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cordeliawhohung · 3 months

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the prowl - single dad! Price x teacher! stripper! Reader (fem) taglist

[3] snake skin

You wilt in John’s presence.

Cell walls decompose within the stem holding you tall, flesh crumbling at the absence of support until you’re curled up and shriveled. It saps the air from your lungs and you’re left gasping, an unfortunate specimen underneath his tired, blue gaze. Broiling chagrin bubbles up in your chest, suffocating you until the words you were going to speak melt in your mouth — quick, like cotton candy, but not nearly as sweet.

Thick fingers dance around the rim of a chilled glass as John sizes you up. He’s quick. Flickering glances that refuse to linger on any one place for too long except for your face. He drinks you up — your fluttering lashes, lips nervously pressing together, smoothing lipstick over the delicate skin — and he hums like it’s tastier than the bourbon in his cup. He lifts it up, hand smothering it as he tips back the dregs into his mouth where he holds it on his tongue, savoring the flavor before he swallows. His eyes never leave you.

The clink of his cup against the side table spurs you into action. Saffron is on autopilot, sauntering up to him with the sharp clack of heels all while Miss Lolly tears herself to shreds in your mind. This is wrong, she screams. He is your student's father, and you are going to lose your job. Turn back, get someone else to dance, you shouldn’t be doing this, this is wrong.

“Saffron?”

John’s voice is rougher than you’re used to. Gruff with gravel, a subtle fry that rumbles in his throat — it’s hot. He’s hot, and the gravity of the situation refuses to settle in. It only gets worse as you turn, flaunting your ass for a short moment before you plop right between his legs. Purposeful hands brush against his knees before you reach up to move your synthetic blue hair to one side, eyes peeking over your shoulder at him elfinly as you do.

“Yes sir,” you chime. False lashes flutter before you playfully look away, voice low and teasing. Saffron lacks the gentle preppiness Miss Lolly has, and you pray that change coupled with your disguise is enough to throw him off your trail.

He chuckles, and it’s just as rough as his voice is. It pierces right through you, skin prickling, hairs standing up on end as you shift, hips swaying. “Haven’t been called that for a long time, darling.”

“What would you like me to call you?” you ask, hands pushing at the straps of your glorified bra. They fall down your shoulders, fluttering like autumn leaves, and you feel the support in your breasts fall with them.

“John is fine,” he replies.

“Long day, John?” Gentle hands reach behind your back, elbows contorting with the movement as you reach for the band of your bra. You thumb over the clasp teasingly. “Why don’t you relax for me?”

Warm fingers brush against your skin, but instead of melting you, they freeze you. Muscles tense, movements cease, your breath hitches — it’s not uncommon for men to touch you during private sessions. The Florists allow light touching as long as it’s nothing sexual, but this feels different. It’s soft and gentle, and quietly trails along your skin as the strap of your bra is slowly brought back over your shoulder.

Bemused, you glance back at John as he does the same to the other side, eyes tracing every inch of skin he touches before settling back on you. Your hands drop anxiously as he fixes a stray strand of your wig. Is your skin peeling? Mask cracking and crumbling into dusk? Can he see past the caked on foundation, sharp contour, and false glitter of your makeup? Does he see the hint of that sweet school teacher his daughter learns from, and not the dancer he’s paid good money for?

Just as you’re convinced he has you figured out, his hands leave your skin as his arms sprawl out along the back of the couch. He’s huge, takes up most of the space on the sofa, attempting to dwarf you. His head tilts to the side in invitation.

“Sit with me.”

It isn’t the strangest request you’ve gotten for a private session. Plenty of men have had you sit next to them as they pour out their heart and traumas for an hour, leaving you half dazed. While you don’t mind it, something feels odd doing it for John. As far as he’s aware, you’re a stranger. Just some stripper he’ll pay to listen to his woes. But you’re not. You know him; know his daughter. This feels like entrapment; like you’re some garden spider attempting to lure him in.

Too late to back out now.

Following his lead, you slip out from between his legs in favor of the cushion next to him. Knees tucked against the side of his thigh, the arm that lines the back of the couch falls against your shoulder, hand brushing against your arm as he forces you to settle against his chest. There’s a spicy aroma about him that cancels out the daintiness of your perfume — something warm and rugged, with a hint of tobacco. It’s almost enough to cleanse you of the anxiety coursing through your veins.

“Talk to me,” he says once you’re settled.

“What about?” you ask.

“Anything you like.”

You pause, mind rolling through conversation possibilities. Keep it simple. Appropriate. You remind yourself how bad this situation can get if you slip up, if John realizes who you truly are, play it cool…

“You smell nice,” you say.

Of course Saffron has to open her goddamn mouth.

Boisterous mirth ripples through John’s chest, and it’s warm and inviting against the side of your face. It’s enough to get a smile of your own to pull at your lips.

“I told you to talk, not to take the piss outta me, darling,” he says, quelling his laughter.

“I’m serious,” you say, refusing to back down. “Most men come here sweating buckets, reeking of alcohol and god knows what else. It’s a pleasant and welcomed surprise.”

“Glad I could satisfy,” he hums.

It’s strangely easy talking to John. It’s as natural as breathing as you talk and answer well meaning questions. Nothing ever strays out of your comfort zone. Never any questions about your personal life or who you are, no hints that would ever set him on the track of your true identity. The buzzing in the back of your skull quiets — that trembling fear antagonized by your raging obtundation. It’s still there, just barely, lurking underneath your skin, but you ignore it as you continue to play the part.

John enjoys himself as you speak, chasing your orphean voice down with swift swigs of bourbon. Every now and then his hips shift, legs knocking against yours, arm drawing you closer as you both sink into the couch. He’s warm, soft clothes against your bare skin, and you find that you rather like falling into the gravity of him. Eventually, it’ll crush you. You know it will. For now, you don’t mind skirting the edges before the event horizon rips you to shreds.

“I have to admit, it’s strange being the one doing the talking,” you finally concede. You’re certain John’s allotted time is about up, but you haven’t cared enough to keep track of the clock ticking away on the wall. “Usually, I’m forced to do the listening.”

“Must hear some interesting things,” he prompts.

“Very,” you confirm with a nod. “I once had a man drone on and on about this terrible predicament he found himself in. His heart was torn between two women. It wasn’t until the end of his session that he decided to reveal one of the women he was mulling over was his wife of eight years, and mother to his two children.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” John mutters, and it sounds wrong on his lips. Surely the same man who treats his daughter with such love and kindness as you saw earlier today would ever curse so flippantly?

Then again, surely he would never go to his local strip club, either.

“You’re not married, are you John?” you then ask.

It’s a facetious question; one you already know the answer to. You’ve gone through Amelia’s file that the school keeps, the one with parental contact information, list of allergens, and things of that sort. John Price is the only name listed on there. The emergency contact should he not be reached is her grandmother. Amelia never speaks of her mother.

“No ma’am.” His response is quiet; a little teasing, but there’s something dejected about it. It pulls at your heart, and you can feel the strings tense and struggle underneath the weight. “Never married.”

“Never?” you repeat, trying to hide the bewilderment in your tone. “I find that hard to believe.”

“Why’s that?”

You shouldn’t answer. You can taste your demise on your tongue just at the very thought of it, but you do anyway. It spills from your lips freely because this isn’t Miss Lolly speaking. This is someone stupid. Someone too tired to know better.

“You’re a handsome man, and judging by your clothes, you’ve got a good job, too. Unlike the degenerates who usually frequent this place, you’re kind…”

Abrupt laughter interrupts you, but it’s different from the jovial tone that soaked it before. Something sour taints it, and you feel how it seeps into your bones with an uneasy twinge.

“Your flattery is precious, but I’ve got dirty hands, sweetheart.”

You’re not sure what he means by that. Dirty hands. Perhaps he has a few skeletons in his closet he’d rather not open up to you. Something that causes him to seek the comfort of a stripper and booze. Either way, no words come to mind in response to him, and he doesn’t say anything either. You sit in silence with the vague sound of music attempting to bleed through the door, and the surprisingly steady beat of his heart against the side of your cheek.

“John?” His name hardly rolls off of your tongue, something quiet and meek, fighting through the fatigue that throbs in the heels of your feet. “Can I ask why you paid for my services tonight?”

You don’t know why you ask. Maybe it’s some subconscious effort into truly seeing if he recognizes you or not. His last window of opportunity. A way to goad him into telling you if you’ll still have your job by Monday or not. Instead, the pad of his thumb runs along your arm, rubbing tiny circles into you, savoring the soft, petal-like delicacy of your skin as his chest expands with a breath before deflating with a sigh.

“I wanted the company more than services,” he admits, “and out of everyone up on that stage tonight, you looked like you needed a break.”

Silence envelops the two of you like an old friend. John’s thumb continues, gently caressing you with a softness you haven’t received in ages. A trembling smile flits across your lips, and you pray that he can’t feel the shockwaves echo through your body and into his. Soon, that smile turns into a grin accompanied by a strained chuckle. You recall his self depreciation; how he said his hands are dirty, how he doesn’t see himself worthy of love, and the irony of it all hits you just as you respond:

“How kind of you.”

John laughs, and it’s that same mirth that you heard from him earlier; sweet and warm. Maybe this time he believes you. The clock continues to tick by. Dusk is a faint memory, one your body so desperately clings to as you’re reminded of the exhaustion that permanently soils your soul. You remember how inappropriate your situation is. In this moment, you are a liar; a trickster, a snake who should shed her skin before it’s too late. You don’t. Instead, you close your eyes and allow John to hold you for a moment longer.

Penance can come later.

