#sitting by my open window while it rains outside | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

honey-tongued-devil · 1 month ago

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[Arcane preference] reacting to a s/o falling asleep on their lap

The reason I have to post requests like this is because, for some reason, if I post them as Tumblr requests, I can’t find them again when I search for them. Making the masterlist was a real struggle. As usual, I’m using the headcanon to promote my longfic on Arcane, Everytime It Rains.

Jayce:

It often happens when he spends the evening working instead of giving you attention.

You know he doesn’t mean it in a bad way, so you settle for climbing onto his lap, letting your limbs dangle, and resting your face against his chest.

He stays focused on studying the documents in front of him, but one hand holds your head steady to keep you from losing your balance.

He strokes your hair absentmindedly.

When he notices you’ve fallen asleep, he feels a warmth, a tender sort of affection. He doesn’t want to wake you but wishes he had something to drape over your shoulders.

After a while, it becomes his signal that he’s pushed himself too far with work.

That’s the moment when he lifts your face to kiss you before carrying you to bed.

Viktor:

The classic "working on the couch" position, where you first sit next to him to avoid disturbing him, then drape one leg over his lap, and eventually both. By the end of the evening, you’re fully curled up in his arms.

He holds your side, resting his cheek against your head while continuing to read his notes, basking in the warmth of that shared intimacy.

He asks you several times if you’re tired, and when you don’t respond, he smiles softly, realizing exhaustion has won you over.

He pulls the blanket up to cover you both, and even when you grumble in annoyance at his movements, he chuckles and just says, “Just a second”

He works for another couple of hours but never stops stroking your side or giving you small kisses on the forehead.

Ekko:

��Aw, someone’s sleepy here,” is the first thing he says when you take the overboard from his hands, and let yourself plop into his lap, already wrapped in a blanket like a cape.

He doesn’t even try to go back to what he was doing. Instead, he pulls you close, rubbing his face against yours, taking in your scent.

He loves it—maybe even more than cuddling lying down. He enjoys the weight, the shape of your body, and being able to cradle you.

Because of this, he doesn’t ask if you’d rather lie down; he stays put, ensuring your rest is protected.

It’s only when you’re fully asleep and start shifting to find a more comfortable position that he decides to carry you to bed, staying there with you afterward.

Vander:

I’ll be honest, would.

The underground city is freezing due to the lack of light that filters in, all the glass and steel radiating cold from the outside. That’s why there’s no place more comfortable than this man’s laps.

You usually do it when the bar is still closed, and only a few close friends are inside. When you know he isn’t on the defensive and you won’t slow him down.

He laughs, keeping one hand on your back to support you, and points out to anyone around him that it’s good for you to get a little rest.

If you stay asleep even after the bar opens, he’ll grab a chair and sit it beside him so he can take care of the larger tasks first and then return to you in his lap.

But if it’s the weekend, when things can easily heat up, he’ll delay opening just to get you to bed, give you a kiss, and apologize for leaving you alone.

Silco:

Can we normalize this man as a piece of furniture?

It’s not even about being tired or wanting attention, sometimes it’s just the comfort the situation itself provides.

The way the swivel chair rocks, the vinyl on the record player, the intense, greenish light pouring through the window, and enjoying his delicate fingers in your hair while the entire city stretches out beneath you.

He doesn’t ask why you do it, nor if you want to move. He assumes that if you wanted something different, you would simply ask, so he continues to give you those small attentions endlessly.

He keeps you on the side of his good eye, so he doesn’t have to turn his head to check on you, but can discreetly notice if your expression changes or if you fall asleep.

These are the moments when Sevika knows that no one is supposed to enter his office, so you can have a bit of peace.

Jinx:

She’s always busy, always active, always too loud. Sitting in her lap sometimes seems almost like a necessity to keep her still and focused on just one thing.

“Awwww, my little bug is sleepy?”

She hums while holding you in her arms, one hand still trying to get her projects done.

If too much time passes, she’ll bend her knees and push herself forward, making the swivel chair move in the direction she wants so she can stay occupied while talking to you about whatever crosses her mind.

If she feels your breathing change, that you’re falling asleep, she suddenly freezes, as if to let you rest.

She pulls you closer, caresses you, kisses your temples, and carries you to her little couch.

Vi:

If manhandling were a woman

When you sit on her lap, she treats you like you’re a cat: fine. It will end there.

Does she need to pee? No, she doesn’t anymore.

She can’t disturb you, or you might get up and leave.

But when it starts to become a constant, she’ll cover your back and simply hold you while she does what she needs to do.

If you complain, she’ll kiss you, apologizing and reassuring you that you’ll be back on the sofa soon, asking you to hang on.

She enjoys that closeness, your breath on her skin, the trust in that action.

The moment she sits back down or rests, she’ll shower you with cuddles, even if you’re asleep or pretending to be.

Caytlin:

She’s the one to ask if you want to sit in her lap, worried that she’s neglecting you.

She keeps you with her, even if you’re asleep, supporting you to make sure you don’t hurt yourself or lose your balance.

Her biggest fear is not being able to express how much she cares for you, how happy she is to have you there.

The quickest way she knows to do that is through physical contact—the reassuring, warm kind.

“How was your day?” she asks, giving you space to talk and feel seen. She doesn’t want the things she has to do to take away from you, from the two of you.

If she still feels like she’s ignoring you, she’ll ask you to sit on the couch with her to watch a movie, or maybe in bed, cuddled up, just being close.

Mel:

I recognize mommy issues when I see them, and so does she. You’ve been caught.

She welcomes you into her arms almost playfully, gently caressing your hands and arms, speaking softly with her head turned toward you.

She knows it’s the easiest way for you to ask for attention, and she simply accepts it, letting you rest either in her arms or with your head on her lap.

She talks to you about her day, her plans, her worries as if telling you a lullaby, letting you rest on her concerns, including you in her mind so that you don’t feel like a burden.

If you fall asleep, she rests her chin on your shoulder and closes her eyes as well, enjoying a few minutes of peace, trying to sync your breathing together.

Sevika:

You live on the lap of this woman.

When she adjusts her arm, when you eat something on the couch, even at the bar while she plays cards or drinks, you’re always there.

The safest place in the underground city is on the massive legs of a woman with a mechanical arm, and that’s a fact.

Her initial fear, especially in public, was that someone might associate you with her and harm you.

But over time, it’s almost become a flex -you, pretty thing, are hers,

Every now and then, she checks to see if you’re okay, if you want to go to bed, if you’re comfortable, and with her healthy hand, she caresses your cheek while doing so.

At home, she always makes sure to cover you, to keep you close.

She doesn’t even go to bed unless you ask, enjoying the feeling of your body against hers.

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luveline · 7 months ago

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𝐭𝐨𝐩𝐚𝐳, 𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐞, 𝐫𝐮𝐛𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐝 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

Eddie has a staring problem that you barely notice, though you share an aching, awful crush. One of you has to bend first, and it’s not who you’d expect. fem, 5k

ditzy-ish reader, pining eddie, mutual pining, confessions, first kisses, fluff and hugging, idiots in love, mild states of undress

˚‧꒰ა ✮ ໒꒱‧˚

It’s a day fit for a funeral in Hawkins. Rain hammers his bedroom window like hailstones, plinking against the frame, condensation running down the panes in thick rivulets he soaks up with an old t-shirt.

It’s supposed to be spring time. Green grass, flowers, a gentle humming sun to warm the back of his neck while he sits out on the couch on the porch, a hand-rolled cigarette between his fingers, the tip shimmering with heat.

But the rain pours. He’s cleaned his room for the first time in a month, at least, and his back aches in the best way as he lays down amongst fresh sheets. His room feels strange when it’s organised, but he doesn’t mind. He pictures the state of it through a second pair of eyes. This is a boy who cares about things, who takes care of them, who could take care of me, too.

