us is to ensure we’re making their safety and security a priority, no?”

“All these extra measures are a little last minute, don’t you think? The gala’s tomorrow night!” 

On the brink of exasperation, she looks to you, no doubt expecting you to rein in your employee. 

You simply smile, folding your legs over one another, taking a moment to indulge in the tea you’d been so graciously provided. “We chose this hotel as our venue for a reason, I’ve heard nothing but excellent things about you and your staff. A few added security measures shouldn’t be too difficult for your staff to accommodate. As my assistant said,” your eyes slide to Oikawa’s, a faint hint of a warning there, “we simply want to ensure everyone has a safe, enjoyable evening so that the foundation can raise as much as we possibly can.”

“… Of course,” she concedes.

“Perfect! So, let’s get back to the opening speeches.”

And so it goes, the two of you discussing the final touches and small details for the event you’ve spent months bringing to fruition, the foundation’s first charity gala. 

Untouched by your father’s hand, you built this foundation from the ground up, it’s yours – your baby. Your pride and joy. 

You think nothing of it when Oikawa excuses himself to take a call. He doesn’t leave the room – he won’t risk straying that far – and you’re distantly aware of the quiet tones of his voice speaking into his phone. You pay it no mind, focused on closing out your meeting with all the i’s dotted and the t’s crossed. 

By the time the meeting’s finished, you’re thrilled. 

Naturally, there’s still plenty you have left to do; one last check in with the caterers, you have to go and pick up your dress, and there’s the debrief with your team. You’ll have to come back to the hotel early tomorrow to make sure that the set up runs smoothly and nothing’s slipped through the cracks. 

Regardless, promising that you’ll touch base first thing in the morning and thanking her again, you can’t quite tamp down your excitement, or the giddy little grin you wear, exiting the hotel with Oikawa. 

At least, until he stops you just shy of the town car waiting out front, his hand on your arm, murmuring your name. 

“What, what is it?”

He appears almost hesitant. Regretful, certainly. “There was another threat delivered to the main house today…”

Your stomach sinks. 

You can see it written across his face, know what’s coming before he even opens his mouth, “Don’t, don’t you dare–”

“There’s too many variables, I am not putting you on the stage in a dark, crowded room–”

You throw your hands up in a huff. “Fine! I won’t speak then.”

“You’re not going at all. Shizuku can do your speech, the team has everything else handled. I am not risking your safety, point blank.”

“That’s not your decision!”

Oikawa’s eyes narrow, “It is. You can be pissed at me all you want–”

“We’ve been working on this for months! Oikawa, this is the most important night of our entire year – we need this funding. The kids need this funding! You can go as my date, you’ll have every excuse to spend the entire night glued to my hip. We just got them to agree to all that extra security stuff you wanted, what more do you need? Don’t ask me to sit at home because of some baseless, stupid threat, please!”

You hate that your voice sounds so desperate, so pleading – but it’s frustration, not disappointment that’s to blame for the thick lump that chokes you up. The hot tears that sting in the corner of your eyes. 

“I’m not asking.” 

The callousness hits you like a slap in the face.

All that anger, that mounting, seething frustration, it cools in an instant, settling like a rock in your stomach. Without another word you turn and climb into the backseat, slamming the car door behind you.

If that’s how it is, fine. 

Oikawa joins you a moment later, rattling off instructions to the driver. 

The two of you have argued before, more times than you care to count. As charming as he thinks he is, Oikawa’s equally capable of being obnoxious, annoying, rude, arrogant, the list goes on. This is the first time it’s truly mattered, though. Maybe that’s why the cold dismissal – his refusal to give so much as an inch – stings more than it should.

“Don’t make me the bad guy here,” he murmurs when the silence between you grows too heavy to bear. “I won’t apologise for putting your safety first.”

He reaches for your hand then; a peace offering, an olive branch. You yank it back before his pinky can so much as brush against yours, lacing them together over your lap.

“I wouldn’t dream of it. That’s what you’re being paid for, right?”

—

Days later and the elephant in the room remains firmly lodged between you two. 

It’s hard to justify anger towards someone who claims they’re only making your life difficult because there are people out there actively trying to hurt you and your family. At the same time, Oikawa’s insistence on smothering you under new ‘security measures’ isn’t doing him any favours.

Driving home from work, the twinkling lights of the city speeding past in a blur, the purring hum of the engine a comfort in the otherwise silent car, you can only wonder how much longer this’ll go on for.

How much more of it you can take.

“I have a date tomorrow night,” you admit in a quiet voice. “A friend of a friend, she’s been trying to set us up together for months now.” 

You glance at Oikawa then – hesitant, searching his face. Momentary surprise flickers there, and then he simply raises an eyebrow, “Oh? And you’re telling me this because you want me to give the two of you a little privacy, right? I guess it would be slightly awkward to have the last guy you were fucking watching from the next table over.”

Though his tone is perfectly pleasant, there’s no disguising the razor sharp bite of the words themselves. Guilt stabs at your insides, twisting like a knife. “That’s not what I–” 

You’re so tired of arguing with him. Tired of all of this. Your hands can’t lie still, smoothing out the non-existent wrinkles in your skirt, and though your attention falls to your lap, you can’t escape the weight of Oikawa’s watchful eyes, following your every move. 

Waiting on the verge of impatience for you to dig yourself deeper. 

You sigh, wetting your lips. “I’m not interested in him. This isn’t about that. I just… I can’t do this with you, Oikawa. I can’t handle every detail of my day – what I do and who I see – being monitored and micromanaged. I can’t handle you acting like a glorified babysitter and then still trying to get into my pants the moment we’re alone. I just– I need one night without that, that’s all.”