#john price x reader #captain price x reader #price x reader #the prowl #f!reader

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s4lv4tions · 1 year

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labour of love; nsfw

pairing; nanami kento x reader summary; something is on your husband's mind — nothing that can't be solved with a morning in bed, you're sure. wc; 4.6k cw; smut, largely vanilla, nanami kento is a loving husband etc

You’ve long since grown used to the press of knees against the mattress rousing you from your sleep. The gentle dip of the bed, the steady — if not stilted — breathing, the sudden waft of his cologne as he tries to settle himself beside you without waking you. It doesn’t work most nights, but Kento still tries.

He smells like the cleanliness of shower gel and the spicy goodness of his favourite fragrance, all nutmeg and saffron and warmth. It’s enough to have you rolling over to face him, half-lidded and half-asleep, hooking your leg over his waist and burying your nose into his neck. There’s a rough puff of air as he realises he’s failed to be stealthy — not for the first time, either. But he pulls you closer anyways, hands smoothing up your back as if to memorise the curve of your spine, or to cajole you back to dreamland.

If there was a way to become one with him you would’ve figured it out by now. Some days, in this bed, it feels like you’re close enough to discovery. Perhaps if you press every possible inch of yourself against him, share the same air, let your minds float away to the same place, it'll happen. Alas, you wake as two separate people, forced to peel yourselves apart when the sun rises and he's off to work. It’s always accompanied by disappointment, but for now you revel in the feeling of his firmness beneath you, and the beat of his pulse in your ears.

“Sorry for waking you up.”

He always says it, and you never mind, but you reply anyway. “It’s okay. I like seeing you.”

Kento’s arms tighten around you, and he says nothing back. The shaky breath muffled against your hair is enough to tell you how his day went, but you won’t ask him about it. Not yet, not when it’s still fresh in his mind. It’s enough of a blessing that he was able to return home at all tonight, instead of sleeping at his desk with only his jacket to fend off the cold. Still, even a good night’s sleep won’t solve everything. You can deal with it tomorrow.

“Did you eat?” You mumble, trying to ignore the seductive hands of sleep pulling at your brain. “I left… hamburger steak. In the fridge.”

“Mm.” His lips brush your hair, and you feel yourself slipping away, further and further into dreamland. “Don’t worry, darling. Just sleep.”

“O…kay… Sweet dreams… Kento…”

You always sleep best when you’re with Kento. You know this because, without fail, you end up drooling all over him like a dog. It's something that never happens when you’re bundled up alone, but it’s as if every muscle in your body relaxes something fierce when you’re with him. It’s embarrassing, and gross, but somehow he never minds. Just chuckles and watches you fuss over wiping it all away, teasing you about how deep you must’ve been sleeping. This morning is no different.

You’d woken with the sun. The curtains you’d forgotten to close shed honeyed sunlight across every fold of your blankets, every inch of skin, every tiny piece of dust floating in the still of the air. Hair tousled and mouth dry, you were so warm it almost made you fall right back asleep. Any part of you not covered in a blanket was wrapped, in some way, in Kento’s arms. The perfect morning. No longing looks as he rose to go to work; no cold side of the bed if he’d stayed in the office. Just perfection and warmth and… a drool stain on his arm.

Whether your cheeks are now warmed by the sun or a persisting feeling of embarrassment, you cannot say, but his hands are even warmer where they cup your face. You attempt to ignore him, scrubbing at his skin. “I need to tape my mouth shut.”

His thumb begins to smooth back and forth. If you were a cat you’d be purring. “Dramatic.”

A glare that’s far too soft. You push away the corner of the duvet you’d haphazardly chosen as your rag, cursing yourself for your weakness as you abandon your task and instead lean into him. “Oh, and I suppose you enjoy waking up every morning with a sticky bicep, Kento?”

“Mm.” The way he urges you towards him is not lost on you; it’s not until your noses brush and your lips part that he says: “I love it.”

“You’re gross.” Your smile betrays you, but you can’t help yourself. You let your graze trail over the handsome planes of his face; from his strong, pointed nose to his chiselled cheekbones, his thin, expressive eyes and tousled morning hair.

“Mhm. And you married me regardless.”

"Hm. I guess I did."

It's like two giggling children sharing the silliest inside joke. Your laughter is soft and breathless, still muddled with sleep, and it's natural the way that you fall into each other so easily. Your head falls back against his chest, the sound of his heartbeat in your ear; your legs intertwine, and your arms hook under his. Close enough to the point where you don’t know where one of you ends and the other starts. If only every day could start like this one, but you're the sort of person who cherishes rarity. And oh, how rare it is to wake up with him — speaking of which…

"You don't have work today?" You ask, trying (and failing) to keep the hope out of your voice.

"No." There's a little pause, before: "I finished up my latest project, so I took the day off."

You haven't forgotten the pledge you made to yourself yesterday: the promise to ease whatever may ail him, or at least to get to the bottom of it. “Woah. You passed up a chance to make money?”

“I suppose I did.”

"Hm, I don’t mind. I like having you to myself." Breakfast, that goes without saying. Maybe he'd prefer to go out for it, or maybe you could cuddle until brunch. Maybe he'd like to take the rare opportunity to stay in all day — and if you're in all day, you may as well do a little more than cuddle...

“You’ll have to share me with the laundry.”

“Mm.” As if drawn there, bolstered by the knowledge that you essentially have all the time in the world, your lips meet the side of his neck. You feel him swallow as you do, but Kento’s nothing if not poised; even as you dare to scrape your teeth along his skin, there’s no other reaction that’s quite so visceral. “I’m a jealous woman, you know.”

“I know.”

Those hands that had cupped your face start to trail down your back — warm and slightly calloused, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Brushing over the elasticated waistband of your panties, lingering just enough to be suggestive, but no more. You pretend that even the slightest whisper of his touch doesn’t make your stomach twist pleasantly, but you suppose you’re long past coyness, considering you are husband and wife. “And you married me, so you know I can’t share you.”

“Even with the laundry?”

“Oh, especially with the laundry.” You finally lift yourself from nipping at his pulse point, flushed and arching into his hands, and stare at him straight on. His gaze is half-lidded, but his eyes — oh, his eyes. So clear and sharp and fixed on you like he wants to print your image onto his eyelids. And his body is so firm beneath you, broad and muscular (you’ve never questioned how a salaryman who has no time to go to the gym is so incredibly fit, but you aren’t about to start now) — even on top of him you feel almost dwarfed. “But, speaking of laundry — we should probably get our money’s worth from the washing machine, then, shouldn’t we?”

An eyebrow quirks. “Oh?”

“Mhm. If we’re gonna wash the sheets, they may as well be as dirty as they can possibly be. Filthy, even.” No use in playing innocent. It’ll be killing two birds with one stone — multiple birds with one stone, even. You can treat your hardworking Kento to an orgasm or two, comfort him after what was no doubt a long, hard day — all the while you enjoy yourself in his arms, and save time and money with the laundry. Perfect.

You’re practically kneading his biceps at this point. The manicure he pays for bi-weekly digs in just slightly, leaving half-moon dents in his otherwise perfect skin. You don't worry about it too much; if there’s one thing you know about Kento it’s that he treasures those little marks above all else.

“How do you propose we do that?” He says, face purposefully blank.

Groaning, you give his arm a light slap. “C’mon, don’t make me say it, Ken.”

“I was joking, darling.” With a smile that sends your tummy flipping, he threads one hand in your hair, large palm flat against your skull, and urges you closer to him. The other settles itself against your jaw, keeping your head firmly in his hands, and it’s with very little shame that you melt into him. It’s hard not to — and besides, why starve yourself of something you’ve waited so long for? “I’m not that cruel.”

A liar he is not; with little fanfare, his lips meet yours, and it’s like every time before and every time after. His lips are smooth, his nose slanted to press against yours, and every movement is deep. His tongue licks into your mouth, lips moving against yours in such a way that you can’t help but moan. It's interesting to experience first-hand how much your relationship with Kento has changed over the years. When you first met him, he baulked at even the mere idea of tongue — this Kento, though, is some measure of depraved, and takes great pleasure in the way you squirm underneath him when his tongue runs over yours.

It’s the type of kiss that, inevitably, makes you want more. You’ve long since parted your legs to hug either side of his hips, and you whine at the press of his growing bulge against your panty-covered clit. It’s that dull sort of pleasure — not enough, never enough, and you’ll curl and arch and flex yourself until it feels like it might be, grinding down on the shape of him. At some point his hands move from your head to your waist — or are they at your back, your ass, your hips? You’re not keeping track. You only know that they sear the skin that they touch and set your nerves aflame, and that’s all that matters.

You’ve just broken apart to catch your breath, prepared to peel off your panties and have your way with him — but in the blink of an eye you’re weightless, and the world twists and warps and you’re under him, suddenly, with the wind knocked out of you. “Kento!”

“Sorry, love.” He doesn’t sound sorry at all. In fact, the words are barely out of his mouth before he descends on you again, this time laying the entirety of his body against you. It’s all you can do to desperately follow the movement of his lips, the rocking his hips — and you’re clutching at his arms all the while, mind dizzied and chest heaving. You’re liable to let him have his way with you just like this, with your legs around his waist and your ankles pressing against his ass, but—

“Wait, I—” Panting, your grip on his biceps tightens, and you frown up at him— “I wanted to be on top, y’know. I wanted to give you a break.”

His laugh is gentle, breathy. In the haze of the morning every sharp edge of him is cotton-soft, his hair this honey sort of blonde wherever the light hits it — mind twisting juxtaposition to the red-hot pleasure broiling in the pit of your tummy. “It’s a husband's duty to worship his wife, is it not?”

“I—” His head dips to the crook of your neck, lips ghosting over your skin in such a way that you shiver in his grasp. It’s sweet and indulgent and him, all him; his weight atop you, his hands on you, his scent around you. “I… Oh, You’re playing dirty, Kento.”

His answer is a hum that reverberates all throughout you. “Am I?”