Rain again rackets on the metal roof above. He and Wayne keep a couple hundred bucks stashed for the day the roof flies straight off —they take turns hiding it, because cars break down and groceries get more expensive every year, but god will they need it, and so they safeguard it well.

He syphoned a little of the money recently with Wayne’s support. It was for a good cause.

“Jesus,” Eddie murmurs to himself, not tired but feeling dull as the clouds outside eat the remaining sun.

It’s depressing to be poor, and to lose a day trying to hide the evidence of an entire life in a small room. He could sleep a hundred years.

He’s just finished pulling the sheets over his shoulder when somebody knocks on the front door. Wayne opens it three rooms away, the sound of the rain doubled.

He gives a startling shout, “Ed! Your girl!”

Eddie topples out of bed. Doesn’t mean to, foot caught in the bottom of the sheets and stuck as he scrambles to slide out of the mess. He’s begged Wayne not to call you that when you’re within earshot, but Wayne’s a mean (kind) old bastard (middle aged dad) who wants Eddie dead (happy, and in love).

“Come on in, girl. You’re soaking.”

“It’s raining.”

“It’s pouring down. Did you walk here?”

“Took my bike. Thought I’d get struck by lightning in the car.”

“How’d you figure?”

Eddie goes to grab the door handle and spins on his heel, staggering onto his bed and up against the wall, where a mirrored tray once used by Dio himself for rolling hangs from the wall. He checks his face in the polished surface, his warped mouth and nose, too small eyes, and swears to himself that one day he’ll get a real mirror with a fully-functioning reflective surface.

Then he hops down off of the bed, causing a reverberation he knows traverses the entirety of the trailer floor. Eddie snatches a rare clean towel from his laundry chair and speeds down the hall.

“Hello,” he says, more casual than he feels to find you unexpectedly in his house. “You’re soaked.”

You give a sweet smile. “It’s raining out, did you not know?”

Your hair is dripping, water racing down the curves of your face to collect at your chin. Eddie can see the smudges of your makeup where it’s washing off as he wraps a towel around you, kohl on your cheeks, eyelashes turned to half-diamonds and sticky-looking. You grin at being covered, taking the towel from his fingers before he can dab you dry.

“Why didn’t you just call me?”’

“I can never remember if your phone number ends in three or four.”

“Seven. I wrote it down for you a hundred times.”

You rub your eyes and spread all manner of glitter and shadow over your skin. You wipe your neck and the glitter spreads like an alien rash.

When you talk next, you shiver, “I lost it a hundred times, sorry. Is it okay that I'm here?”

Wayne, who’s been watching with a distinct sense of amusement from the couch, lets out a chesty laugh. “Honey, it’s always okay that you’re here on my account. And it’s my house.”

“It’s fine.” Eddie turns your shoulder so he can mouth over it without being caught. Asshole.

Another laugh follows. Eddie would cut each of his fingers from his hand and then his hand from his wrist if it were something Wayne needed him to do, but that doesn’t make him any less of an opportunistic asshole. If there’s a way to fuck with Eddie, he tends to try it. He loves Eddie with all the tenacity of a father who loves his son, but Wayne got infected with little bitch disease or something and Eddie can’t cure it.

“Can I please wash my face? I didn’t expect to get soaked.”

“Didn’t you?” He regrets his flippancy quickly, leading you down the hall. “You could take a shower. What do you think?”

You’ve never showered here, but Eddie’s trying to, you know, date you. Romance you, get to cherish you, however anyone wants to say it. And it’s not a war of attrition, just a natural escalation of sharing, or a minimising of boundaries.

No, that’s pervy, isn’t it?

“I mean–” He starts to correct himself.

You interrupt with your answer, “Yes, please, do you think I could? But I don’t have anything to wear.”

“I have your purple hoodie in my room, and there’s gotta be a pair of sweatpants here that fit you,” he says.

They’ve got a whole bunch of clothes here that floated in from somewhere else, Eddie’s other friends or stuff they’ve bought by mistake. He’s sure he can find something.

“You have my hoodie?” you ask, black kohl spreading across the towel as you wipe your cheek.

Eddie only smelled it one time. When he’d realised you left it in his van he brought it in and folded it, waiting for the next time he’d see you to give it back, but that night he’d been getting out of the shower wondering if he could call you or if that was too soon, and your hoodie had been right there. So he stood there in his pyjama pants with his wet hair and he didn’t think about picking your hoodie up, he just did, and when he pressed it to his face it still smelled of your perfume.

He put it back and felt like a loser for days.

“It’s in my closet, you left it in the van Monday,” he explains quickly, nudging you through the doorway of the bathroom.

The Munson bathroom is teeny tiny but not unnavigable. There’s a shower pressed to the far wall that could squeeze in two people, their toilet to the right, a sink basin opposite that with a medicine cabinet and just enough room for a dirty laundry box that’s always, always full.

Eddie opens the shower and turns it on. “It takes a while to get really hot but then it’s not hot for long, sorry. There’s my shampoo if you want it, and soap, and body wash. Sorry, none of it is super girly.”

“Sorry sorry,” you say, pretending to hit him in the stomach. “What’s with all the sorries, handsome? I can’t wait to smell like a boy.”

The way you say it. Eddie doesn’t know what it is, but it’s why he’s crazy about you.

Probably shouldn’t tell you that as you're taking off your jacket, though.

“I’ll be right back,” he says.

Eddie heads out of the bathroom to their skinny linen cabinet hidden in the hallway. He grabs the last two towels from the middle shelf and takes pause, fabric starchy in his hands. Just be normal, he thinks, a pep talk from Eddie to Eddie. She hangs out with you all the time for a reason. She held your hand at the movies.

Eddie’s in better spirits when he remembers that. Your hand in his, your ring pushing his ring further down his finger, your cheek touching his shoulder as you’d leaned in and asked if he wanted some of your popcorn.

He opens the door without thinking, shower pattering against the perspex wall, your legs crossing tightly as he enters, turning yourself away from him.

“Woah!” you say, laughing.

“Holy crap.” The image of your red underwear immediately stamps itself into his mind as he pulls the door shut between you. They were really cute, red and white gingham, showcasing just the slightest curve of your– “I told you I was coming back!”

“I thought you’d knock!” you laugh. “Sorry I flashed you. At least I had my shirt on.”

At least, he thinks wryly, shoving his arm through the gap in the door, heavy towels pulling at his fingers. His head’s about to snap off, it's turned so far away from the door’s opening. “Here.”

“If you wanna see me naked so bad you can just ask,” you tease.

“Take the towels, loser.”

You take the towels and he closes the door, preventing any more accidental creeping, and giving himself a reprieve. Gingham underwear. Wavy lettuce edgings kissing your skin.

Holy fuck. Being a person is so lame, Eddie thinks. He wants to have a crush on you purely, and yet seeing the way you’d crossed your legs to hide from him, smiling, he can’t not think about kissing you —touching you. If he doesn’t get you laid out in his bed soon for some slow kissing he’s not gonna make it.

Eddie opens the strip vent above his window and prays it doesn’t flood his whole room. Clean, it doesn’t look half bad, he could bring you in here respectfully, you could stay the night without fearing for your life.

You take a quick shower. He’s barely gotten over his nerves when you’re walking into his room, a towel around you, not a hint of shyness about you.

“You didn’t bring me anything to wear,” you explain.

Eddie just stares at you.

“Eddie?” You wrap the towel tighter. “Come on, you’re staring at me.”

“Sorry.” His mouth is bone dry.

“You have my hoodie, right? Just need some pants.” You cross your arm tightly across your chest. “I don’t usually notice when people are staring at me.”

“You aren’t usually naked in my room,” he says, genuinely and embarrassingly apologetic.

“I’m not naked. Come on, please? Do I have to wait outside the door?” you ask with a laugh.