Maybe that’s a selfish thing, a stupid decision. You’d made it at the drop of a hat, your friend gushing over this guy over the phone for the umpteenth time. He doesn’t seem like the type to have a favourite gun, and that was good enough for you. 

Oikawa snorts out a laugh, “If you’ve got an itch you need scratched, I’m more than happy to offer my services, pretty girl,” he drawls, low and lecherous, grinning so condescendingly you’re honestly tempted to slap him. “But there’s no way in hell I’m letting you run off to play date night with some asshole you know next to nothing about when there’s a target on your back and I’m the one keeping you safe, understand?”

You’d anticipated some kind of resistance – Oikawa arguing over where you’d go, wanting the names of the guy in question, the friend who set the two of you up, all of it.

The possibility he’d outright refuse hadn’t even crossed your mind. 

You open your mouth to argue the point, only to close it softly a heartbeat later. Why bother? What good would arguing do when you’re perfectly aware that he has no intention of budging on the subject.

Which isn’t to say that you’re letting him off the hook entirely.

 “Careful, you’re sounding awfully jealous there, Tooru.”

His eyes widen a fraction, but it’s delight, not aggravation, that gleams in those deep, brown depths. “Do you want me to deny it?” he challenges, the car pulling to a stop out the front of your apartment block. “You wanna know what I think?”

Not particularly, but that’s never stopped him before.

“You want me just as much as I want you, you know we’re good together. You accuse me of being jealous, yet you’re the one running scared, jumping at the first, half-baked opportunity presented so you can lie and tell yourself that you’re not missing me.”

“Please,” you scoff, unable to help yourself. “You’d have to be gone for me to miss you.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Rolling your eyes and biting back a huff, you nevertheless accept the hand he offers to help you out of the car, the two of you making your way inside. He greets the porter by the door, inclining his chin in a short nod, and calls the elevator with a swipe of your keycard – the one he’d snatched right out of your hand the very day he’d met you.

All in the name of doing his job and keeping you safe, of course. 

‘Well what if I need to use the stupid lift and you’re not around?’

‘Unless you’re planning on ditching me, I don’t see that being a problem, do you?’

Impossible, right from the start. 

While Oikawa leans against the mirrored walls, smug and all too self satisfied, you snatch your phone from your purse, angrily typing up a quick message to your friend about tomorrow night. No doubt she’ll think you’re being overdramatic, if not outright lying – she, however, doesn’t have to contend with Oikawa on a daily basis.

By the time you reach your apartment, you’re tired, grumpy and itching for a glass of wine and a nice long soak in the bathtub. 

You’re only half paying attention, impatient to kick off your heels and soothe the day's stresses – you don’t notice that the door’s hanging ajar, at least not immediately. Oikawa does, his whole body tensing, eyes alert and cautious. 

The second you try to move, his arm’s there, outstretched to keep you at bay while he hastily tries to shut the door and obscure your view.

Not quickly enough.

Through the crack, you see it; the crimson splashed across your living room, stark and hideous against the white tile floors. 

Blood. 

It’s everywhere. Dripping from the lampshade, down the walls, pooling on the tiles.

Red, red, red, spattered and sprayed like the set of a b-grade slasher flick. And the smell, coppery and pungent, sitting in the back of your throat as bile creeps up to meet it. 

No one person can bleed that much, can they? 

Your breath comes quick; short, heaving little gasps far too shallow to do you any good. Your limbs feel weightless, weak – a stumbling step backwards almost sends you to the ground. Nausea churns in your guts, threatening to upheave. 

All that blood… Your apartment–

They– they were in your home. 

And a sudden thought occurs to you, a fresh wave of horror sinking its claws in deep. Without stopping to think, you lurch forward, desperate to get inside. Arms seize your waist, yanking you back, and you let out a blood curdling shriek, thrashing against the grip.

In the haze of your blind panic, you recognise that it’s Oikawa’s voice, speaking in your ear in a low, urgent tone. You don’t care, you can’t make sense of the words anyway, not amidst the overwhelming fear, the terror and the pounding of your racing heart. 

“Ryo–” you choke out, struggling to get free, “I have to– h-he might be–”

“He’s not in there. He’s not in there!” Wrangled back from the door, he all but shoves you against the wall, caging you in close as your fists beat weakly against his chest, your pleas little more than whimpers. He exhales heavily, moving in closer to press his forehead against yours. “He’s at home, with your father. They’re not in there, I promise. We have to go.”

He takes your hand, leads you one step after another, murmuring reassurances the whole way. 

You’re numb to it. 

You don’t remember much, the ding of the elevator, stale air of the underground parking garage and a chill nipping at your skin. An unfamiliar car you’re hastily bundled into. 

Time moves strangely after that, seconds trickling by like the drip of a leaking faucet. 

The car is quiet. Dark. The cityscape out the window a blur that barely registers. Your mind ticks over the same thoughts, a reel stuck playing the same loop over and over; blood splashed across the curtains, the couch. Your apartment – your home – awash with it. The stench of it, clinging to you like perfume. 

No one was hurt.

They were in your home.

You’re fine, Oikawa’s fine. Ryo was never in danger.

They were in your home. 

You let out a shuddering breath, shoulders curling inwards as you draw your knees up to your chest. Oikawa clocks the movement, sparing you an assessing glance from the corner of his eye. 

 “… Where–” you wince at the raw sound. “Where are we going?”

“Back to the main house. Your father’s been alerted, he’s expecting us.”

Ah. Where else?

Your father has ‘round the clock guards at every entrance, high tech, expensive security systems. You’d be with your family, safe and protected within the walls of the home you grew up in. The minute he’d heard what’d happened, your father would’ve demanded Oikawa bring you back without delay. 