You’re not expected to answer, and you doubt you have enough control over your muscles to do so, because just as you open your mouth, his fingers slip underneath your panties and slip over the hot, slick skin of your pussy. He’s always purposeful with you, and this time is no different — he does not fumble and flounder, unsure of where to put his hands. He has learned you well enough to know what brings you pleasure, and oh, does he want to bring you pleasure. He makes a glutton of you; gives you far too much, buys into your every whim. He can’t help himself.

You’re wet enough that he can slip a finger in with little difficulty — embarrassingly little difficulty, and you squeak as he slides it all in at one go. His fingers are thick, that goes without saying, but what makes Kento especially dangerous is his skill. He’s too attentive — watches everything, notes every shiver, the pitch of your voice when you whimper his name. He knows just what he needs to do to make you lose your mind — at that, as if he’s read your mind, another finger joins the first, jutting upwards to grind against that spongy spot that makes your legs jerk.

“O—oh,” you breathe, “That’s — okay, that’s good.”

“Is it?” Kento sounds far too amused for your liking, but you’re hardly in a position to scold him, not with your legs spread and your hips rolling up into his hand. “You're like wet velvet.”

“Don’t say things like that!” You whine, slapping a hand over your face. Your cheeks are red-hot, and it only adds to the overwhelming overstimulation — the sheets and Kento against your skin, the coolness of the pillows beneath your neck, the sounds that leave nothing to the imagination.

Sometimes you can’t believe your luck. Almost every partner before him was his complete and utter opposite, caring little for your pleasure and simply using you as a means to an end, but — with Kento, it’s so different. He centres you in everything. Sometimes it’s overwhelming, especially when he wants only for you to lay there and do nothing. It’s hard not to feel a bit lazy, like you have to offer something in return — he says you’ve already given him everything he wants, and it’s enough to make you scream. You suppose you have little to complain about, though, considering you’re regularly being fucked through the mattress.

When you gain enough lucidity to unscrew your eyes, he’s already watching you — like you knew he would be. Somewhere along the way Kento had migrated from on top of you to beside you; he propped himself above you on one elbow, cradling your head. If you were to only glance at him, you’d think him wholly unaffected by your whining, squirming self — but you allow yourself a stare, and are pleased to find the tips of his ears pink and flushed.

“I wanted to take my time,” says Kento, as if reading your mind. “But I’m too impatient when it comes to you.”

“I don’t mind,” you say — breathe — adding: “We have the whole day. You can fuck me slow later.”

It’s as if he was waiting for you to say it. Almost as soon as the words leave your mouth he’s pushing himself up, gently slipping his fingers out of you. You mourn their loss, but you know you won’t be untended for long. Sure enough, he pulls off the sweatpants and briefs that hang low at his hips, and settles himself between your legs once more. His cock is hot and heavy against you, pressed right between your lips, and you shiver as it’s nudged right against your swollen clit — but nothing more. Not yet.

Kento has endless patience — or so it may seem. His impatience, though rare, manifests itself only in his accidental roughness — as if he doesn't know his own strength. Your legs parted with strong hands, your body tugged further down the bed before you can even register the movement... Still, despite such impatience, he takes the time to rest the tips of his fingers against the shiny plushness of your bottom lip. He watches with sharpened eyes as your mouth opens and accepts them in, your tongue all too eager to lave over them, licking over the tanginess of your own juices. His voice is laboured — almost hoarse — when he breathes: “You’re vulgar.”

With a pop, his fingers are removed, glossy and wet and slimy. He wipes them on the blanket as you huff: “You put them there.”

His large hands grasp the back of your knees and push your legs up, until they hook high up on his waist and around him. “Because I knew you were vulgar enough to take them in your mouth.”

“Touché. But—”

Kento’s lips silence any half-baked argument that was about to leave you — this kiss is gentle, almost innocent. Somehow it’s enough to make your cheeks heat up more than any other racy gesture he’s shown you thus far. It’s made even worse when he reaches across your chest to intertwine your fingers — both hands housing a wedding ring.

(And it’s not surprising how romantic he is. Perhaps when you first started dating you were convinced that his blunt mannerisms and professionalism would extend to every facet of his life — and in many ways, it does. He’s the perfect gentleman in public, hands never straying too low, words rarely crossing the boundaries of polite-speak. But here, in your marriage bed, with more than a measly three hours of sleep and the sun casting shadows across your bodies, Kento is softened. Whatever exists outside your room that scares him so much no longer has any place in his mind.)

“I’m going to make love to you now,” he says. It’s just above a whisper, heated and heady against your lips. The gravel in his voice that had attracted you from the moment he’d opened his mouth is enough to make your knees turn to jelly — lucky, then, that they’re kept compacted by the barrel of his torso. “Is that okay?”

Your brain short circuits. Any smart comment or cheeky quip you could respond with is lost, and you’re left staring up at him, wide-eyed and willing. “Yes, please.”

His lips twitch upwards, the ghost of a smile, but he doesn’t attempt to tease — simply connects your lips again, and guides himself to your entrance with that free hand of his. The blunt head of his cock is silky smooth and slippery with your arousal, and barely catches on you before it presses in — the stretch dull and only slightly uncomfortable, but entirely familiar. It’s like stepping into a warm shower after a cold day — not just sexual, not just to scratch an itch or a means to an end — it’s this. Feeling the heat of him inside you; the way his breath catches in his throat as you squeeze around him. Knowing that you’re the only person in the world who has the privilege of having him like this.

It’s with a breathless sigh that he bottoms out inside you, hips flush against yours. On either side of your head, his arms bulge with the weight of his own body, muscles hardened and tensed — and as his hips begin to move, that neatly trimmed patch of hair around his cock grinding against his clit, you can’t help but reach out, anchoring yourself to them. There’s little else you can do except lay there and take it, shuddering all the while, mouth agape in wonder.

“Is this — okay?” Kento asks. His voice is strained, and you try to hide the smug smile it elicits in the bulk of his arm — there’s no point. He’s far too focused on staring at where he splits you open, anyways, watching how your lips split around him, crested by the sweet little pearl of your clit. And he calls you vulgar.

“Mhm. You can — you can go faster, if you want.”

A laugh. “If I want, hm?”

“Please, Kento,” you whine, humping up towards him. It’s embarrassing how much he makes you want him. It should be, at least, though you find you’ve gotten a little shameless as of late — shameless enough to press your feet hard against his ass, pulling him in deeper. “Don’t make me wait.”

Never let anyone proclaim he doesn’t treat you right, because at your request, he does just that. His pace quickens, pulling out to the tip and slamming all the way back in — the rhythm straightens out quickly, and that’ll be your downfall. If it isn’t enough that his hips grind down against your clit with every thrust, Kento (predictably) knows how to use his cock. The mushroom shaped head bullies against your g-spot in that dizzying rhythm — back, forth, back, forth, building you up until you’re gasping for air.

You wonder if it’s like this for everyone. You wonder if everyone in the world is lucky enough to find someone who fits them this perfectly, who listens to them this intently, who isn’t afraid to show such unerring devotion. You wonder if you will ever feel safer, more loved, than you do when you’re in his arms — if you will ever feel such deep, persistent pleasure at the hands of another. Then again, what good does wondering do? When you have all you need at your disposal, there’s little need for wondering. When you’re taken care of so thoroughly, there’s little need for anything else. And God, are you being taken care of.

“Oh — fuck, Ken, I’m—” Words escape you. All that matters is that building heat, the involuntary trembles of your walls around him, the electricity zipping from neuron to neuron; his eyes on you, the furrow of his brow, the comforting weight of him pressing you down. It’s all so much. You could lose your mind. You are losing your mind. “I’m—”

You can’t even finish the sentence. All you know is that your toes curl and your back arches and you squeeze his arms a little too hard but you can’t control it, you can’t control anything, not the way you’re squeezing him in a vice grip, not the way you’re dripping down around his cock, wet and sticky and messy—

“That’s it,” Kento urges, voice ragged as he fucks you through it. Through hazy eyes you see him — strands of hair hanging low over his face, his skin dewy with sweat. Ruined. “Good, that’s it. There you go — damn it—”

When he cums, he very nearly collapses on you, breathing heavily and sweat dripping from his brow. He presses himself to the hilt — of course he does, he can’t help himself — panting lowly as he thrusts with every wave of his orgasm. You can feel him against your cervix, that once-strange sensation of being filled.

In the midst of his pleasure, and fortified by his fatigue, his movements begin to slow. It’s that inevitable syrupy slowness that comes after an orgasm, where desperation is eventually traded for an easy languidness. His head bows to place a sloppy, messy kiss on your mouth, one he’d normally eschew, and you accept it with all the eagerness of a woman in love. One, two, three — another one to your cheek, then, and then to your brow.

That frantic, charged energy finally slips away. Kento holds you tightly to him — he always does, when all is said and done — but something about the way he’s hunched over you makes your stomach twist. You don’t know what is — some sixth sense, perhaps, that blooms into a sense of dread in your chest. The supernatural powers of a wife to know when there’s something wrong with her husband, and coupled with his demeanour the previous night...

“Kento,” you whisper, petting your hands over your head. “Is everything alright?”

“Mm.” A beat of silence, before he pushes himself up again, and — with some difficulty — pulls himself out of you. He kisses your forehead and sits himself up, sheets pooled around the hard lines of his abdomen. With worried eyes you watch as he reaches for his glasses, and then the wristwatch he’d left on the bedside table last night (almost 800,000 yen, one of the few things he’s splurged on himself) and deftly begins to clip it on. He's still avoiding your eyes when, at last, he says: “I… I was thinking of changing jobs.”

You shoot up — or sit up, rather, with what little energy you have left. “Hm? Oh, Kento, that’s wonderful!”