Eddie stands up. Shakes his head hard, almost trips over himself trying to get to his dresser. He decides honesty will be best at this point, lest you think he has only one thing on his mind, “Listen, I’m sorry. I’m just in my head about something and I wasn’t expecting you to come out like that. It’s not right. You’re just… you’re really pretty.”

“Thank you.” He can’t see you, sorting quickly through his middle drawer and all his miscellaneous pants for a pair he’s sure would fit, if he could just remember where it was. “What are you in your head about?”

“What?”

“Eddie, are you okay?”

“No, no,” he moans, rubbing his face with his hand, ring scratching the bridge of his nose, “I’m not okay, princess, I’m overheating or something, Jesus Christ.” He finally lays eyes on the sweatpants he’d been thinking of, grabs your hoodie from the top shelf and drops them both at the end of the bed. “I’ll give you some privacy.”

“I don’t have any underwear.”

“And that’s something I can’t fix,” he says, leaving the room in a hurry.

Eddie gets to the living room and keels over. His hair falls in his face, his shirt slides down his back. What the fuck is wrong with him?

Wayne, sliding his shoes on in the recliner, gives a start. “What’s wrong?”

Eddie lifts his head, yanking hair from his face, the skin of his under eyes pulled down harshly. “Oh my god.”

Wayne wrinkles his nose.

“No ones ever been such a pathetic excuse for a man before,” Eddie says.

“Your dad’s in jail,” Wayne points out. “And not for the impressive stuff.”

“I’m pathetic.”

“You’re fine. You’re not supposed to be not pathetic, you’re twenty.”

“I’m twenty one.”

“The extra year doesn’t mean much. I know you think you’re all grown up, but you’re still an idiot.”

Wayne stands and shrugs on the jacket laying over the armrest.

“Wait, where are you going?”

“I thought you were definitely gonna ask her?” Wayne asks knowingly. That’s what Eddie told him, after all. “Next time I see her, Wayne, I’m asking her to go steady.”

Eddie shakes his head. “You can’t leave.”

“Eddie.” Wayne gestures for Eddie to stop slouching like some fiend from a bad horror. “Listen. I get that you’ve always been sort of… behind everyone, but that doesn’t mean you can’t do it. She likes you. She biked here in a hurricane.”

“What if she says no?” he asks.

Truthfully, Eddie’s more scared of you saying yes.

Wayne shrugs. “Girl like that’ll still be your friend after. It’ll be fine, okay? Do you need a hug before I go?”

“No.” Eddie rubs his eyes some more, sore now from being touched. “Maybe.”

Wayne crosses the room to give his shoulder a squeeze. “It will be fine. You’re great with rejection, Eds, but I have a good feeling about this one.”

Eddie felt better about it, before he embarrassed himself staring at you. But Wayne’s right, even if Eddie’s read things wrong between you, he’s sure you’ll still want to be his friend. You and Eddie are the same kind of weird, though he’s more angry where you’re carefree. If everything goes wrong, you’ll probably just give an unnecessary apology and offer to braid his hair. Which will be torture, but Eddie’ll still say yes.

Wayne calls goodbye, and you shout, “Bye, Mr. Munson!” to which Wayne wiggles his eyebrows.

“Get lost,” Eddie says.

“Go make her a drink. I’ll see you later.”

That’s not a bad idea. Eddie makes you a mix of orange and grapefruit juice with a couple of ice cubes and a plastic straw, your reaction predicted and then proved.

“It’s a cocktail,” you say, pleased, sitting on the side of his bed.

“It’s not a cocktail, just juice.”

“Can I have some socks, please, Eddie?”

Eddie passes you your drink, fingertips brushing. “Yeah. Anything else?” He pretends to be exhausted as he trudges back over to his dresser.

You laugh and sip your drink. “No, I think you’re treating me quite well.”

Eddie grabs a random pair and finally gets to sit down beside you, the dresser drawer left out, a spare sock fallen to the floor. You shuffle back into his pillows, propping your juice on his side table, and holding your hands out for the socks. Again, your fingertips touch his as he passes them to you. You seem to enjoy it, a smile lighting your face as you pull your knees up to put the socks on.

“Thank you for waiting on me,” you say quietly. Not shyly, just quiet.

“You’re welcome. Came all this way to see me, didn’t you?” He gives you a shove. You shuffle back further. “In the pouring rain.”

“It felt important at the time.”

“Yeah?”

You get the socks on and don’t care about them once they're past your heels. Eddie does the honour of smoothing out the bands so that the elastic won’t dig into your skin, and when he’s done he can feel you looking at him heavily. You’re not one for continued eye contact, but you smile like you were waiting for it all day, like it’s a relief to see him.

“Bad weather,” you say, slouching down. “I think I’m still wet on the inside.”

“Gross,” Eddie says, pushing you over bodily to sit beside you. This isn’t new, he doesn’t need any nerves, and he’s grateful when they don’t come. “Here, I’ll pull the blanket over you.”

“Can’t move,” you say, leaning back against the pillows.

Eddie stretches his legs out. You keep yours up, but you turn to his side, and before he can really make any sense of you, you’re dropping your face into his shoulder.

“Are you still cold?” he asks, searching for the truth in your strange comment.

You nod into his shoulder. “I’m freezing. The shower didn’t get very hot.”

“Sorry,” he says, letting his cheek rest on your head.

You lift your chin as he does it, his lashes pressed to your forehead, the two of you stuck together like two warped jigsaw pieces. You probably weren’t made to be together, but you make a nice picture, and you fit snugly now. That’s what Eddie thinks.

This is the sort of moment that makes Eddie wanna ask you out. Maybe you’re just the best friend he’s ever had, but something about this closeness feels different. You wrap your arm around his stomach in a hug and he knows this is different.

“It’s okay,” you say finally, sighing as you shift downward into his side, getting comfortable.

“Please don’t bike here in the rain. It’s, like, torrential. You could actually get sick.”

You feel warm where your body presses against his, but Eddie doubts that’ll make a difference if the cold already made you sick. The bike ride from your place to his isn't short. He covers your arm with his and tries to be your space heater, cheek sliding over your forehead.

“Eddie…” You hug him with tenderness. Eddie’s reluctant to say cuddle, but it’s close. “This might be a surprise to you, but I think it’s worth the rain and the cold to see you. Especially when you do this.”

“What am I doing?”

“You’re rubbing my arm.”

He hadn’t noticed his hand caressing up and down your arm where it rests on his stomach.

“You make me feel amazing,” you say, dropping your face into his chest.

That’s his last straw. Eddie gets both arms around you and cuddles you (it’s a cuddle, okay! he’s a loser!) to him, arms tight but not cruel. All this fuss and you’re finally laying on top of him. He decides he won’t ask you after all. He’s not that brave, and he doesn’t want this to end.

Your legs fall onto him. You relax completely. Even after you shower he can smell your perfume.

“You smell nice,” he murmurs.

“It’s on my hoodie,” you murmur back.

Right. Eddie should remember.

“You make everything smell like you.” Even his van keeps your scent most days.

“Too much?”

“The right amount,” he says firmly.

You lay on his chest for a while, just breathing. Eddie rubs your back, tells himself he will ask, actually, because he can’t imagine not getting to do this again. You might even stay over. He could live hours of this. He didn’t know having you lay on him could make him feel like this.

He can’t believe you’ve never done it before.

Rain pounds the window. Condensation drips down onto the sill. You let your legs stretch out flat and then manoeuvre to be laying half atop him, hoodie riding up your back.

“Any warmer now?” he asks.

“Yeah, you’re warming me up.” You lavish in his arms for a moment, and then lift your face. “Oh, this is a bad angle.”

“For me or you?”

“For me, duh.”

Eddie doesn’t think you could have a bad angle. He rubs at your upper arm as you start to shift. “You know, your bike has just as big a chance of getting hit by lightning as your car does. More, probably.”

“You think so?”

“It’s physics. So, please don’t do it again.”