Despite that, you find yourself shaking your head, “I… I don’t want Ryo– he’ll get upset if he sees me like this,” you mumble into your knees. “He’s already scared. Please.”

He looks at you again, properly this time. There’s a muscle working in his jaw, long fingers drumming against the leather of the steering wheel. 

You’ve seen him angry before, irritated. Never like this.

Every breath he draws in is tight and controlled, his features set like granite. You only catch sight of it when the yellow glow of the street lights outside wash over you both in thick swathes; the cold fury that lurks in the black pits of his irises, held back like a caged beast. 

It should scare you – it does, a bit. The man sitting next to you feels like a stranger, and yet you force yourself to hold that stare, not to shy away.

Oikawa won’t hurt you. 

Whatever seethes beneath the surface, it’s not directed your way – you can’t say how you know that for certain, only that you do. 

But neither one of you can return home to your family tonight, not when you’re both so wound up and strung out. You’ll beg on your hands and knees if that’s what it takes to sway him. Ryo’s already afraid enough as it is.

Your heart thumps painfully against your ribs as you wait in tense silence. 

Oikawa considers you for a moment longer, mutters a curse under his breath and casts a look back over his shoulder, throwing the car into a sudden – and very illegal – u turn. “You’re gonna be the death of me, I hope you realise that,” he groans, but the words lack the hard, clipped edge they’d carried before. 

He takes you instead to an apartment downtown; nondescript, small, tidy. The furniture appears new, fitting in with the same clean, monochromatic colour scheme as the rest of the apartment. There’s books on the coffee table, bland art lining the walls, cushions on the couch, a knitted beige comforter tossed over the armrest. It’s… fine, if not a little soulless. 

Turning to face Oikawa, you lift an eyebrow, “You… live here?” you ask.

The brunet’s lips quirk upwards, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it over the back of one of the chairs. “Not often. It’s a foxhole, one of a few I have, actually. This one just so happened to be the closest.” At your confused expression, he continues, “Think of it like a hideaway. There’s no paper trail tying me to this place and very few people who know of its existence. We can lie low here for a few days while we figure everything out.”

Somewhere that can’t be tracked, because there are men out there who want you dead. Faintly, you nod, trying your best to ignore the pool of dread sitting heavy in your gut. 

There’s no pretending the threats aren’t real anymore. 

But you’re safe here, with Oikawa. No one’s coming to hurt you tonight. 

Exhausted, your whole body aching, you shower under a scorching spray, drying yourself off and pulling on one of Oikawa’s old shirts to sleep in (‘We’ll get you some proper clothes tomorrow,’ he’d promised). There’s only one bed in the tiny apartment, and even if you could find it within yourself to care, you’re altogether too drained to say anything when, after a quick shower of his own, Oikawa crawls in beside you. 

He’s warm and solid, the scent of him familiar as his arm slides over your middle, drawing you close. 

“I’m not going to let anyone touch you,” he murmurs into the dark. “I’ll kill them first. You’re safe with me.”

—

Two days later, your father summons you home.

Oikawa’s curtly dismissed at the door, left to his own devices. You, meanwhile, are taken into the study, tea is poured, and the conversation, naturally, shifts towards the break in at your apartment. 

“You can always stay here with us, little one, for as long as you’d like. Ryota would be thrilled to have you back.” Your father smiles, setting the steaming cup down. “As would I.”

The childhood endearment makes your heart tug. You’ve spent too long clawing your way free of his influence to do some good in the world, to return home now, no matter how tempting the thought, would undo that in seconds. 

“I know,” you reply. “And I appreciate it, dad. Oikawa’s taking me tomorrow to see a few apartments, though, so hopefully we’ll find something that works.”

He makes a dissatisfied noise, mouth tightening. “Yes, well considering this happened under Oikawa’s watch, perhaps you should rethink the weight you place in his judgement.”

“It’s because of Oikawa that they broke into my apartment. He never gave them an opening to come after me directly, so they tried to scare me instead.” Tried, and succeeded, mind you. “You’re the one who hired him,” you grumble.

“I hired him to protect you, nothing more,” he replies sternly. “If you’re put at risk again I will not hesitate to replace him with someone better suited.”

Peering down at you from behind wire frame glasses, he considers you for a moment – the same weighty, assessing stare he’d give you when, as a kid, he thought you were misbehaving. “I am not so blind that I cannot see what is happening in front of my own eyes. You’re close with him, you… trust him.”

“Am I not supposed to?” Wasn’t he the one telling you you had to listen to Oikawa?

He doesn’t answer you straight away, seemingly weighing up his response. When he does eventually speak, the words give little comfort. “Oikawa is… a necessary evil. He has the temperament and skill set which make him a natural choice in protecting you – they’re also what make him dangerous. If your life weren’t at risk I would not want you within a thousand yards of that man.”

You think back to the scars that litter Oikawa’s torso. The look in his eyes that night, the tempest raging, violent and volatile. 

It’s not as though you ever believed Oikawa to be a saint – if his association with your father wasn’t proof enough, the frankly alarming number of weapons you’d stumbled across, stashed throughout the foxhole certainly did the trick.

You grew up surrounded by men like that. Your father, your uncles. Business associates invited to dinner. None of them ever frightened you.

Unease slithers down your spine.

Satisfied, perhaps, that his warning struck home, your father straightens in his chair and clears his throat. “Enough of that. Come, drink – your tea’s getting cold.”

He keeps you there for a little while longer, to indulge in another cup and talk of other, lighter subjects; your work with the children’s foundation, Ryo’s progress at school (he’s becoming quite the little scientist), to the gardens that surround the estate, the cherry blossom trees set to bloom in a matter of weeks. 

On your way out, he asks for you to send in Oikawa. 