“Mm. It is.” But something’s bothering him. He doesn’t sound as elated as he should, considering he despises the job that he currently has. “It’s a smaller agency. An old… friend of mine runs it. The work is hard, but I won’t have to work much overtime, and… well, it’s better work, I suppose.”

You run a comforting hand over his covered thigh. “But?”

Kento exhales, slow and tired. “But I thought I left that work behind a long time ago.”

You shift, humming to yourself thoughtfully. “The work is hard, you say?”

He nods. “But… rewarding.”

“Hm. Well, I don’t know too much about finance, but I think that as long as it gives you purpose, it’s good, right?”

His head falls back against the headboard, and tired eyes trail over you. “It’s so simple for you.”

“Well, one of us has to simplify stuff, and I doubt it’ll be you. Look — you hate your job now, don’t you?”

“...Mm.”

“Then change it,” you say, rolling over on your side to face him. Your features soften at the sight of him — uncharacteristically unsure of himself, staring at his hands with furrowed brows. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him so deeply torn, but then again, you know how hard he’s worked for this job. His career — especially before you met him — was of the utmost importance to him. Money, money, and more money. That’s what he’d told you. He was obsessive. He slept even less than he does now, barely used the fancy apartment he paid extortionate rent for... How do you turn your back on years and years of commitment, of obsession?

You reach a hand up and take his hand in yours once more. The silver of your rings glint and glimmer in the morning light, the garnet stone in the centre of yours a bloody red.

“For better or for worse, Kento,” you say quietly. “That’s what we promised. Whatever you choose to do, I’ll be here with you through it all.”

He doesn’t say anything, just smiles that one smile of his — the small, wistful, sad one. The one that hints at a far more tragic past than he’s let on, one of misfortune and melancholy. That’s okay. He doesn’t have to tell you, and you would never press him to. In much the same way, you pretend not to see the glassiness of his eyes when he raises your joined hands to his lips, and pretend not to hear the lump in his throat when he tells you he loves you — dearly, more than life itself.

"Yeah, yeah," you say, smiling. "Just don't forget about that retirement to Malaysia, okay? I want a beach house."

He huffs a laugh, and the cast of despondency shatters. Then, a thoughtful hum. "Mm. A beach house... that sounds good."

#nanami kento x reader #nanami x reader #nanami smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk smut #nanami kento fic #anime x reader #smut x reader #i dont think we focus enough on how hard it was for nanami to return to jujutsu tee bee haytch #i want to hold his hand etc etc #cheeky little mention of malaysia of course couldnt help myself x #my fics

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literaryvein-reblogs · 2 months

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list of "beautiful" words found in a virtual space

I went through my following/followers lists and collected "beautiful" words and phrases from usernames and blog titles to try to include in your next poem/story

Amour Propre - self-esteem

Ephemeral - lasting a very short time

Espiègle - tending to or exhibiting reckless playfulness

Forgotten faith - faith that has ceased to be remembered

Jovial - characterized by good-humored cheerfulness and conviviality

Moonstruck sun - a sun affected by the moon

Poetic scars - scars that have qualities of poetry

Psychosomatic - of, relating to, concerned with, or involving both mind and body

Nyctophilia - the condition of being very happy and comfortable in the dark

Orphic - of or relating to Orpheus; mystic, oracular

Pirouette - a rapid whirling about of the body

Reverie - daydream; the condition of being lost in thought

Saffron - the deep orange aromatic pungent dried stigmas of a purple-flowered crocus (Crocus sativus) used to color and flavor foods and formerly as a dyestuff and in medicine; a moderate orange to orange yellow

Strawberry Blonde - a reddish-blond color

Sunflowers & teeth - any of a genus (Helianthus) of New World composite plants with large yellow-rayed flower heads bearing edible seeds that yield an edible oil & hard bony appendages that are borne on the jaws or in many of the lower vertebrates on other bones in the walls of the mouth or pharynx and serve especially for the prehension and mastication of food and as weapons of offense and defense

Thaumaturge - a performer of miracles

The last poet - the last maker of verses

Windows of the soul - windows of a person's total self

Wrath - strong vengeful anger or indignation

Zephyr - a breeze from the west; a gentle breeze

If any of these words or phrases make their way into your next poem/story, please tag me, or leave a link in the replies. I would love to read them!

More: Word Lists

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grimm-cod · 1 year

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Simon is DEFFFF a GIRL DAD.

Simon and you had identical twin girls, and THEY ARE THE LIGHT OF HIS LIFE.

Simon would do anything for his girls.

tea party with stuffed animals? done.

painting his nails? done.

when Soap asks him why his nails are bright pink when he takes his gloves off, Simon just gives him a glare in response, and Soap decides not to press further.

When he gets home after a mission, and his girls are already tucked into bed, Simon goes into their bedroom to press soft kisses against their foreheads.

If one of the twins had a rough day at school, he would always be the first one to comfort them, which is odd because he's a big, broody, war machine, but he has a heart goddamnit.

He would name his twins: Sage and Saffron.

"They keep calling me the 'other Sage', dad." Saffron would tell him one day after a rough day at school.

"You're my Saffy, sweets. dont let 'em mess with ya." Simon would reply.

if one of the twins got sick, you and him would nurse her back to health, but soon enough, the other twin had the same damn thing, so now, you both are stuck dealing with moody, sick, identical twins.

"Dont wanna take my medicine, dad." Sage would argue.

"Dont care, love. gotta take it." Simon would reply after an hour of arguing with her, getting her to try and take her medicine. Saffron on the other hand, she had taken it instantly, no matter how bad it tasted.

AND OHHH GODDD. if Soap were to ever find out that Simon had twin girls at home, and he was really a big softy behind closed doors, THE TEASING WOULD NEVER END.

Soap would tell anyone he came in contact with.

"Y'know, the Lt. has little twin girls? he treats them like princesses. he's a softy under all that mess." Soap would tell everyone.

And dont even get me started when he meets you and the twins for the first time.

Immediately takes on the role of "Uncle Johnny". Price would be "Papa Price", and Gaz would be "Uncle G", cause the twins couldnt stop calling him Gas instead of Gaz.

"They'll get the accent soon enough." Soap tried convincing Simon that the twins would get his scottish accent if he spent enough time with them, but Simon immediately shut that down.

Simon didnt want his precious girls around anything military related.

Simon had to pick the girls up from school one day, and the other parents couldnt stop staring at him because he was in full uniform, having left from base.

Simon's uniform would definently make the younger kids cry. I would cry too if i saw a 6'4", muscular, british guy in a skull mask and military uniform and tactical gear.

Simon did feel bad though.

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thecapricunt1616 · 4 months

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Apple - c.b. one shot

𝓢𝓷𝓲𝓹𝓹𝓮𝓽 (𝓶𝓸𝓻𝓮 𝓑𝓣𝓒): “Why?” he whispered, leaning in, more of his weight on your throat. The monogram was digging in, likely to leave a bruise. He tuts at your little squeak. “Don’t try to play stupid.” He leans in, his breath fanning your lips. “I was thinkin’ how nice it is that y’mine. Mm? How I can come take this pussy whenever I want” he trailed his hand that was thumbing over your tattoo down, down, down

*pretend this is a pretty cut ooo so pretty and dainty*

The fucking apple granite. The stupid, absolutely unnecessary apple granite. He had replayed making the dish in his head the rest of his shift, he looked right at it. He looked right. at it. Where the fuck was his head?

You.

His mind, it was on you. It was on that god damned tattoo you had shown him last week. In tiny letters - so delicate and pretty, dainty even - was his last name. Berzatto. The first time he saw it knelt before where you were sitting on the bed as if he were worshipping a goddess and hugged your middle, kissing your ribs just over the second skin bandage your artist placed for you.

When Richie came to the kitchen with a plate, there were a few confused whispers, when he walked to Carmen’s station, cleared his throat and went “uh- Chef?” Syd paid attention, because he was returning with a plate - and not joking about it.

“Yo” Carm replied not looking up from the oysters he was splitting for the next plate. Focused. Something he always was - used to be. Used to be - used to be. That’s what fucks with him, still. Each day, it got worse. The feeling, the pull. Whenever he shut the door to your shared apartment behind him, he was counting the seconds until he could return. It never used to be like this. This angered him to say the least.

“Table 13” Richie set the plate down in front of him, half eaten and Carmen quickly looks over, having realized the meticulous plating he quickly understood the work to be his.

“And?” He asked without missing a beat, his tone was growing more agitated, now. What, what could this fucking patron have a problem with? That was what he thought at first, until Richie said

“They um- the wife - she realized halfway that she didn’t get the apple granite. She asked if you can..add it.” His voice got small by the end. Richie knew he was sealing the god damned warrant for everyone’s day to go in the shitter the second he had come into that kitchen with a plate for Carmen, and a complaint.

“Add it?” Carmy snaps, before he angrily took the plate, chucking it in the garbage can so hard the glass shattered. “Comp the fucking table” he grabs another plate and both quickly and masterfully put together the appetizer they’d ordered once again, making sure it was pristine.

“Fucking apple granite” he mumbled angrily to himself. “Tina where the fuck is my saffron how long does it take, chef?!” He barked, handing the plate to Richie and he hightailed it out of the kitchen fast as he could.

“Sorry Jeff! You put it on the top shelf I had to have Marcus help me get it” she drops off the bowl of the prepared spice at his station and quickly heads back to hers. The rest of the day went like this, and Syd exhausted herself trying to keep 3 steps ahead of him to keep the peace in the kitchen as best as she could.

She wasn’t always successful though, of course. Carmen flew off the handle a total of 3 times that shift, and his throat was actually a little raw from shouting. His voice sounded a bit deeper and horse due to this as well. He had scrubbed the skin off his hands just about brushing the grout until it damn near sparkled, and wasn’t walking in the door until around 12:05.