You hum. “Hm, should I risk getting struck by lightning, or spend the evening without you?” you murmur, your arm moving, moving slowly, your hand resting gently on the column of his neck. There’s something ironic in your voice, wry, but your eyes are warm. He’s paralysed. No one has ever spoken to him like you. “I think I’d rather get struck by lightning.”

You stare at one another. He laughs. You join in, your thumb a pressure at his neck, and when you move up his chest to lean in, he isn’t expecting it.

“We’re very close together,” you whisper.

“Super close,” he whispers back.

“…Eddie, can I ask you something?” Your eyes slip shut, your lips so close that something in him aches, just enough wit about him to cup your shoulders in his forearm.

“Yeah.”

He doesn’t sound half as calm as you do.

“Would you… Do you think we could be official? Would you want that?” You tilt your head to the side. “Is that stupid?”

“Official?” he asks, panicked, his eyes squeezed shut hard enough for a moment that they ache.

“Like, you’d be my boyfriend. I’d be your girlfriend. We’d be close like this all the time.”

Eddie panics so hard he just says the first thing that comes into his head, “Like, we’d kiss?”

“I hope so,” you say, your nose pressing against his, the tip to the side of his, and then against his nostril. The heat of your breath is hard to ignore. “What do you think?”

What does Eddie think about it?

He catches your lips in a slow kiss. Achingly slow, not even sure it’s a kiss until you reciprocate, and your fingers dig behind his neck to tease his hair. Your lips part against his, the heat of your tongue sudden and undeniable —Eddie didn’t know you had it in you. He squeezes you to him, attempting to crane his neck downward, reliant on your enthusiasm as you move up, as you use his neck to pull yourself closer.

Your noses crush together, and it actually hurts. “Sorry,” he says, easing you back, “you okay?”

“‘Nother kiss,” you say hopefully, distractedly.

He can’t not give it to you.

Your hand spreads flat against his chest and you kiss, you kiss, long and slow movements against him before turning your head to take it again. Eddie doesn’t always know what to do with himself, but he knows kissing, no matter what anybody might think about him, and he takes the lead.

His hand screws into a fist against your hoodie, the slip of your back further exposed as you shiver into his mouth, a sound you shouldn’t make sweet on his tongue.

You pull away, breath on his lips. “Wanted you to kiss me for so long,” you murmur.

Eddie knows you’re not saying it to flirt, and that makes it worse.

“I should’ve kissed you a long time ago,” he says roughly.

“You wanted to?”

“Yeah. Yeah, so much, I’m a loser about you–”

“I’m always a loser,” you interrupt, “but especially about you.”

You scratch your fingers through his hair, encouraging his head down for another kiss. This one rougher but not rough, his arm slips finally behind your head where he’d needed it to be, hooking you in his elbow to keep you in one place. To kiss you soundly, without interruption. Your almost feverish ebbing inward is a dream, your nose rubbing up against his is a fantasy.

His heart hammers and hammers at his ribs.

You pull away to let him breathe. “You’re very excited,” you tease lightly.

Eddie kisses you, breathless. He kisses you so much he’s surprised you allow it, but your thumb rubs his cheek, and he knows he’d been right all along. You want him like he wants you, with startling, mildly pathetic urgency.

He feels like a fucking prince. Girl of his dreams in his lap, everything he wants, and he didn’t even have to ask.

—

Eddie spends a week in bliss. You’re suddenly everywhere, all the time, attached to his hip or some other part of him, and he forgets for seven whole days that he bought you a ring.

The rain dries up, the Munson emergency fund lives to die another day, and he remembers the ring only minutes before you’re knocking at his door.

He trips over himself trying to answer it before Wayne, who’s taken to being as painfully embarrassing as is possible for one human being, can get it for him.

“One day you’re gonna eat shit and break your nose,” Wayne says.

Eddie yanks open the door. “Yeah, thanks. Hey, beautiful, what’s with the sunglasses?”

You slide them down your nose. You’re a vision on his front step, not that you’d ever notice your own intrigue. “The sunglasses?” you ask, tucking them away. “What do you think they’re for? Three guesses.”

He grabs your waist, leaning down out of the doorway so as to save Wayne the agony. “That’s smart,” he says, kissing you quickly in hello. “You’re funny. Need anything before we go?”

“No, I’m okay. Hi, Mr. Munson!” you add.

“Hey, honey! How are you?” Wayne calls.

You look up into Eddie’s face with an obvious delight. “I’ve never been better.”

Eddie grins back.

He waves a quick goodbye to Wayne and then he’s out the door. You grab his wrist and practically dance him to the car, where you offer your keys, and he deigns to drive. From there it’s smooth sailing, familiarity with a better twist, Eddie driving with the windows down and your hands twined on your thigh. Things haven’t changed much since you asked him to go steady, there’s just a whole lot more of this. Touching, kissing, no weird guilt about staring.

As it turns out, you’re as eager to be laid out in his bed as he is to lay you out. He’s never wanted to kiss you more, and now he’s allowed.

“Eyes on the road.”

He leans over to kiss your cheek. The sun has warmed your skin, and his kiss makes you smile. You look pretty no matter the weather.

“Before we get there, I have something to give you.” He takes his hand from yours to slide the box from his pocket. He holds it up. “But you can only have it if you swear you’ll call me tonight before bed. No excuses. You know exactly what number to call.”

“Ends with a three,” you say, nodding.

He sighs. “No, it does not.”

“I’m kidding! Two one nine seven, I have now committed it to memory.”

Eddie pays attention to the road, though it’s clear and long heading out of the trailer park and into town. “That deserves a gift.”

You’re back in your glitters today, a skirt to enjoy the fine weather, a button shirt with a cute triangle collar, you’re lovely as ever, if a tad much for some. Not Eddie. He loves the dark clothes, the tinkling bracelets, the fun way you smile like everything he says is a secret between him and you. People stare wherever you and Eddie go, but as long your arm is sewn through his he couldn’t care less.

“A gift,” you say, smiling in your way, and taking the box politely. “I don’t think I deserve it for just remembering your number.”

“You deserved it for less. It’s not much. You can pay me back in three or four amazing kisses. Right here.” He points to the tight juncture beneath his jaw.

You attempt to lean over and kiss him immediately. He pushes you back, laughing, worsened by your own breathless laughter as you steal one exactly where he’d tapped.

You settle back down, Eddie’s hand dropping kindly to your knee. “I wonder what it is,” you say.

“Then open it.”

“I am!” You pop the box open, it’s springing hinge snapping into place. “Oh, woah. Woah. Where did you get this?”

It’s a slim ring, with a weirdly shaped band of quality metal around some cheaper but not totally worthless gemstones, of which there are three different colours: a topaz orange, a lime green, and a pinky-red ruby colour centre stage. They have nice cuts. It’s strange as you are, and he knew when he saw it you’d have to have it.

“If I put it on my marriage finger, are we engaged?” you tease.

“That one would be way heavier,” he says, giving you a squeeze.

You slide it onto your middle finger and hold your hand up in the sunshine. It fits in with your other ring nicely, though it is, to Eddie’s pride, far prettier.

He has half a mind to pull over and kiss each knuckle, but he’s trying to be less dramatic about you. It’s not working.

“Thank you, Eddie. I love it.”

“Best boyfriend ever?” he asks hopefully.

To his mild fear but better pleasure, you climb up onto the console to press three quick kisses to his cheek and jaw, your hand under his ear holding him in tender place. “Best boyfriend ever. Even if you stare too much.”

“How am I supposed to not?” he asks, with more weight than he’s intended.

You speak matter of factly for the first time in your life. “I am going to cause an accident,” you promise, attempting to kiss his nose. “A bad one.”

“Sit down, please.” He lets you kiss his nose, and then jabs you in the side. “Sit down, oh my god! That’s not funny, you’re so pretty I will total your car.”