It takes you less than a minute to find him – sitting cross legged on the living room floor, deep in conversation with your seven year old brother. Ryo’s the one to spot you first, his whole face lighting up. Discarding the open book he’d had splayed across his lap, your brother jumps to his feet and barrels towards you with a delighted shriek of your name, arms outstretched. You catch him with a grin, squeezing back when he hugs you firmly.

“Careful, bud” Oikawa laughs, “you’ll knock her right off her feet.”

You ruffle Ryo’s hair. His mom would say the unruly locks are desperately in need of a trim – you think it suits him, reminds you of a wild thing. “Please, this little guy? Light as a feather.”

The indignant grumble you get in response, his face still buried in your middle only makes your grin widen. 

Still sprawled across the floor like a kid himself, Oikawa meets your gaze with a warm one of his own, something in your chest fluttering at the sight of it. He looks content, perfectly relaxed here with you and Ryo. 

In that moment, you’re struck with the realisation that he’s not the only one.

Whatever gripped you back in your father’s study, there’s no trace of it now, it holds no bearing here with the two of them. This is the Oikawa you’ve come to know, the one you trust.

The one you like, if the warming of your cheeks is any indication to go by. 

… Maybe it’s time you stopped running from that.

Saved from any further musing by your brother’s attempt to crush the life out of you in one final squeeze, Ryo reluctantly lets you go. 

“I missed you,” he mumbles, his cheeks turning pink. He kicks at the carpet a little, chews at his bottom lip, hesitating just a touch. “… Dad said you’re coming home to stay this time. Are you?” And beneath the wide, puppy dog eyes that tug at your heartstrings with practiced ease (no wonder he has both his parents wrapped around his finger), there’s no hiding the hope glimmering in his tone. 

“I missed you too, squirt.” 

At the mention of your father, however, something else springs to mind, and you turn your attention back to Oikawa. “Oh, almost forgot – he said he wants to see you. He’s in the study, waiting.”

The brunet nods, rising. If he’s bothered by the demand at all, there’s no outward indication. From your own conversation with the man, you can’t imagine he’s about to walk into anything particularly pleasant. Then again, you doubt that whatever your father has in store for him – whether it be lecture or complete verbal evisceration – is in any way anxiety inducing to someone like Oikawa. 

Sauntering past the two of you, he stops for a second, lays a hand on Ryo’s shoulder and leans down to whisper conspiratorially into his ear – just loud enough for his voice to carry. “Why don’t you show your big sister the new project you were telling me about, hm?” 

Ryo lights up again with a giddy gasp, racing from the room, and Oikawa winks at you, breezing on through. 

—

The moment you’re through the door back at the foxhole, he’s on you.

Ravenous, hungry, lips moving feverishly against yours, prying them apart for another taste of you. The clothes he’d bought for you are hastily discarded, thrown to the floor and kicked aside as Oikawa lifts you up, hiking your legs around his waist so he can carry you into the bedroom.

“What’s gotten into you?” you laugh, half breathless when he deposits you on the bed. 

“Do I need a reason?” he retorts, yanking off his shirt and casting it aside. “I’ve been waiting to do this all afternoon.”

He climbs onto the bed then,pushing your shoulders back down the mattress as his lips find yours to kiss you senseless. Your hand meanwhile slips down between your bodies, a feather light touch grazing the bulge in his jeans. 

He moans into your mouth, breath shivery and light, hips bucking ever so slightly to chase the touch. When he draws back, your stomach flips in anticipation at the positively wolfish expression you find there, “Careful, pretty girl,” he warns. 

“Or what?” 

He takes your hand then, pulls it back to his crotch and grinds into it slowly, shuddering, “Or you’re gonna be in for a long, long night.”

You arch up to kiss him, lips finding his throat, the two of you working together to hastily free his cock from the confines of his boxer briefs. 

The moment you’re successful, the hard, flushed length bobbing against his stomach, Oikawa lets a fat glob of spit fall into his palm and takes hold of it, twisting his wrist as he slides his hand back and forth along his cock, groaning and nudging your thighs apart. 

Usually, he likes to take his time prepping you, lowering his mouth to your pretty little pussy, teasing you and edging you until you’re a squirming, hot mess beneath him, all but begging him to hurry up and fuck you. Other times – when he’s in a more selfish mood – he’ll send you to your knees instead, taking his pleasure by fucking your face, fingers curling in your hair, the tight, wet warmth of your mouth too tempting to pass up.

But something feels different this time. More than hunger, or desire, beyond simple urgency. It glints and gleans in his eyes, seeps from his skin like the bead of sweat that trickles down the curve of his neck. 

It crackles like electricity in the air between you. 

And when he drags your hips down close, and pushes his cock deep into your warm, fluttering cunt, it robs you of all words.

True to his promise, Oikawa takes his time. Fucks you on your back, legs locked around his back at first – and then pressed back either side of you, the ache in your thighs second only to the stretch of your pussy, clenching around him with every languid roll of his hips.

He flips you over and draws your ass upwards, your face pressed down into the pillows, pounding into you from behind. 

Hands on your hips, guiding you up and down his throbbing shaft, hungry eyes fixed on the way your tits bounce so enticingly for him. 

And then, when your legs are shaking, pussy leaking his seed and every cell in your body is electrified and buzzing, he lays you down at the edge of the bed and feasts on your poor, sensitive, abused little hole ‘til you’re grabbing at his hair, bucking up and writhing on his tongue, screaming yourself hoarse from an overload of pleasure. 

Only then does he allow you rest, kissing you sweetly as he slips from your side and exits the bedroom. 

He returns moments later with a glass of water, which you gratefully accept and guzzle down. Collapsing back on the bed, you let out a groan, “I feel like I could sleep for the next thousand years.”