You were in bed, laid up watching some murder mystery show per usual in one of Carmy’s older ratty white shirts with sauce stains and random holes from god knows what. Your legs were bare, shining from having been slathered in Carmen’s favorite scented lotion after you’d had a shower. He nudged the door open with his knuckle, and you just stared at eachother for a moment.

The vibe radiating off him wasn’t the most pleasant. You’d known he’d had a bad day from the look on his face and the way he was holding himself. “You” he said. His voice was raw and scratchy, curls greasy from tugging on them all day.

“M-me?” You sit up a bit as he comes in the room, the fabric of his jeans swishing as he moved, the only other sound the soft volume on the tv and the hum of your bedroom fan. He dropped his backpack at the end of the bed, nudging off his sneakers and tossing them in the closet with a loud thud against the wall before flicking the door shut without a care of how brutely he was acting.

“What’s our word?” He asked and you swallowed thickly.

Oh…oh- he had one of those days

“Cocoa” you told him and sat on your knees politely, sitting back on your feet on the mattress as he approaches you and cups your cheek.

“M’not gonna go easy t’night, m’not gonna be gentle ‘er nice. You alright w’that?” He held your jaw, making you look at him, your cheeks slightly smushed.

“Yes” you said softly, looking up at him expectantly. He grabbed his ring you’d bought him from the nightstand, putting it on his middle finger while he watched you.

“Wanna know what happened at work today?” He muttered, flipping the ring to the inside of his hand so the initials were facing his palm and your eyes widened a bit. “Mmhmm” he nods and your cheeks heat at the realization of what was to come.

“W-what what did I do?” You squeak. In response you felt the cold white gold on your neck, pushing you back to lay down on the mattress and light pressure, just enough for that cool light feeling to start building in your head.

“This” he rucks the shirt up with his hand, calloused fingers brushing over your ribs to thumb over the now healed tiny tattoo under your left breast. “I can’t fuckin’ focus” he rubs his thumb back and forth over it, tightening his hand lightly.

“Why?” You asked lightly, since you could only get so much air. His piercing lust filled eyes met your glossed out ones, hazy, blissed out.

“Why?” he whispered, leaning in, more of his weight on your throat. The monogram was digging in, likely to leave a bruise. He tuts at your little squeak. “Don’t try to play stupid.” He leans in, his breath fanning your lips. “I was thinkin’ how nice it is that y’mine. Mm? How I can come take this pussy whenever I want” he trailed his hand that was thumbing over your tattoo down, down, down, until its cupping your heat through your daisy patterned panties.

You couldn’t think, all you could do was watch the Saint Anthony pendant dangling in front of your face “huh? Who owns this?” He spanks your pussy lightly, breaking you out of your daze with a small gasp. “I said who owns you?” He growled in the shell of your ear. You felt yourself dripping, your panties were becoming uncomfortable.

“You-“ you gasp as he spanked you again, harder.

“Who?” He challenged, rubbing away the sting with his cupped hand. “Try again.” He said in that soft, nearly patronizing way.

“Daddy” you whine, looking up at him with pleading eyes. “Daddy owns me” you widen your legs for him more, inviting him to take more of you.

“That’s a good kitten” he released your throat, kissing over the ‘CB’ that had been branded into your skin before grabbing your hips, and flipping you so you were stomach down like a rag doll. You gasp a bit, hearing the shhhlick of his belt after he unbuckled it and tossed it to the floor. “Do you care about these?” He snapped the waistband of your panties against your skin causing you to squeak in surprise

“N-no but-“

Your interrupted by the sharp sound of ripping fabric and suddenly your entire backside was exposed, “good” he said as he lined his tip up with your entrance. He holds you open with his fingers, spitting right over your hole that was clenching and unclenching in anticipation before thrusting in. You whine into the pillow, gripping the sheets with a white knuckle at the burning sensation as he splits you open. He growls hotly, pushing in deeper and you cry out in a mix of pain and pleasure.

Tears spring to your eyes, wetting the pillow below as he used you. He spanks you, hard enough that the monogram of his ring would leave bruises on your ass to admire later before roughly grabbing your hips and pulling you back and forth off his cock. “So fuckin tight. All f’me” he moaned, head falling back in bliss. He spanked you again, and again, your ass stinging and burning as he fucked up into your g-spot.

You were essentially sobbing with pleasure at this point, face buried into the pillow, muttering ‘please daddy please’ - babbling really. You weren’t sure what you were begging for at this point, mercy maybe? But Carmen wasn’t offering that until you’d been broken tonight. “Yeah? Beggin me t’use you? Mm? You like being my little cockwhore yeah?” He laid over you, tucking his hand underneath your frame and finding your clit, rubbing back and forth over the twitching nub.

He growls hotly in your ear “hear that? Mmm?” He thrusts harder. Your jaw was slack, face smushed into the pillow as the cold metal of his ring assaulted your clit. You whine in response, listening to the wet smacking sounds of skin against skin. “Fuckin suckin me in. Y’looove when I fuck you like this huh? Tell me how much you love it when daddy uses this pretty pussy” he spanks you “go’head. Tell daddy” he purrs in your ear.

“S-s’much!” You cry out, tears wetting your cheeks and your combined sweat causing your bodies to move together with no friction. “So much daddy- I love it- I’m yours. I belong to you” you clench around him, unable to stop it as your orgasm washes over you, making it hard for him to thrust it was so intense.

“Jeeesus” he spanked you over your raw pink flesh and you yelp “pussy is fuckin swallowing my cock huh? Beggin t’be fucked like this.” Your taken by surprise when he sits up, taking your hair in his fist and pulling fucking you faster. The entire bed shakes, the headboard slamming against the wall in a quick steady rhythm.

You couldn’t even think of anything. Your entire mind felt fuzzy and your body was overcome with pleasure. You weren’t even aware of the noises you were making, you could only focus on Carmy and what was making him feel good. Your back arched slightly and he pulls you up harder, you were now flush to his chest and he takes your neck into his hand once again, squeezing lightly and you smiled at the heightened pleasure it brought, looking back at Carm lovingly.

“Aww look at you huh?” He rubs your clit quicker and your hips jerk a bit “so pretty. Sooo pretty when I fuck y’stupid like this huh? Look at this droolin on my hand like a little animal” he thumbs the spit from the corner of your mouth.

“I-“ you rest your head back, trying to catch your breath. He released his hand lightly “I love you” you said softly and he kissed your forehead gently, tenderly - before holding your arm behind your back, and pushing you into the mattress, thrusts becoming sloppier.

“I know baby- I know. Y’take me so well huh? You were made for this cock” he moaned, his hand coming down on your ass and you flinch a bit so he rubbed the sting away with his palm, spreading you out with his hands so he could watch as he pounded you. Just jaw falls lacks as he sees the strings of your arousal coating his cock, pulling back and snapping with each thrust. The sounds he was making were lewd and whiny and raw

“So fuckin lucky- god I’m so fuckin lucky” he breathes, tugging your hips flush to his, filling you up with a low grunt, his chest rising and falling with each pant. He carefully pulled out of you, carefully rubbing up your sides with gentle hands. “Y’good baby?” He asked softly and squeezed your hips.

You let out a soft mmhmm before nuzzling into the pillow and closing your eyes, stray tears falling down your cheeks. “My sweet babygirl” he said softly and laid next to you, pulling you to his chest and stroking your hair. “You did so good mm? Such a good girl f’me” he kissed your lips tenderly.

You looked up at him, still fully blissed out and mind swarming with nothing but him. “We gotta get you some water huh? That was a lot f’you angel” he reached on your bedside table, grabbing your big pink owala bottle and clicking it open, holding it to your lips. “Drink f’me- at least 3 sips huh?” He coaxed, gently kissing your forehead and brushing your hair from your eyes.

You blinked a few times, finally digesting what he was saying and realizing everything was over. Your ass was sore, your pussy was sore, and your mouth was stuck together like glue. “Mm” your lip pouts out subconsciously. “I hurt” you said softly.

“Yeah honey? S’okay, let daddy take care f’you mm?” He pressed the bottle to your lips “drink-“ he ordered gently. You obliged leaning in slightly and sucking up the icy beverage. As soon as it hits your dry throat you moan softly at the relief, eyes fluttering shut as you gulp down the water. “Thas’a good girl” he coo’d, carefully brushing over your brow with his thumb. “Yknow I brought your favorite chocolate cake huh? There were a few pieces left - took ‘em all f’you” he mused with a slight smile.

You pulled away from the water, a bit dribbling down your chin from how desperately you were gulping down water, unsure how badly you needed it before he pressed it to your lips. “W’the-“

“Chocolate ganache? Mm- even put strawberries on the top f’each slice sweet girl, made y’a batch of chocolate covered strawberries too a dozen of em. Couldn’t let y’favorite chocolate go to waste, mm angel?” He rubbed over your bum gently, taking his hand away when you flinched. “Oo-“ he hissed through his teeth in surprise. “And some ice f’this poor bum eh?” He carefully sat up and padded to the kitchen.

He came back with a damp dish towel and gallon ziplock full of ice, as well as a spoon and plate of cake and a few chocolate covered strawberries. He set the supplies on the nightstand, opening the draw and you watched him as he pulled out your ‘after play numbing spray’ as the bottle called it, and aloe baby wipes. He took out 4 wipes, gently spreading your thighs. “Tell me if it hurts mm?” He said softly.

You watch as he carefully flips you over and cleans you up gently, assuring there was no cum left dripping out of you uncomfortably before picking you up carefully and taking you to the bathroom, setting you on the toilet and leaning against the wall as you went, crossing his arms and looking at the ceiling to give you some privacy. “Was I too rough?” He asked quietly as you tugged toilet paper off the wall and wiped gently to avert the soreness.

“No” you replied simply and stood, flushing and going to wash your hands. He wrapped his arms around your waist, carefully lifting your breast to observe his last name inked into your skin in the mirror.