“Now who’s not funny?”

You both laugh at the same time, the unfiltered, un-cute cackling of two idiots with the same sense of humour, and the same wealth of ridiculous honeymoon love.

˚‧꒰ა ✮ ໒꒱‧˚

thank you so much for reading!! I hope you enjoyed. if you did, please consider reblogging or commenting!! thanks very much <3

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson scenario #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader

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theveryworstthing · 4 months ago

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SpaceDancer's request for parasitic roses and Camille Alexander's request for unicorn fops created Angelique.

i now present my newest Charming Little Freak ✨

Angelique is one of those beings that isn't cleanly classified as a fae or a demon. he/it/whatever (roses are perfect plants and so it mostly goes by the pronouns common for the additional sex of his host body in human society because they couldn't care less) is a Rampant. a type of sapient parasitic rose that, over time, transforms the body of their host from a simple quadruped beast to bipedal humanoid (kinda) monster. every Rampant seems to mold themselves into unique forms, and designs often carry over if they somehow manage to get "uprooted" without dying and have to start over with a new flesh body. if Rampants stay rooted then they're borderline immortal even though their hosts are...dead? it's unclear. the Rampant certainly carries memories of what it was like being an animal and their flesh and blood is altered, but alive. the body keeps the score whether they like it or not. but the beast itself, its mind, dies quickly after a Rampant takes root. either from the trauma from becoming a Flowerbed or from the Rampant purposefully putting a thorn through its brain. whether fae or demon, Rampants take. they do not possess. they do not imprison.

Angelique currently lives in a small dying village, spending his time checking in on the aging population as a kind of town housemaid/caretaker and tending to his flower shop/apothecary. most people would say that having a creature like him around isn't a great idea, but this eldritch horror has basically been adopted by every lonely old person in town so good luck getting rid of him.

Fun Facts:

he loves nice soft clothes, meat (blood sausage is his favorite), and (in spite of his goth everything all the time) sunlight.

buzzing sounds make him flustered while prolonged exposure to cut grass smells and cold weather make him anxious.

he's an scary good climber and will forgo a door if he knows someone is on a higher floor of a building and he sees an open window.

always well hydrated. carries around a flask of water at all times and likes to sit outside naked when it rains.

he has many little leafy assistants which are also just him. he's like an octopus. the people in the community assign them all little names and give them unique decorations and he thinks it's really cute.

what is he getting out of staying in this village? none of your business.

he's currently in a weird situationship with 2 local gravekeepers from rival graveyards/religions and the recently widowed agnostic town doctor. everyone in this polycule hates everyone else but him. he's also friends with benefits with my character Brooke, who finds all of this hilarious and is eager to hear about the latest disaster every time he passes through town.

#rose #anthro #unicorn #kinda #fae #demon #body horror #long post

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shotmrmiller · 8 months ago

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Uninvited, Unexpected.

a/n: it's nice until the very end. it hints at baby trapping. one solid sentence that's kinda degrading (i couldn't help myself ok) this was in the works for so long, i did so much research just to use words. english is hard. and ignore the plot holes, for my sake. my sanity.

this is SMUT. 18+mdni please (if im missing anything else, lmk)

ty to my wonderful beta readers @waves-against-a-cliff & @xoxunhinged

wc: 3,1K

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!reader

my contribution to the @glitterypirateduck ghost challenge. idc if i wrote it much earlier lol.

You're awoken by a loud noise. At first, you think you dreamt it. Exploding head syndrome, maybe. You strain your hearing but it's quiet, save for the occasional creak of the house settling, its old bones creaking in the dead of night. Rain gently patters against the windows, blurring the world outside.

A flash of sudden light illuminates the bedroom, casting elongated shadows across the floor, followed by a loud crack that rattles the glass. Thunder. You should've guessed.

The frantic beating of your heart slows to a gentle roll, and your eyes leaden with sleep. The soft pillows beckon, the warm blankets cradle you as you sink back onto the mattress.

Only for you to be snapped back into reality, drowsiness dissipating like a morning mist.

Someone's knocking on your door.

Your heart is in your throat as you quickly peel off the blankets, the chill of the floorboards underneath your bare feet seeping into your bones.

In the bookshelf sits the gun Simon had given you before he had moved out, the rumble of his voice a ghost in your ear. "For protection," he'd murmured, placing the cold metal onto your open palms. "Jus' in case."

Your trembling fingers fumble as you search for it in the dark, flinching as a couple of books spill from the shelf onto the floor, pages rustling in your urgency.

The knocking persists.

The metal of the grip is unyielding in your clammy hands. You've never tested it before, never had the displeasure. As you hold it close to your chest with a quivering breath, you hope tonight won't change that.

Simon's instructions echo in your mind as you approach the front door. "Thumb the safety. Hold the grip with both hands. Do not, under any circumstance, put your finger on the trigger unless you're plannin' on sendin' hate. Clear?"

Your throat tightens, a phantom snake coiling around the narrow passage, and panic grips your heart as you reach for the blinds, slowly hooking two fingers and carefully pulling down to look at who is—

Simon.

Simon?

Sweat-slick fingers flip the light switch before quickly undoing the locks, the hinges groaning in protest as the door opens.

"What the hell?"

It's Simon, disheveled— maskless— swaying on his feet. His eyes are half-closed and unfocused. Johnny's holding him up by the arm, struggling to keep him upright.

"S'ry, bonnie. We wen' out fer a few 'nd clearly, he's out 'is face. Quite crabbit, too. He said ye'd let 'em sleep 'ere," he slurs.

Simon's not the only one who's pissed. With a resigned sigh, you gesture at the couch with your free hand. "There, I guess."

That he thought of you even in his drunken haze tugs at your fragile heartstrings.

Johnny guides him to the catch, a quiet C'mon LT to spur him forward. Heavy boots thud against the floor as they stumble toward the living room while you carefully place the gun on the kitchen countertop before reaching for a water bottle in the pantry. Johnny snickers under his breath as Simon collapses onto the sofa, the springs protesting his weight.

Two bottles, then.

You watch Simon's head loll as you hand Johnny the water. "Tell me you aren't the one driving, Johnny," you grumble.

He takes it with a quiet thanks. "Naw. Cap'n's stone cold sober."

Small mercies.

Johnny gives Simon a rough slap to the side of his leg as he bids him goodbye, pulling you in for an embrace tight enough that your spine pops before walking out the door.

You let out another sigh as the lock clicked back into place. The tangy, sour scent of stale alcohol mixed with stings at your nose, as does the invasive smell of smoke.

His boots are mud-caked, and you'll be damned if he stains your nice furniture with his mess. "Shoes off." He groans but complies. The laces come undone quickly, and you tug his shoes off with a grunt. "Simon."

His glassy eyes meet yours. "Drink your water." The burning need to chuck it at his head is one you have to vehemently smother into embers. Moron. Only Simon would have the gall to show up unannounced months after the separation. And drunk.

You push the bottle into his chest roughly and make to go back to bed when he encircles his hand around your wrist and the world spins on its axis, suddenly finding yourself beneath him with his face nestled in the crook of your neck.

Simon's breath is hot against your skin, the weight of his body pinning you down so achingly familiar. It stirs up past memories that would have you pressing your thighs together if he wasn't right there, using his broad waist to spread them apart.

"Missed ya, love." A confession. "S'much."

The breath you draw is jagged, his slow-spoken words hanging in the air. You want to push him away, scream at him for stumbling in and disrupting your night, your rest, your carefully crafted peace. But there's a part of you that can't help but soften at the tenderness in his tone.

"Simon," you whisper. "You're drunk. You don't know what you're saying—" his lips find your fluttering pulse. You find purchase in his shirt, shaky fingers grasping at the hem.

"'M drunk, no' no liar." Your resolve wavers. No, he never had been. Honesty hadn't been the reason for the split. It wasn't the truth he'd spoken but the truths he'd kept to himself. A fortress around his heart, the bridge to its gates raised. Unwilling to share a burden, share a life.