He chuckles. Climbing onto the mattress to flop down beside you, Oikawa rolls close, smiling with a soft look you’ve only ever seen directed at you. “So sleep. We’ve got an hour or so ‘til dinner, a nap won’t kill you.”

—

You wake to the sound of a car backfiring.

Eyes bleary, disoriented, you struggle to gather your wits as the door to the bedroom flies open. Oikawa appears in the doorway, still wearing his pajamas, gun in hand, eyes focused and alert – and it’s then, in the dim, early morning light that you realise that the sound you heard wasn’t a car at all.

With his handgun and attention trained on the front door, Oikawa spares you only the briefest of glances, “Get up, we need to go. Now.” 

Your heart skips a beat, chest tightening as the reality of the situation – at least, as much as your sluggish brain can piece together – dawns upon you. 

Questions, one after another, claw their way up your throat, desperate and urgent, terrified, you force yourself to swallow them down, along with the near paralysing fear that takes hold. There’s no time for that. No time to panic. Pausing only long enough to ascertain that you are in fact somewhat clothed – an old tee of his and a pair of sleep shorts you must’ve thrown on at some point last night – you scramble to Oikawa’s side. 

Any reassurance you feel at the grip he takes of your hand is quickly and overwhelmingly buried, however, when you catch sight of the dark mass by the entryway. 

Your stomach lurches, blood running cold. It’s a body – a man’s. The room’s not yet light enough to get a good look at his face, but the open, unblinking eyes and the sticky looking pool beneath him tell you plenty.

Dead. 

“Don’t look,” Oikawa murmurs.

His fingers tighten around your hand in a reassuring squeeze, already pulling you onwards. Like a bad accident, tearing your eyes away is easier said than done.

That man, he… he’d come here for you, hadn’t he? To kill you. 

You’ve never seen a dead body before, and now there’s one lying across your living room floor, riddled with bullets from Oikawa’s gun and that–

That could’ve been you. Would’ve been, if not for Oikawa.

Your chest constricts, a noose tightening at your throat. And just like that night at your apartment, the fear that takes root begins to strangle you, making it hard to breathe, harder to think.

Every uneven thump of your heart rattles your chest, your limbs feeling like they’re disconnected from the rest of you. Oikawa notices, and curses softly beneath his breath. There’s no time to coax you down, his grip turns iron, half running now down the fire door stairs with you stumbling behind him.

Somewhere above you, shouts begin to sound, and with a fresh wave of terror hammering through your veins, you force your legs to move quicker. There’s no choice but to run, to duck and cower when the creaking door to the floor above swings open and Oikawa abruptly yanks you forward to fire up the stairwell behind you. 

Bare feet pounding against the floor, chest heaving with ragged breaths, you burst out into the parking garage, and still you don’t stop. 

For the second time in less than a week, you’re corralled into a car, shaking and numb, on the verge of outright sobbing.  

Oikawa drives for a long time.

You don’t ask where you’re going, if they’re still following you. You don’t speak. 

The traffic on the streets thins out, the towering skyscrapers disappearing in the rearview mirror. Wherever he’s taking you, it’s not towards home.

And there’s a pit in your stomach, a bleak, festering emotion that grows harder and harder to ignore with every passing mile. Oikawa’s silence – tense and uncomfortable, only adds to your unease. 

This isn’t like last time, when he was angry beyond words. This feels… different, somehow. 

When you’re well beyond the city limits, he pulls the car to a stop on the side of a deserted stretch of road and turns it off, leaving the keys in the ignition. 

“There’s a phone in the glove box, can you get it for me?” 

Doing as he asks, you pop the compartment open, only to cringe when the first thing your fingers brush over isn’t a cell, but the cool metal of a handgun. Nevertheless, you keep going, eventually finding the black phone tucked away near the back and wordlessly passing it into Oikawa’s waiting palm.

He smiles at you, leans over the console to press a chaste kiss to your cheek, “Thanks. Stay here, alright? Gotta make a quick call.” 

He’s already dialling, smoothly exiting the car before the words truly register. 

You’re helpless to do anything but watch anxiously from the passenger’s seat, fingers worrying away at the hem of Oikawa’s shirt. Seconds tick by – nothing. No one picks up. No one answers. 

A small frown graces his features. Glancing into the car to check up on you, Oikawa simply ends the call, dials another number, holds the phone to his ear, and waits for whoever’s on the other end of the call to pick up. 

… But nobody does. The phone rings out.

He spares you another brief glance then, your wide, worried eyes meeting his. His brow furrows, the edges of his lips thinning into a hard line and before you can call out to ask him what’s wrong, who he’s trying to get ahold of, he’s moving away from the car and out of earshot. 

This time, he seems to take longer to find the number he’s after, drawing the phone back to his ear, foot tapping away as it rings and rings and rings. 

You don’t realise that you’re holding your breath, fingernails biting into the palm of your hand until you see him speaking into his cell, nodding at whatever the person on the other end of the line is saying.

Yet that reprieve, unlocking the breath trapped in your lungs, soothing over all of your tension and that awful, gnawing feeling in the pit of your stomach lasts only as long as it takes for you to realise that Oikawa, staring at you from yards down the road, looks entirely too grim for the relief that you’re feeling.

He ends the call with a heavy exhale, shoulders slumping.

Your heart stops cold in your chest.  

One look at his pained expression, the pity swirling in his eyes, the sympathy, and your whole world comes crashing down around you.

Fingers fumbling for the door latch, you unbuckle your seatbelt to stagger to your feet, lurching towards him. Oikawa reaches you first, letting you collide into his arms, pulling you close. 