“Y’sure?” He ran his middle finger over it, your nipple becoming hard at the action.

“M’sure. Can you feed me cake now?” You asked, shutting the sink off and drying your hands before padding back to bed, laying on your stomach. He laid the cool towel, before the bag of ice over your bum that felt like it was on fire and you groaned softly.

“Mm- thank you” you rested your cheek on your forearm as he sat, holding a chocolate strawberry to your lips. “So what really got you all worked up?” You asked, opening your mouth and taking a bite of the sweet and sour berry.

“Some dipshit lady realized I f’got the stupid apple granite.”

Fin

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mtchacffinz · 1 year

Text

of the greed in spirit

prompt! Jing Yuan's a service dom (real) + what's he like in bed?

content! NSFW, pillow princess!reader, soft service dom! jing yuan, headcanons ahead, praise, face riding, c^m eating, mentioned sq^rting, p^ssy drunk

note! [opens curtains] slutting this general out (im kidding) im rambling here, so its a bulleted fic 🩷 enjoy my thoughts!! i have so much to say..

With him, you dont need to say nothing. Unless it's the first time Jing Yuan's been with you on the sheets, he's the type to retain minor details on how you like your things through clothings, and even your preferred fancy interiors of different wares. Having said that, he definitely knows how to keep you going.

Foreplay is important. Heck, Jing Yuan does it so well you'd think it's the main course! Unknowingly, he'd approach you slowly— enticing you with his sweet coos and hums right next to your ear. Jing Yuan's big palms travel to your hips, you gulp almost nervously. His hands are tracing circles on your back. Jing Yuan's touches are featherweight, it feels agonizing, electric.

"Everything alright?" He's a little cruel. After subtly riling you up, he's going to ask for your welfare. That doesn't matter. What happens is, no matter how you reply, you always find yourself under his figure.

Jing Yuan's charm is in his subtleness. His presence may be grand, but those small antics he does greatly helps with his lovely expressions. The way he nibbles on your neck while you entangle your hands on his grey hair, when he gives you the sweetest kisses on your knuckles everytime you reach over to him, nuzzling deeper into your palm there right after.. you can tell the general just thrives on pleasing you.

You noticed he barely pays attention to his needs as well. He's so busy eating your cunt out you could only imagine how suffocating it is to have his erection confined in his pants. The thing is, Jing Yuan doesn't even mind. His cock can twitch and leak precum all it wants, the general's grip on your thighs were still firm, unrelenting.

You'd squirm and whimper, god he loves hearing you when you do. He'd reward you with praises that even if you just finished, your sex would just twitch in anticipation. Maybe if you soil his fingers with your juices, he'd even put up a show for you eating his fingers out clean.

If there's something he's not willing to do in bed, that would be hurting you. As soon as there's even a hint of discomfort in your side, Jing Yuan would immediately halt any activity to see your condition. Despite being a general, usually known for his accomplishments in a very stern and relentless environment, his eyes could get so soft. It never fails to melt your heart everytime he looks at you with those saffron optics. You can't help but reach over to his frame and shower his face with butterfly kisses.

Jing Yuan doesn't say it, but he doesn't need to verbalize it when he's basically grabbing onto the plush your ass when you sit down on his face. He loves it when you sit. Even when he's gasping for air, especially when he's gasping for air— he'd be holding onto you for dear life like your his life line. Something about you riding yourself senseless on his nose while his tongue's chasing after those sensitive nerves on your slit has his dick twitching. As soon as he hears you utter the words "Lay down" from those pretty lips of yours, he wastes no time ♡

Another thing is when you cum so hard you twitch and lag into his arms. Gripping the sheets, eyes decorated with dried tears, a broken moan breaking out of your throat.. it's like a celestial noise no one can recreate but you.

He's fond of giving. Shen it's his time to be receiving, his demeanor doesn't change much. He's still gentle, guiding you to what he wants. You absolutely love how he communicates. Jing Yuan asks for requests with term of endearments and pairs with with handful of praises. Maybe this is why you try your best when you service him? After all, he does so well with your body, its only fair you'd return his diligence, right?

When he moans, Jing Yuan doesn't whimper, no. He groans deep. Sometimes he'd attempt to curb it, but after finding out that it actually gets you off— he can't help but let it out once and a while. He'd be putting away stray hair strands from your face when his cock is deep all the way to your throat, trying your best to take it in.

As soon as theres that knot below his stomach, waiting to snap, you always insist on taking it from your mouth. You love it when he breaks in you, broken moans intensifying just as he grips your head down his crotch. When he finally catches his breath after moments of breathlessness, Jing Yuan makes sure you're okay, profusely apologizing.

He understands you get tired, so he always prepare something for you after every session with him. He views this time with you as intimate, sacred of heart. There'd be scents you'd like around the room, may it be incense or candles, sometimes he'd even massage any muscles you find sore or tired. But often times, you'd just want him to clean you up and stroke your head while cuddling him up— just listening to his heart beat accompanied by the calming rise and fall of his chest.

so how was it? (⁠*⁠˘⁠︶⁠˘⁠*⁠)⁠.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ i saw this man right up my alley and went "oh no" cus i know I'm gonna write atleast ONE thing about him!

#honkai: star rail #hsr #jing yuan #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan smut #hsr x reader #honkai star rail #honkai: star rail x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr smut #honkai star rail smut #I need him fr

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satsuma-unshiu · 29 days

Text

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ shobio fic recs

i like the way your clothes smell by Mysecretfanmoments ✰

Relationship(s): Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio

Rating: M

Word-Count: 75k

Summary: `Power outages, ghost stories, and the presence of a certain orange-haired boy lead to bad decision-making on Tobio's part. He'd planned to keep his crush a secret; the universe has other plans.'

Additional (Reader's) Notes: a given, i know. but if you haven't read this yet and are a sucker for good writing and kghn, i implore you, please do, because this one's pure gold

somniloquy by emleewrites ✰

Relationship(s): Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio

Rating: T

Word-Count: 12k

Summary: `

“Hi-Hinata…”

The spark of awareness ignites and Shouyou blinks his eyes open again fully, humming in response to his name. Kageyama doesn’t reply, as he’s still completely asleep, shuffling slightly as his breaths start to catch in the beginnings of snores.

“Kageyama?” Shouyou stage whispers.

“Hinata,” Kageyama grunts back, before smacking his lips and devolving fully into snoring.

(In which Shouyou falls in love slowly during his high school years, and Kageyama talks in his sleep.)'

Additional (Reader's) Notes: ugh. so cute!!

summers spent in your light by yu_writes

Relationship(s): Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio, Tsukishima Kei/Yamaguchi Tadashi

Rating: T

Word-Count: 10k

Summary: `The final scores flash up on the screen. Kageyama gapes at the cheerfully-blinking animations. “There’s no way you’re that good on your first try.”

Hinata grins. “Who said it was my first try?”

“You—!”

Hinata sticks his tongue out at him as the arcade machine spits out a small stack of tickets.

And glancing over, next to their drumset—both of their mouths drop—sits a flushed, triumphant Yachi and a thoroughly-trounced-looking Tsukishima.

“Wow, I didn’t realize how easy it is to get the hang of this!” Yachi beams at them as the machine spits out a small mountain of tickets. Yamaguchi, who has been watching over Tsukishima’s shoulder, muffles his laugh at the petulant look on Tsukishima’s face.

(the karasuno first years, who are then second years, and then third years. and, of course, kageyama and hinata, who are... well, kageyama and hinata.)'

Additional (Reader's) Notes: summer hangouts with the karasuno first years - love how their dynamics were written in this one :3

life is a highway by emleewrites ✰

Relationship(s): Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio

Rating: T

Word-Count: 98k

Summary: `Kageyama Tobio is a professional racing driver, the new rookie sensation who's about to take home the Piston Cup in his first year.

But a race run recklessly leads to an unprecedented three-way tie, and a tie breaker race is set for a week's time. On the way to the International Speedway, Kageyama gets lost, and ends up crashing into Karasuno Springs - a small country town in the middle of nowhere, ruining their main road in the process. Forced to stay and fix it, Kageyama feels the whole thing is a waste of time, until he meets the town's handyman - Hinata Shouyou, a local dirt track racer.

They're very different, but a shared passion for racing draws Kageyama in, as he tries to work out why Hinata is just a handyman in the first place despite his talent for racing. And over the course of the week he ends up discovering that maybe there's more to life than winning races all by himself.

(A racing AU; based on the story of Pixar's Cars, but everybody is human.)'

Additional (Reader's) Notes: such a vibe, honestly. very well-written to the point that it manages to place you inside the cars universe (except as the summary stated, everyone is human here lol). all the other works in the series are worth a read, too!

Saffron and Cayenne Pepper by dontsaycrazy

Relationship(s): Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio, Shimizu Kiyoko/Yachi Hitoka (Mentioned)

Rating: T

Word-Count: 30k

Summary: `Cooking is hard. Even if you have your very attractive, very grumpy neighbor there to help you.

In which Hinata's lack of cooking skills are a danger to him and others. Luckily (or not), Kageyama is willing to teach him, if only for the sake of avoiding any burned down apartments.'

Additional (Reader's) Notes: hinata is me as in i can't cook for the life of me either. love kghn's dynamic!!

You Can't Play Volleyball In A Blizzard by KingsHighway ✰

Relationship(s): Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio

Rating: T

Word-Count: 12k

Summary: `The "blizzard of the century" comes bearing down on Miyagi Prefecture, closing down schools and trapping everyone in their homes. With nothing to do to pass the time, and an unlimited amount of energy, Hinata finds an unlikely texting buddy in his volleyball partner Kageyama. But it's just texting, it can't matter that much, can it?'