His warm tongue licks a hot stripe up your neck reaching the lobe of your ear where his blunt teeth sink into it. A choked gasp spills from your mouth, spine arching in reflex— your treacherous body remembering his touch, yearning for it.

"Simon—" your words get caught in your throat; snag like fishhooks when he undulates his hips, arousal creeping along your veins like ivy.

"Don't ya miss me, pet?" You've asked him to not call you that because it never fails to stoke the fire in your belly, to sodden your knickers. Before you can chide him on his choice of words, he shifts. One arm, an inked column under the soft light of the living room, holds him up just enough to bring his rugged face into focus. His eyes, like a stormy night's sky, swirl with untamed desire.

You know it's dangerous to play with fire. Touch it and burn, ache, blister. But the passion of this old flame beckons like a siren with sharp teeth. Each drag of his prominent erection against your core only succeeds in pulling you away from the shore of clarity. It's disorienting, insistent.

Relentless.

"My pretty little love," he mumbles. Simon's gaze drags from your glassy eyes to the delicate contours of your collarbone. His fingers trace lines of intimacy onto the swell of your breasts before using the pad of his thumb to swirl the stiffened peak of your nipple. "Say the word 'nd it all stops."

The scent of alcohol clings to him, a bitter reminder of the loss of inhibitions it brings as it warms one's chest. Blurred lines he might not mind, but you do. Lost boundaries. Rejection sits on the tip of your tongue, on the edge of your teeth when he says something that frays the last threads of your resolve.

It comes undone.

"Please. Jus' tonigh'. All I need." His words sound like footsteps in winter mire, slushed, syllables blending together.

You'll just have to kick him out on his arse in the morning.

"Okay," you breathe. Just one night, you tell yourself. He's always been good to you in the bedroom. One last hurrah wouldn't hurt. Maybe it'll allow you to finally close this painful chapter in your life and start anew, with pristine white pages and fresh ink.

Your hands, trembling with nerves and anticipation, cradle his face. The roughness of his stubble in contrast with the softness of your palms is grounding, keeping you from being pulled under your own swirling emotions.

" 'M righ' 'ere, love. You're safe with me, always." He whispers the last words reverently, a vow. Simon's breath mingles with yours as he leans in for a kiss.

The world around you fades, your senses tunneled on the feel of his lips, the taste of him— mildly sweet with a hint of peppermint. He slants his head to deepen the kiss, and the bruising ache in your heart is replaced by another, one that burns brightly and threatens to sweep you away.

The lulling sound of the pouring rain outside is drowned out by the beating of your racing heart.

The bed creaks when Simon perches you on the edge of it, quietly ordering you to take your top off.

"What about my bottoms?" You bite down on the gummy inside of your cheek when he pins you in place with a look— a predator eyeing its prey.

"Those are mine." Resounding. Final. A gavel in a courtroom.

You fling your shirt off, tossing it into some forgotten corner in the room, and cheekily watch Simon undress. It's not methodical like it used to be. No longer a means to an end. Experienced fingers undo the buckle of his belt before he takes it off, the leather material snapping in the air, slicing through the silence.

A quip tumbles out of your mouth faster than you can stop it. "Gonna spank me with that?"

The air around you thickens— or thins, you can't be sure— when his eyes flash to you. He kicks off his jeans, one foot after the other, wobbling as he does. "Tha' wha' you want?" The words he didn't say ring out loud and clear.

Don't rattle the cage, sweetheart. This dog isn't muzzled.

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip to keep from saying anything else, something that he might take you up on, instead focusing on the way his heavy cock hangs in between legs (dangling with each step forward—)

"M'eyes are up 'ere." Your nose scrunches at his joke. Cute.

He lowers himself onto his knees, your legs cradling his face as it hovers over your sex, close enough to feel the warmth of his breath on your heated skin.

The sleeping shorts you're wearing are ratty and worn. They're thin too, practically translucent from constant use. Which means that he can see that you're not wearing any undergarments underneath.

"Hope you know I can—" Heat licks up the sides of your jaw, pooling in your cheeks as you cut him off with a snappy remark.

"Yes. I know."

The tip of his pointed tongue drags along the seam of your shorts, right along your slit. Your breath hitches, and you clench your jaw to keep from making a sound. Your back bows involuntarily, the feeling startling, intense.

"Can see tha' clear as day, as if lookin' through a windowpane, pet," he taunts. The words that are forming, almost ready to spill out, freeze in place when his mouth comes in direct contact with your slippery cunt. He licks once, twice, through your folds, slightly dipping into your slick entrance, only pulling away to nuzzle your pearl with his misaligned nose.

"Sweet as a peach, jus' like I remember," he purrs, the timbre of his voice buzzing against your puffy lips. "Missed this." A mewl slithers past your grit teeth when he gently sinks one thick finger into you, curling and twisting. Arousal drips onto his knuckle, tracing a hot path down to his wrist. He coos at you when he adds another digit, hissing at the sharp but brief pinprick of the stretch.

"Bloody fuckin' tight." Simon rises off the floor, the quiet sound of his knees popping swallowed up by your harsh pants. "Gotta let me in, love. Relax."

He keeps the thrusts shallow, his fingers dragging deliciously along your nerve endings. The sting soon fades, giving way to a gentle warmth that unfurls inside of you, letting Simon reach deeper until—

Your muscles stiffen, tight like a spring when he brushes over the rough patch of skin that has bursts of light appearing across your eyelids.

"Look at ya. Droolin' like a mutt with my fingers stuffed up your pretty cunt."

There's a pressure in your lower belly that's steadily building with each sloppy thrust of his hand, pulling squelching noises from your sodden pussy. He finally, finally, latches onto your neglected clit, lightly sucking on it in tandem with his fingers.

Your chin drops to your chest as everything nears a breaking point. The pressure inside you has your body wound tight. The fibers of your muscles contract, almost painfully, preparing for the release of what's to come, what can't be ignored.

The swirling of his golden tongue pushes against the boundaries of your endurance, pushes you to the precipice, where you finally hit the point of no return. You can feel something about to give, ecstasy trickling through the cracks in your foundation, uncontrollable, raw. Your fingers thread through Simon's hair, curling tightly, pulling it taut when you feel something about to give—oh fuck—

Snap.

The structure that holds everything in place collapses.

A sudden release of pent-up energy and emotion erupts like a dam bursting, a cleansing flood that washes away the grime of old wounds, of bitterness, leaving the edges softened so they can heal; knit closed and scar over. Closure. It touches every part of you, filling you with a sense of liberation.

Your heart beats freely, it throbs with life as a wave of relief washes over you, soothing, a balm over scraped flesh, a rush of cool air into starved lungs.

A lightness that comes after being weighed down with burdens for so long.

Simon's hands encircle your arms firmly— fingers digging into the meat of your biceps— and effortlessly maneuvers you toward the center of the bed as if your lethargic form were a feather caught in a breeze; weightless, insignificant.

Gentle but unyielding.

There's a ringing in your ears that muffles his voice, blurring the edges of his words, an unintelligible hum, as if you were underwater. The sensation leaves you feeling adrift in a tranquil sea, cradled in its silken embrace. The only anchor you have to the muzzy reality is his warm touch.

"'M sorry, sweetheart. I can't," he apologizes, hooking your right leg over his shoulder. You let out a sibilant hiss as he leans forward, pushing your knee to your chest, the corded muscle of your hamstring pulling to its limit. "Can't wait anymore, 'm sorry."

Simon gives you a sloppy kiss as his heaving length prods at your swollen entrance, the tip breaching your pussy with a warm burn that starts from under your navel and only flares, radiating from your core outward. It's searing, the initial bite of the stretch disrupts the haze in your muddled mind, bringing the world around you into cutting clarity.