“He– he’s fine, right?” you beg in a thick, trembling voice, trying in vain to blink back hot tears. “Ryo’s fine. They both are. They’re okay. Tell me they’re okay. Please, Tooru, you have to– you have to tell me that they’re–”

As words fail you, Oikawa sighs. With a gentleness that shatters something inside of you, he cups your cheek in his palm, brushing away your tears, and presses his forehead against yours. 

“I’m sorry. They… they hit the house before they came for us. No one made it out.”

No… no, no, no, no, no. That’s not true. You clutch at him, desperately shaking your head. Ryo can’t be dead, he’s only seven. He’s just a kid, an innocent, good kid. He’s your little brother.

He can’t be dead.

But Oikawa’s looking at you so brokenly, and you feel like somebody’s ripped you open from the inside out and saved your heart for last of all. You open your mouth to beg for him to tell you he’s lying, but all that comes out is a sobbing wail. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, holding you close, cradling you against him. “I’m so sorry, baby.”

—

The soft sound of leather shoes walking atop marble tiles echo throughout the empty halls of your father’s estate. 

There’s no need for Oikawa to disguise his presence now – not that there was much of one to begin with. 

The staff had opened the door without blinking, welcoming him inside, the guards on rotation nodding in acknowledgment when he strode past. They might not particularly enjoy his presence (no accounting for taste, he supposed) but after months working for the patriarch to keep you safe, they’d come to begrudgingly accept it. 

In their eyes, he was one of them, and so no one thought to stop him and ask why he’d shown up at the estate so late in the night, seemingly without reason. Without you.

It made picking them off one by one that much easier. 

Well, not all of them. He had left one alive – unconscious, possibly paralysed, but breathing all the same. Oikawa smirks. 

With the guards and household staff dispatched, he’d turned his attention towards the bedrooms. 

Ryota was first. Fast asleep, clutching the teddy-bear you’d bought him, your baby brother hadn’t stirred when Oikawa crept in with the shadows. He made it quick. Painless. As much of a mercy as a man like him was capable of. 

The kid’s mom was next; the second wife, the replacement. The money hungry, greedy, vapid little cunt. 

It was no secret that your father had been married before, that his first wife – your mother – had died after a long, tragic battle with cancer when you were sixteen. The first time he’d tried bringing it up, you’d shut him down and quickly changed the subject, but in the end, all it took was one too many glasses of wine, a few stories of his own, and those pretty lips of yours were spilling all sorts of interesting secrets.

That your step-mother was fucking him before she was even cold in the ground was one such fascinating tidbit. 

While he’d felt a slight twinge of guilt over killing the boy, Oikawa had no such qualms shooting her while she slept, the silencer on his pistol ensuring it raised no alarm, just like the others. 

While you’d mourn for your beloved baby brother, he knows you won’t shed any tears for that bitch. He wonders if you’d even thank him for it, if he ever decided to tell you the truth.

A pleasant shiver rolls down his spine at the thought of how sweetly you’d go about it.

Presently, he raises a fist to knock at the door of your father’s study, one final goal in mind.

“Come in,” a deep voice replies.

Oikawa has to give the older man some credit, one look at him – gun in hand, the flecks of blood spattered against his crisp, white shirt – and your father stills, the colour draining from his face. He doesn’t panic, though, doesn’t shout or cry out for help, much less for mercy.

They both know none is coming. 

Instead, he sets down the papers he’d been working on and rises slowly from his chair. No doubt he has at least one gun stashed nearby, but with Oikawa’s pointed towards his chest, the brunet’s index finger poised on the trigger, and his better years behind him, the odds don’t fall in his favour.

“My wife?”

Oikawa grins, clicking his tongue, “Dead.”

He nods, taking a moment to process the information. “And… my son?” 

“Dead.”

“… I see.”

Oikawa’s heard more than one person accuse your father of being a cold, heartless bastard. It’s an easy assumption to make – no one gains a reputation like his without a certain brutality and overall disregard for the lives of others. The truth is simpler; your father does have a heart, it resides in both of his children. While his voice might not shake at the news of his son’s demise, his hands, splayed out over the papers on his desk, most certainly do.

He swallows with difficulty, takes in a trembling breath, “My daughter, I assume you killed her, too?”

“God, no,” he laughs. “She’s sleeping, safe and sound, blissfully oblivious to all of this.” 

And for the first time since Oikawa crossed the threshold, a look of confusion adorns your father’s face. Before he can give voice to it, however, the brunet decides to nudge the conversation along. The drugs in your system will only keep you down for so long, and there’s still plenty he has left to do before the two of you can have your fresh start. 

“You seem to be under the impression that I’m working for the people who want you and your family wiped from the map. I’m not. I’m simply making the best of an opportunity." He sighs, shrugging, “We could have avoided this nastiness, you know. Maybe not indefinitely, but for a little while at least. All of this, it’s your fault; you gave me a gift, and then,” his smile turns sharp, an edge of anger bleeding through, “you threatened to take her away.”

There are worse fates than death. 

“If it gives you any solace,” Oikawa murmurs, the soft, placating tone at odds with the cruel twist of his vicious grin. “I intend to keep my promise. She’ll be safe with me, no one will ever lay so much as a finger on her.”

No one, that is, except for him. 

[brewed-pangolin]

Fine I'll send another. Captain MacTavish ON THE BEACH. 🥵

I love the beach. I live on it during the summer. It's my second home, I swear. And the way the sea salt air and warm waters can cure the soul is something I just can't ignore with this man. I love this ask so much!!!

18+ MDNI Sexual Themes

You sat alone, comfortably in your beach chair with a cold beer in hand under a magenta colored sky as the sun set beyond the horizon of a turquoise painted surf.

The rhythmic sound of the waves synchronizing with the beat of your heart as the scent of sea salt and sunscreen etched itself into your skin.