Additional (Reader's) Notes: such a sweet and wonderfully written one-shot with an adorable concept (seriously, go read it)

burnt by sunbeams by emleewrites ✰

Relationship(s): Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio

Rating: T

Word-Count: 12k

Summary: `Tobio drops his hands from his face at Hinata’s bright voice and looks down. Hinata beams up at him, wide and blinding, a ball of sunshine on a gymnasium floor. Tobio kind of feels like he’s burning when Hinata looks like this – sunbeams personified – but that’s okay.

He’ll happily spend the rest of his life getting burned by Hinata Shouyou.

(Kageyama thinks that being in a relationship seems to be simple at first. It's just Hinata; there's just a lot more kissing involved. But no relationship is without challenges. And for Kageyama, he'll weather them all, so long as he gets to bask in the sun.

Hinata and Kageyama: a relationship study.)'

Additional (Reader's) Notes: another lovely read from emleewrites :) the way they write kghn is aaaaaaaa

thirty-three days of mist and mountains by tinygumdrops (curryramyeon)

Relationship(s): Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio

Rating: T

Word-Count: 36k

Summary: `Tobio runs by himself every day. Even though he can't shake off that awful feeling that something's closing in on him, he still does it. It's habit now.

When he gets a phone call that Hinata Shouyou is thinking of coming to Italy, Tobio feels like he has to run even faster.

(Or: Tobio has a month to prepare himself before his high school rival comes to visit him. They haven't spoken to each other for two years, and Tobio can't even remember what food Hinata likes. He's got a lot to think about.)'

Additional (Reader's) Notes: kageyama uses sticky notes as a means to prepare for hinata's visit - another wonderfully written fic with a great concept

In Transit by Mysecretfanmoments ✰

Relationship(s): Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio

Rating: T

Word-Count: 4k

Summary: `Hinata finds that he likes standing close to Kageyama on buses and trains. It doesn't mean anything--probably. Maybe.'

Additional (Reader's) Notes: they're so cute and dumb and ugh

a long distance type of love by xllx (exasperatedmoron)

Relationship(s): Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio

Rating: T

Word-Count: 42k

Summary: `shouyou and tobio learn about the world and each other from 17,380km apart.

(two dumbasses and their ability to maintain a long distance relationship despite being absolute wrecks when it came to everything else in their lives. (oh, and they’re engaged))'

Additional (Reader's) Notes: engaged long-distance kghn and texting shenanigans with the karasuno first years

Olympic Thirsting Hours by Kelpiejz

Relationship(s): Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio (Minor)

Rating: T

Word-Count: 4k

Summary: `Alone in Brazil and desperate for some kind of human connection that won't make him homesick, Hinata Shouyou decides his best bet is to communicate in broken English with strangers over the internet. They only have one thing in common - volleyball.

sunshinetangerine: not watch olympics now, at work sunshinetangerine: but kageyama very good setter AnArchyCountry: he really is, wow thirstea: just snuck my phone in class to see a photo and holy hell he’s hot sunshinetangerine: yes sunshinetangerine: playing volley a lot get hot sunshinetangerine: drink lot of water after!! (＾▽＾) thirstea: oh sweetie, not that kind of hot

(Or: a look at Hinata's growth after high school from the perspective of people who don't know who he is.)'

Additional (Reader's) Notes: cute lil fic in which hinata is bad at english and still manages to connect to others who know nothing about him

discovering the smile of one kageyama tobio by emleewrites ✰

Relationship(s): Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio

Rating: T

Word-Count: 8k

Summary: `Kageyama blinks once before a grin of his own spreads over his face. Shouyou’s breath halts in his lungs at the sight, and he wills for time to stop, just so that he can drink it in. He sees it sometimes when they’re playing - Kageyama’s fierce smile when they pull a combo off just right, when they show their opponents how possible the impossible can really be. But then there’s another serve, another rally, and the moment is gone.

'Shame,' Shouyou thinks to himself, as he lets his eyes roam over Kageyama’s stupidly happy face, taking in the creases that are from joy rather than frowning for a change. 'It’s a really nice smile.'

(In which it's their third, and final, year in high school and Hinata has only one goal: to make Kageyama smile outside of volleyball.)'

Additional (Reader's) Notes: you should know by now that i love anything emleewrites writes

#haikyuu fic recs #kagehina fic recs #kagehina #shobio #kghn

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ask-the-saffrons · 7 months

Note

Hey Ev.... Do you believe in ghosts?????

Ev: I... what? I... don't know. I've never thought about it.

(Evan shuffles awkwardly. He leaves the room, not giving any excuse, just leaving without saying anything, escaping the situation as fast as he can.)

(If you were to ask again, you might get an answer. It's the kind of question Evan would need to think about, though.)

#U can either ask again and I'll reply as evan after he's thought it thru more #Or if u don't want to then I'll reblog this again w the answer later #Bc i do have an answer prepared. It's just not the kind of thing evan would say right away #still need a tagging system #saffrons reply #evan replies #?

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treason-and-plot · 6 months

Text

“Oh my God, another text from Mum,” says Saffron. “She wants to know when I’m coming home because she needs to talk to me. This one’s all caps. So I think it’s fairly safe to say the school’s rung her about me missing class this afternoon.”

“I hope she’s not too angry,” says Connor.

“She better not be,” says Saffron. “I mean, I’m the dux of the school, for Christ's sake. I’ve always done her proud. I deserve to flout the rules every once in a while.”

She texts Anita a short reply then sighs and rests her head on Connor’s shoulder.

“How come your parents aren’t blowing up your phone?" she asks him. "Has the school even contacted them? Maybe you’re allowed to get away with it because of how much money they contribute to the Building Fund every year.”

“Very funny,” says Connor. “I’m sure they’ve rung my parents too. But neither of them would particularly care. They’ve got more important things to worry about.”

“Wow, you’re lucky,” says Saffron.

Connor says nothing. After a few seconds Saffron squeezes his hand. They sit in silence watching the sunset, pale rose-coloured clouds chasing the dying embers of the day across the horizon. Connor shifts position.

“I’m sorry for being a dick earlier today,” he says.

“Connor, I don’t want to talk about it-“

“I know, and that’s cool. I’m not going to go on about it. I just want you to know that I’m going to respect your wishes and not talk about what happened between you and…that arsehole ever again. Not unless you bring it up first. And I’m not going to take justice into my own hands either. I’ve realised that would only make things worse for you in the long-run and that’s the last thing I want. I only want you to be happy, Saff. So…yeah. That’s it. Forgive me?��

“We wouldn’t be sitting here now if I hadn’t already forgiven you, idiot,” says Saffron, craning her neck to kiss him.

#Saffron #Connor #back to Bridgeport #5 years later #sims 3 #sims 3 story

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withoutyouimsaskia · 1 year

Text

Autumn (Sandman One-Shot)

GIF: Originally posted by @thisgameissonintendo

Pairing: Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x gender neutral reader

Summary: One-shot. Reader self-insert. Pure fluff. Friends to more-than-friends. Morpheus has made you a dream based on one of your favourite things and you explore it together.

Warnings: Physical intimacy, kissing.

Word Count: 1.5k

A/N: Happy First Day of Autumn Sandfam! Hope you enjoy this one, would love to hear what you think, and also to know which season is your favourite and why. All my love, Saskia <3

Sandman Masterlist

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

"Can I open my eyes yet?" You stifle a giggle with the back of your hand, feeling very much like a person awaiting a surprise on their birthday.

"So impatient," Morpheus replies with a teasing lilt to his liquid velvet voice that sets your laughter free.

"Is that a yes?"

"I am simply adding some final touches."

Ever the perfectionist, you think with a grin.

You inhale deeply, making use of one of the only other senses you could use in this situation. The air is crisp, fresh, with an earthy undertone; you are definitely outside, but where, you have no other clues to help guess.

Morpheus had certainly not given anything away when he had found you sketching in the Dreaming's orchard, charcoal in one hand, half-eaten apple in the other. He had simply told you there was something he wanted to show you.

Curiosity mounting, you had eagerly taken your friend's outstretched hand and promised to not look until he gave the word.

Finally, there is movement in the air beside you. Morpheus' fingers ghost your upper arm to signify his proximity.

"You may open your eyes now," he speaks quietly yet authoritatively by your ear.

You look, blinking to adjust to the sunlight filtering through the swaying branches of numerous trees, before taking the view in properly.

You notice the colours first, their vivacity and variety:

Umber, sienna, scarlet, amber, saffron. All under a pale blue, wispy cloud sky.

Leaves are falling thick and fast. They swirl and undulate in the soft breeze, coming to rest on an already leaf-smothered ground.

Little collections of chestnut coloured mushrooms are dotted next to the tree line. Droplets of dew have gathered on their caps, lending a gorgeous sheen to their already lovely appearance.

Everything you saw was a showcase of autumn.

"You remembered," you say breathlessly, referring to a conversation that had taken place a few weeks ago where you had professed your love for the season and all it entailed.

You look to Morpheus with a sunbeam smile, asking for permission to explore. He nods, extending his arm, communicating that it was all yours.

Your steps into the leafy clearing are gleeful and bouncy, creating satisfying rustling and crunching noises as you go towards the well-established trees. Melodic birdsong echoes from the canopy above you. Swathes of moss begin where the layers of leaves end. You carefully hop onto it and enjoy the way your shoes sink a little into the plush, verdant carpet.

Fingertips trail over the greyish, dappled trunk of a sycamore tree before you move to the tactile, deeply ridged bark of an ash.

You slip your arms around the second tree, close your eyes and give it a big hug.

Everything feels right in this moment.

You open your eyes to see Morpheus watching you from several paces away. There is a twinkle in his deep blue eyes; clearly he finds your display amusing.

The rich autumn colours contrast beautifully against his monochrome attire. None of the falling leaves come close to his person, reminding you that even now, even when he looks to be still, there are a multitude of responsibilities ticking away inside his mind, including the control of the objects within this tranquil dreamscape.