A guttural noise claws up his throat as Simon sheathes himself halfway, his growled words not the salve he was hoping for. It only grates at already raw nerves, abrasive.

"Jus' a little more, you can take it." He winds a hand downward to draw messy circles on your slippery clit, to stifle the roaring fire in your stomach, your chest. "You already have."

His jerky touch does its job, transforming the sharp burn of him wrenching your walls apart fiber by fiber into a quiet glow; smoldering heat now simmering. You soften, mellow and pliant, accept him into your body as he sinks to the hilt with a quiet groan.

"There's my girl. Takin' all of it like you were made f'me." Simon's words of praise tangle around your spine, electric, prickling. Your heart gallops like a herd of horses, wild and free. "Liked tha' did you? Jus' about strangled my cock with your tight cunt."

He rolls his hips once, twice, searching for signs of discomfort, but when only warm pleasure laps at your heels, when the barest of moans spill from your open lips, Simon begins to put his weight behind his thrusts.

Through half-lidded eyes, you see a raw, primal hunger reflected in his eyes— his soul, the one he'd claimed to have lost long ago, back with his reason, his sanity.

Yet he looks down at you as if you were his only salvation. A lifeline he grabs onto with an unyielding grip, his only tether to hope, purpose. A lighthouse shining in a raging storm, a beacon calling him home.

Simon presses a large hand onto your lower stomach, his work-worn palm pushing until you wince, brows furrowing at the fleeting whisper of pain.

"Can feel myself right here," he sluggishly mumbles, drunk of the feel of your cunt, the taste of your skin on his tongue— sweet like ripened figs. The sensory overload has him sinking his fingers into your flesh until it dimples.

He murmurs something under his taxed breath, something akin to mine, only mine as his lips leave a slick trail of saliva on the dip of your collarbone, the gentle curve of your shoulder, the thin, soft skin of your bicep up to your inner wrist, where he laps at your pulse.

As if savoring the present. The precious gift he's unwrapped, here and now. The last taste of you, which he hopes with a reverence that borders on prayer, lingers on his tongue long after the fruit— the sweet evidence of this one last intimacy— falls from the bough.

Simon comes with his teeth in the crook of your neck, biting down with a crushing pressure that has an acute pain digging its spurs into your consciousness, cutting the blazing euphoria of your own release short.

His cock is still twitching as he fills you with his spend when he takes his thumb and collects some of your slick to take you over the edge one last time.

"F'me. You can take it, yeah? I'll go slow, I promise."

Simon presses a kiss on your sweaty temple, his large hand cupping your jaw as he lazily watches you succumb to sleep, your breath evening out.

He reaches for your arm again, feeling for the birth control implant you'd had there when the both of you were still together.

Gone.

Sweet girl. You'd let him in without a fight. (He makes a mental note to wash the beer off of his clothes tomorrow.)

He knows your cycle better than the lines that are etched onto his palm. Better than the voice of the captain who rumbles in his earpiece, ordering him to go for the throat.

From the moment you'd stepped into his life with eternity in your eyes and the warmth of the sun on your lips, you were his. And he'll do anything to remain in your orbit.

(left unable to distinguish prison from paradise when each poison-coated kiss softens the world he'll build for you and for what's to come.)

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #cod mw2 #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley smut #cod smut #simon ghost riley x f reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley smut #GhostChallenge

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beloveds-embrace · 2 months ago

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I read your distress from the DukeDom 141 AU and....ajbslywbsoauwjs

You have broken the system, I LOVE the anguish when somehow karma acts and there is divine justice (and König it's divine 🫦🫦🫦)

Do you have some more crumbs for this hungry girl? Pretty please with sprinkles on top? 🥺🥺🫶🏼✨️✨️✨️

Thank you!! The anon who sent the angst ask is just so damn big brained. Phenomenal i hope they know their impact. Enjoy!! 💕💕💕

John stares at you, his eyes unreadable and a little frown on his face. Embers within the fireplace crackle, keeping the study warm against the November chill, while rain pelts against the windows. Despite it being only 2 in the afternoon, the sky is dark and cloudy enough to be mistaken for late evening.

You wait patiently, standing in front of his desk with your hands in front of you. Your face is colder than his.

“So?” You ask at last.

“…why?”

Your eyes close for a few seconds, and then you open them. Your purse your mouth, and then speak.

“Because I want one.” You say, shrugging delicately. “I will be back before the annual winter gala. All work has been finished and submitted, and what can’t be done now has been appropriately delegated with your approval. As such, I would like to go on a holiday, just for a few weeks.”

None of that is an issue, John thinks to himself. You are so cold now, dear wife. Colder than I’ve treated you. None of that is an issue except-

“Who will be you taking with you-“

“König.” You don’t hesitate for a single second. To John, it feels like you are attempting to match the attitude of thunder and lightning outside. “He will be my knight, as he’s always been. I care not for what others guards may join. The estate I’ve chosen already has maids and cooks to upkeep it, yes? That should be everything.”

John wants to say no.

There’s been a shift in you, and he knows they are to blame yet he so terribly dislikes it. König has become your… everything, in a sense. The maids already whispered about you and didn’t help you, and so now you care very little about what they’d say about König being the one to help you get ready for the day. He is your shadow; he brings you food himself, John knows, has seen Johnny grit his teeth and bite his tongue so he doesn’t say how ashamed he feels that he’s made someone feel like they can’t eat his food.

It is aslo König who holds your arm, and takes you on walks. König who listens to what you want, what you ask for, and doesn’t treat you as an afterthought. The one and only time you have spoken to Kyle lately is to simply ask him if he knows where König is.

König was close to you in the way John had been distant to you. In the way all of them had been distant to you.

Now, it feels like you are keeping the distance, despite their attempts at fixing this. It feels like König is keeping the distance, your second shadow. John isn’t blind to the hatred König carries for them, isn’t blind to the possessive way König holds your hands.

And your waist. John had heard how you called out König’s name, one night. He’d seen the delicate way you’d had to sit, seen the way König had been fussing over you.

The implications left his mouth bitter for the rest of the day.

And now….

He wants to say no. He truly does. But if he does it, then he knows he will be subjecting you to more pain. It would mean keeping you here with König, and John having to see it all.

“Very well.” He sighs at last, something green and tight curdling in his stomach. He doesn’t acknowledge it. “I will make sure everything will be ready for you, wife.”

“Thank you.”

And not once do you look at him with that warm, special smile you have only for König.

#noona.asks #cod x reader #cod #cod x you #tf 141 x reader #tf 141 #tf 141 x you #cod imagines #konig x you #konig x reader #konig drabble #poly 141

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teddybeartoji · 7 months ago

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彡 LOVE BY THE OPEN WINDOW

☆. contains: toji fushiguro x gn!reader; established relationship, fluff, a bit bittersweet in the beginning... very sappy very cute, reader calls him "my baby" wc: 1.9k

toji doesn't understand why you love the rain so much.

he doesn't see the appeal. at all.

everything gets wet, gloomy and dark – he hates the way soaked clothes feel on his body; how heavy they are, how they cling to him. he hates the puddles, he hates having to go around them. and he hates when a car passing by splashes him. it's fucking ridiculous.

he doesn't understand why your eyes are glued to the street below as you sit by the open window. a brisk breeze cards your hair, cradles your jaw; he can see the goosebumps on your skin but you refuse to move. you're holding onto a cup of something (he knows it's tea) and he can see the warmth of it. he watches you raise the ceramic to your lips, he watches you swallow, he watches you take in the heat with a faint smile. droplets of rain litter your bare legs and arms and he thinks about chiding you about catching a cold... but he just can't seem to actually do it.

fresh out of the shower, he stands in the dim living room with a towel in his hand - the only light in the room is coming from the outside and it's not a lot. the sky is painted a hazy, pale gray shade; he can't even see the clouds the water is pouring from - everything above has mixed into one big melancholy blob. the rain thrashes so loudly that it muffles every other sound in the world. it's overwhelming. he hates it.

images of a kicked, sad dog sitting under a sky just like this flood his mind. licking his wounds as the water tried to wash him away; the drops felt like daggers, like sharp little blades, trailing all over his skin. the clothes on his back burned as the cold took over, nothing ever made sense to him. the dog hated how bright it was – why weren't the clouds darker, why wasn't it storming, why wasn't the weather worse? he wanted to hide in the shadows, hide from the stupid rain and the hurt and the shame, to hide from the light.