The air was still warm, yet it carried a cool breeze off the waters edge as the slow curtain of dusk crept over the white sanded landscape.

It was perfect. A picturesque conclusion to a hot summer's day.

And off in the distance, with a Yeti tumblr of whisky in one hand and a cigar permanently clutched in his mouth, Captain MacTavish cast out his last line into the crashing surf and placed the warn grip seamlessly into its plastic holder dug into the sand.

The beach had done wonders for him since his retirement only a few years ago.

Soothed his war torn psyche with the constant ebb and flow of the tide. Molded his scars beneath a layer of sun kissed skin that further accentuated the seascape blue of his eyes and made every woman swoon with just a mere glance and a smile.

Yet it was here, under the blanket of encroaching night that you saw the man he had truly become.

A man at peace with himself. Letting the setting sun and roll of the tide absolve him of his past and breathe fresh life into his lungs at dawn's first light.

You couldn't pull your eyes off him anymore, and you were no longer ashamed about how your stare lingered on him.

The loss of sunlight elongating the shadows within the curves of his musculature. Accented by the seafoam swim trunks that hung perfectly on his hips. Creating a more defined sculpture of his frame as he effortlessly strutted along the sand to take his place beside you.

"How long you gonna fish for tonight, John?" You asked quietly, rim of the beer can caressing your bottom lip.

"As long as you'll let me, m'lass."

You smiled, watching him raise his tumbler in cheers to take a healthy swig while gently tapping the ash of his cigar into an empty can.

"Guess we'll be here all night, then."

"Aye. Looks that way."

As he relaxed back in his Tommy Bahama chair, your hand reached out to instinctually cusp the back of his head. Thumb and index finger pressing into the back off his skull, pulling a slight groan from his chest as your touch soothed his sun drenched soul.

"Careful, lass. Y'know what that skillful touch a'yers does to me."

"Mhmm. It's a good thing we brought the boat."

Soap rolled his eyes, glancing between your smirking expression and the vessel anchored just beyond the last sandbar.

"Which one ya love more, hm? The boat, or me?"

You raised a brow at his testing inquiry, firmly pressing into the back curve of his jaw with your fingertips as a hushed murmur fell from your lips.

"Don't ask questions you know the answer to, John. Won't get you anywhere."

Soap growled in response. Placing his hand on your thigh and giving your flesh a firm yet playful grip.

"May have ta shorten th'fishing trip then. Looks like I gotta assert my claim over you again."

"Claim over me, John?"

"Aye. Ain't no way I'm losing you to a gas guzzling bàta."

-

You both lasted no more than another twenty minutes before loading everything into the skiff and jetting back to his prized vessel. Where Soap MacTavish made good to his word and staked his claim over you once again.

Spreading you over every flat surface beneath the bow and docking his thickened cock repeatedly into the deep cove of your cunt.

Master of the Swell Masterlist

This is but a taste of the new WIP I have in store for you, Soap Squad. Johnny's got the 4Runner, the Captain's got a yacht. And goddman, do I have plans to rock that boat.

Tagging those who showed interest. Let me know if you liked to be tagged for further posts. Much love 💛

@deadbranch @ohgeesoap @astraluminaaa @a-small-writer-in-a-big-world @d3athtr4psworld @ghosts-goldendoodle @homicidal-slvt @shotmrmiller @glitterypirateduck @macravishedbymactavish @sofasoap @tacticalanxiety @random-thot-generator @writeforfandoms

[melmedardasworld]

Bonnie stood on the cobblestone streets of Paris, the air filled with the tantalizing scents of fresh bread and rich coffee. She closed her eyes for a moment, letting the warmth of the sun wash over her. Everything felt vibrant and alive. A soft breeze caught her hair, and for a fleeting moment, she experienced pure bliss.

"There you are!" Klaus's voice echoed from the end of the street, and Bonnie turned to see him striding toward her, exuding his usual confidence. He wore a fitted blazer over a casual shirt, casual yet impeccably styled, perfectly suited to the lively atmosphere of the city.

“What took you so long?” Bonnie asked, crossing her arms with a playful huff as he approached. “I thought we were going to have breakfast with a view!”

Klaus smirked, the corner of his mouth lifting as he surveyed the beautiful streets lined with quaint cafés. “I had to make sure the pastry selection lived up to standards."

“Right, because a vampire has high standards for pastries,” Bonnie teased, rolling her eyes. "I thought you might be more focused on blood."

“If I wanted blood, I’d be dining at home and roiling with you through the sheets,” he quipped back, his eyes dancing with amusement. "Though I imagine good croissant would be hard for you to resist.”

With a slap on his arm, Bonnie shook her head, and together they strolled past vibrant flower stalls, vendors calling out in cheerful French, and artists painting the picturesque scenery. The infectious energy of the city seeped into her heart, igniting the familiar warmth she felt in Klaus's presence.

As they approached a small café with outdoor seating, Klaus gestured for them to sit. “Now, let’s order the best breakfast this city has to offer.”

They settled into their seats, the table adorned with a stunning view of the Eiffel Tower in the distance. Klaus waved over the waiter and, with an exaggerated flourish, ordered an assortment of pastries and coffee. Bonnie couldn’t help but smile at his theatrical flair.

“Do you think anyone notices how charming you are?” Bonnie asked playfully, leaning back in her chair.

Klaus leaned forward, propping his chin on his hand. “Charm is my second-best quality, only surpassed by my devastating good looks.”

Bonnie burst into laughter, and she felt a rush of a pleasant flutter running through her belly. "I wouldn’t go that far," she said, feigning seriousness while enjoying the moment.