A dreamscape that he wanted to share with you.

It is times like these that you are confronted by the truth of just how special your friendship with Morpheus is. There are fleeting moments where you wish it could be more but for now you are simply an Endless and a mortal who find solace in each other's company.

Pushing yourself away from the tree, you come back into the clearing and find a spot among the leaves to sit. Morpheus joins you after you pat the ground and call his name.

No words are exchanged for a while. You simply pick through the surrounding leaves to find the most vibrant example. A scarlet one, fallen from an aspen is what you settle on. You tuck it in your coat pocket and meet Morpheus' wistful gaze.

"Thank you, I really needed this."

He nods formally. "When you said that you found yourself missing the autumn splendours of the Waking World, I decided to make a version for you to visit at your leisure."

You are taken aback. "You made all this for me?"

"Yes," his tone starts off measured as ever but gives way to something you have never heard before. "Does it have your approval?"

The sudden insecurity is impossibly endearing. You reach sideways to touch the back of his hand.

"Approval? Morpheus, it's - well, somewhere I could only dream of."

He bows his head. "It pleases me to hear that."

"I hope it didn't take up too much of your time to make it all, I know how stretched you can get."

"I cannot deny, it has occupied me a little more than the construction of other recent dreams, however, I believe it necessary to put time and effort into making gifts for those whose pleasure and happiness you find important. You deserve to feel those things, Y/N, and being able to contribute to them in some way brings me pleasure of my own."

You don't know if it the fiery colours around you heightening your reactions but hearing Morpheus talk about pleasure is doing something to you.

It is fuel to the embers that had been smouldering within your body for a couple of months now.

It makes you feel delirious. You find your attention languidly drifting between his eyes and his lips.

Blue to pink, pink to blue.

Then he mirrors your action and it all becomes too much.

"I really want to kiss you right now," you admit, the words rushing out without proper consideration.

"Very well," he answers instantly, not allowing you even a fraction of a second to regret your sudden divulgence.

Doubling down on this approach, he turns his body to face yours and gently cups your face in his long-fingered hands.

He's staring at you so intently, his thumbs run back and forth over your cheekbones, the unwavering attention and sensation causing you to shiver and sigh.

He moves closer and his pupils blow out from anticipation.

Morpheus' perfect lips are now mere centimetres from yours. Fluttery nerves fill your insides. You are so overwhelmed that this is actually happening.

You close the gap, testing the waters with a kiss that is soft and tentative. Morpheus is instantly hooked, initiating a second one that allows you to discover just how skilled he is.

Your hands move up to tangle in Morpheus' unruly hair. At present, you cannot remember how long have you been longing to do this but you are not disappointed by how silken it feels under your palms.

The kiss between you becomes intense, his tongue joining the dance with a bone melting deftness, and soon you want to feel more of his body against yours.

You go to lay back on the bed of leaves.

He pulls away, concern etched in his brows, forehead and eyes that questions if he has gone too quickly.

You smile softly to assure him that all is well.

"Come here." You draw him backwards with you, allowing him to straddle you. During the manoeuvre, his coat falls open enough for you to see the galaxies swirling within the lining.

He wastes no time in leaning down to kiss you once more, starting at your lips and moving to your neck when he senses that you need to breathe.

The touches of his mouth, the feeling of his body covering yours protectively, the weight of his hips aligned with your own; it has you moaning appreciatively.

He withdraws but remains close, astute eyes drinking in every detail and emotion on your smiling face, the halo-like glow shimmering on your hair.

"So beautiful," Morpheus murmurs reverently.

"Your dreams always are," you say, looking past him at the translucent clouds hovering in the sky above you.

His deep voice rumbles deliciously as he speaks his reply, a false admonishment, "You know that's not what I meant."

He playfully nudges his nose against yours. "This dream pales in comparison to you."

You blush as brightly as the leaf that you had stashed within your pocket. Morpheus traces his fingers over the blossoming redness, marvelling in how the extra heat feels under his touch and how his words were the ones that put it there.

"Kiss me, please," you ask in a whisper.

He arranges his coat to cocoon you against the seasonal chill and then obliges you with a deep and passionate kiss that spreads internal warmth right out to the tips of your fingers and toes.

If your winter continues like this, with Morpheus to hold and bond with, it is shaping up to be infinitely more delightful and cosy than any that have come before.

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thesunhatesme · 6 months

Text

Cooking together

Phantom/Swiss Wc: 1.1k Summary: Just Swiss helping Phantom overcome his fear of trying new things

“Okay, what should we try today?” Swiss asked while getting the aprons out. He and Phantom had been cooking a meal together every week for a while now to help him overcome his fear of trying new things, and it seemed to help.

“Can we do this one?” phantom asked, holding up the recipe book and trying to point at the recipe he wanted.

Swiss turned around and leaned his head to the side, “Are you sure you want to try a fish soup with saffron in it?” He was met with silence and a confused look, “You don't like fish very much and saffron has a very strong taste”

Phantom looked at what he was pointing at and quickly moved his finger to point at the other page, “Oh, I meant to point at this” he said as he pointed at the mac`N cheese recipe.

“We cooked that last week, don't you want to try something different?” Swiss pointed out

“And I liked it, I want it again” Phantom replied, with a slight pout.

“How about this, we make the pasta ourselves this time and try it with another sauce?” he suggested while tying an apron around Phantom's waist.

“You can make your own pasta?” Phantom gasped, did it not just come in a box from the supermarket?

“Yeah, it's quite easy actually” Swiss chuckled, “Lets try it”

They started getting all the ingredients out for the pasta and measuring them up in bowls. Swiss instructed Phantom on what to do and why, and Phantom listened closely and did his absolute best to follow. Swiss took over after a bit since Phantom thought it was too tough and continued kneading the dough till it was done. Phantom wrapped it in plastic wrap and then put it in the fridge.

“Now we're going to boil the tomatoes so that we can peel off the skin,” Swiss explained, while putting them in the pot with boiling water. Phantom made sure to put on a timer, so that they wouldn't forget about them, since none of them were very good at keeping track of time. Phantom started peeling the onions and Swiss helped him cut them up. When the timer rang, they put the tomatoes in some ice cold water and Phantom started peeling and cutting up the tomatoes while Swiss started frying the onions.

“Okay, let's see what the next step is…” Swiss muttered to himself while reading the recipe, leaning against the counter, “Time to start mixing everything together” Phantom read over Swiss shoulder, dangling his feet from the counter.

“Yes, good job Bug” Swiss praised as he helped Phantom down from the counter. They measured up all the ingredients and herbs and put the tomatoes in the pot.

“Do we have to add all those spices?” Phantom asked. Swiss wasn't surprised at that, he knew Phantom was quite hesitant towards spices and anything that had a lot of flavor in general.

“We don't have to, but it tastes better with them” Phantom still wasn't convinced, they had a very strong smell, and he'd learnt that if something had a strong smell, the taste was probably quite strong too, at least that was the case with spices.

“How about… we only add half the amount, and if you don't like it, we'll remember that next time.” Swiss suggested.

He stayed quiet for a moment, thinking about it, but then hesitantly agreed with Swiss.

“Look at you trying all this new stuff, making me so proud, Lovebug,” Mountain said from the doorway. He'd been on his way to take a shower after being in the greenhouse for a while, but couldn't resist the smell and had to check it out.

“Hey Mount, we're making pasta and tomato sauce!” Phantom told him excitedly and almost poured the spices besides the pot. “You can try it when it's done if you want”

“Well I can't say no to that can I, it smells wonderful”, “Let me go take a shower and freshen up a bit and I'll taste when you're done” Mountain said as he started making his way to the shower. If this was just a couple of months ago, Phantom would never have agreed to adding those spices he thought to himself, it made him happy to see phantom overcome his fear.

Swiss pulled out the pasta machine and explained how it worked to Phantom while they unwrapped the dough. Phantom started turning the handle while Swiss held the dough and soon enough they had a bunch of spaghetti.

They started cooking the spaghetti and mixed the sauce in a mixer because Phantom refused to even taste anything with lumps in it. They set the table and started cleaning up a bit.

Mountain knocked on the doorframe to make his presence known and everyone sat down while Swiss served the food.

“Would you like to try just the pasta first or both pasta and sauce?”

“Pasta and with the sauce on the side not touching each other”

He tried the pasta and it was actually better than the pasta you buy at the store.

“Do you want to try the sauce too?” Swiss asked, putting his hand on his shoulder.

"I'm not sure, the herbs had a strong smell” Phantom said, looking down in his lap, fidgeting with the hem of his sleeves.

“If you don't like it, that's okay, we're not gonna make you eat it” Swiss encouraged him, squeezing his shoulder comfortingly.

“If you don't want it, I'll happily eat it for you, this is the best sauce I've ever tasted” Mountain chimed in, taking a mouthful of pasta and sauce.

“You really think so?” Phantom asked as he looked up at mountain

“Mhm, this is amazing” He said with his mouth full of food.

He brought the spoon up to his mouth, hesitating a bit but the other two ghouls kept on encouraging him, so he put it in his mouth and tried it. He thought about it for a while but decided that it was actually quite okay, he could eat this, still not better than mac`n cheese but still okay. “It wasn't that bad actually”. He stated and Swiss hugged him from the side, telling him how proud he was.

They finished their meal and started cleaning up. There was a little food left so Phantom decided to put it in a container and bring it to Copia, who of course, loved it. The three ghouls ended up staying for tea in Copias office for a while, but then eventually going back to the den to crash in front of the TV and start watching a movie, that they all would end up falling asleep to.

#phantom ghoul #swiss ghoul #mountain ghoul #nameless ghouls #copia #the band ghost #ghost fic #ghost fanfiction #tshm writing

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