"Ah, but you appreciate my subtlety, love," Klaus teased, flashing her that captivating dimpled grin. "This is a rare moment of peace, and I intend to savor every bit."

With their breakfast laid out before them—golden croissants and delicate éclairs—Bonnie's eyes sparkled with delight. "You’ve outdone yourself with this one."

“It’s the least I could do for you,” Klaus replied, his tone shifting, becoming more sincere. “It’s not every day I get to enjoy a peaceful morning in Paris with my favorite witch."

"Just your favorite?" she asked, raising an eyebrow as she took a bite of her croissant.

"Hm, maybe more than my favorite, then," he laughed, clutching his heart in mock injury. “Besides, I thought your ability to read minds gave me bonus points.”

Bonnie grinned, a playful glint in her eye. "If only that were true. I might’ve been able to sense when you were planning your surprise.”

“And deprive myself of your awe-struck face each time. Never.” Klaus teased, leaning back, enjoying their playful banter. The easy flow of conversation allowed them to slip into a comfortable rhythm, the weight of their realities momentarily forgotten.

As they talked and laughed, Bonnie felt the enchanting city vibrate around them, glowing with possibility. She couldn’t remember when she had felt so carefree, and it brought an unexpected joy. For a fleeting moment, she dreamed of more—of adventures where magic wouldn’t always be at the forefront, of shared moments stealing time from their chaotic lives.

Yet, just as the moment crescendoed into warmth, the scenery around them began to shimmer, fading like a distant memory. Bonnie felt a strange pull, a shifting sensation that tugged her away from the picturesque café.

“No! Klaus, wait!” she exclaimed, reaching for him as the dreamscape began to unravel.

Suddenly, Bonnie jolted awake in bed, heart racing and breathless. She was enveloped in the soft warmth of her bedsheets, the lingering scent of something heavenly wafting through the air. She blinked against the sunlight filtering into the room, feeling the pull of reality tugging at her consciousness. The dream she had just experienced felt like a distant echo, yet the emotions lingered on the edges of her heart.

When Bonnie rolled over, the delicious aroma intensified, drawing her from the cocoon of sleep. It was almost enough to make her forget the warmth still wrapping around her, but then she felt it—a familiar presence lingering nearby.

"Good morning, love," came Klaus’s voice, suddenly filling the room as he leaned over her. His deep, playful tone pulled her fully awake. He was at her bedside, his striking features accentuated by the morning light.

Before Bonnie could fully process her surroundings, Klaus leaned down, showering her cheeks with soft, steamy kisses. Each peck was like a burst of sunlight, igniting warmth in her veins and causing her to giggle, still half-asleep. "Klaus!" she murmured, voice thick with drowsiness. "Why are you so eager this morning?"

“Can you blame me? I've been dying for you to wake,” he replied, leaning down to shower her cheeks with soft, steamy kisses, sending delightful shivers down her spine. Each kiss felt like a spark, igniting warmth in her veins,

“Okay, okay! I’m up!” she laughed, a soft blush creeping onto her cheeks. “What’s the rush?”

But before Bonnie could blink, Klaus swept her up into his arms, the suddenness startling her as he cradled her effortlessly against him. "You’ll see," he said, his grin widening.

Bonnie's heart raced at the unexpected gesture, the warmth of his body against hers making her lower stomach flutter. "You can’t just pick me up like this!” Bonnie protested though she found herself letting him carry her as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"Watch me," he replied coyly, winking down at her.

Klaus carried her out of their spacious bedroom, his steps light yet purposeful, and Bonnie couldn’t help but chuckle at how easily he maneuvered. She felt like a character in one of her favorite stories, whisked away by a charming prince.

"You’re making this sound like some grand adventure.”

“Just a little adventure," Klaus promised, pulling back to give her a scrutinizing look that made her heart flutter.

"Fine, but it had better involve food," Bonnie relented, kissing his cheek, her hair cascading messily around her shoulders. She playfully narrowed her eyes at him. “And coffee.”

"It's as if you've read my mind," Klaus replied. "We will resume our adventure downstairs." Klaus stepped onto the balcony of the first floor and showed her the surprise on the ground floor.

Bonnie’s breath caught at the sight. Below lay a long breakfast table elegantly set with a spread that would make any gourmet chef jealous: perfectly baked croissants, sweet pastries, fresh fruits, and rich coffees steaming in exquisite cups.

"Wow," Bonnie breathed, taking it all in. “You really outdid yourself.”

Klaus’s gaze shifted to her, pride evident in his demeanor. "I always outdo myself." He perked up. "I thought you might fancy a proper traditional French breakfast after last night," he said softly, before descending the stairs with his lover.

When they reached the dining area, Klaus set her down gently, and Bonnie stepped forward, eyes widening at the spread before her, glittering under the sunlight. "This is incredible!"

“Only the best for my favorite witch,” Klaus replied, his voice low, laced with sincerity.

Before Bonnie could respond, a personal waiter approached with a fresh pot of coffee, offering them both a steaming cup. Klaus cast his attentive gaze toward her as he poured the liquid, and Bonnie couldn’t help but feel the warmth of his affection radiate through the air between them.

"Join me for breakfast?" Klaus asked, his voice inviting.

With a smile that lit up her face, Bonnie nodded. They settled into their seats, enjoying the delightful spread before them, sharing laughter and playful banter.

Bonnie’s laugh bubbled out at his subtle reference to her dream, and she felt a warmth spread through her. "It’s funny you say that because I just dreamt about being in France with you."

"Really?” Klaus tilted his head, amusement lacing his voice. “I must have read your mind from afar, then. I, too, fancied a French breakfast."

Little did the pair know today’s dream was no coincidence and marked the start of their minds being intertwined by a deeper psychic connection they'd explore to the fullest.