(memories, not images.)

"toji?"

warm, like the sun. another kind of light. your lips curl around the letters of his name like they're meant to do so and he doesn't know... he doesn't understand why. the rain – ever so gloomy and sad and cold and dark and irrelevant and upsetting and useless and—

"baby?"

a switch goes off in his head and the rain changes into a simple background noise. he hears you loud and clear.

an extended hand, reaching for his – you're as patient as ever, your hand doesn't shake as you wait for him. it never does. toji shakes his head to rid of the images because he wants to see you instead. you're here and that's all that matters. his shoulders relax and he let's out the breath he didn't even know he was holding. you're smiling. you're beautiful.

the background doesn't muddle in his eyes – it's you and the rain. coexisting; the flood won't wash you away like he fears and you won't make it disappear either. and that's okay. he watches you place down your mug and his heart does a little flip when you reach out to him with two arms now. your grin stretches wider, your shine – you want him there, no matter how unbelievable it sounds or seems.

throwing the towel over his shoulders, he sneaks forward. he's not as sour as he was mere seconds ago and you're glad. you've noticed that he doesn't like this type of weather and you understand why.

his mossy green eyes bore into yours as you dig your fingers into his still damp skin. he smells good, he feels anew. while he still feels quite warm from the shower, he sees more goosebumps raise from your skin and he's decided to try and lecture you now, he's gonna tease you about the dangerous breeze, the risk of getting sick. the corners of his scarred lips tug upward and—

"stupid, your hair is still wet. you're gonna catch a cold."

...

you're not really looking at him; fully focused on his unruly, wet strands of hair, eyebrows furrowed as you push them away from his eyes. your tone is caring, albeit a little teasing. he loves it.

he loves you.

he's about to bite back but you're just not letting have his moment today.

a surprisingly warm hand slithers up his chest and around his neck while another hold onto his soft cheek. an unstoppable object meets an immovable force. toji doesn't even have a chance.

you tug him down with the most gentle pull and before he can even question what you're doing – your lips press against his forehead. adoration blooms from the touch; it travels to his cheeks and the tips of his ears, his own lips, his neck, his chest, his lower stomach, the tips of his fingers, his thighs and knees, his fucking toes. it's everywhere. you are everywhere.

the loud "mwaaaaaaah!" that spills from you makes him chuckle; his chest rumbles with warmth and you take the moment to fully cradle his face in your hands. he leans into it, nuzzling into you like a big cat.

"my baby..."

toji hates how much he loves it when you call him that. him – a baby? how ridiculous, how childish, how foolish and naive; he is not a—

"myy baabyy..."

his insides fill with butterflies and his skin burns. the desire to pull away, to look away, to hide, is immense but your hold on him is stronger. he let's you tug him down a bit further, until his head bonks against his – you're looking at him from an incredibly silly angle and he's never felt more at home.

"'m a grown man, stop callin' me 'baby'." he grumbles. like a child.

"i can literally hear your heart racing right now, stop lying tough guy."

you know his act better than he'd ever like to admit. it's scary how clearly you see him. he really doesn't have a chance against you. you're something that grows between the cracks of concrete, slowly but surely growing your roots underneath before sprouting up and reaching for the sky. you hold him together.

in order to distract you from your unnervingly accurate comment, toji pinches your side before pulling you into his embrace. still sat on the windowsill, you let him snake his strong arms around you and wait for him to take his rightful place behind your back. he holds onto you as if you're about to slip away from him but you aren't. and you never will.

more droplets of rain fall onto your thighs and his arms and it feels refreshing. you feel him rest his heavy head on your shoulder and you know that this is the perfect time to introduce him to your favourite type of weather.

hand on top of his, you use the other to grab the lonely, almost forgotten cup of tea and bring it to your lips. it's still warm. after a quiet 'ahhh!', you raise it to his – he drinks it without a word. you know it's too sweet for him and you laugh when he doesn't say anything, just letting his eyes fall shut at the taste with a low grumble. your big baby.

the sound of the rain isn't as overwhelming anymore, it's not deafening. he feels you breathe and he feels the brisk air; the tiniest drops find his face with the help of the wind but they don't sting like they used to.

"look..."

toji gives you a 'hm?' before peeling open his eyes. he looks at you, only to find you staring at the street below again with a pretty smile. he follows your gaze and his hearts stammers. three kids, jumping around in a puddle, laughing so hard that they're almost crying – he didn't even hear them. they're wearing the most colorful clothes toji has ever seen in his whole entire life and they're laughing.

"so fucking cute."

you nuzzle your nose against his cheek while he's still looking at the kids splashing each other. "c'mon, when are we doing that, hm?"

the corners of his lips tug up despite his best efforts to stop them from doing so. he gives your body a aqueeze before murmuring. "y'really are something, huh..."

a toothy grin and another laugh – he doesn't know what he'd do without you.

toji lunges forward, pretending to bite your nose and he revels in the sounds that bubble from your throat. damp hair tickles your face as you try to push him off and the tea in your hand threatens to spill as you squirm in his hold, but he doesn't budge. he nips at your skin and he swallows your laughter like it's the last meal he'll ever have.

"y'wanna go and play in the rain?" kiss. "wanna play in the puddles?" kiss. "y'wanna catch a cold like those kids out there, hm?" kiss.

whatever thoughts plagued his mind before are long forgotten now. the memories are actively being replaced my newer, happier ones and he's glad to let the old ones go. he's fucking elated to do so.

with one final bite-kiss, he steadies his arms around you once more and let's you catch your breath.

"tell me more."

your eyebrows raise and you tear your eyes from the dancing trees outside. "about what?"

"what ya wanna do... why ya like the rain s'much..."

he's just a little hesitant to ask, though he himself isn't sure what he's so afraid of.

(he's scared he won't be able to give you what you want.)

"oh. hmm..." toji feels like a blanket around you and you can't help but melt into him as you answer his question. "i love the sound of it, i think it's very calming."

a hum.

"i love just watching it too, i love watching the puddles grow. i love to watch it soak everything."

another hum.

"i love the fact that it helps the flowers bloom, the grass and the trees. i like how it smells, during and after. i love how the sun peeks from the clouds when it's all done."

toji's eyes fall shut as he listens to your smooth voice. he pictures you instead of a weeping dog – he thinks about you sitting outside, in the rain. he knows you'd welcome it with a bright smile and open arms.

(like you welcome him.)

"i wanna feel it on my skin, and my hair. it's so refreshing. and i really do wanna play in the puddles, toji..."

he hears the pout in your voice and his insides feel warm. it's easy to forget about his past when he's with you; his every single thought involves you, they circle around you and he couldn't be more grateful.

"'n i wanna kiss in the rain. you know, like they do in the movies?"

his voice is smooth, comforting. he's not making fun of you, he's genuinely invested in your wish. "mm, yeah? wanna kiss like yer in a movie?"

"i do."

the rain. it pours and pours. the kids laugh and cheer. you sip on your tea and he hears you swallow. he feels your heartbeat.

"okay."

determination.

a promise.

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blog-o-meter · 1 month ago

Text

Pump It Up - Nicholas Alexander Chavez x fem!reader

summary: Rained in, (Y/N) decides to workout at home while Nicholas reads a script in the kitchen. Halfway through, though, she realizes that he wasn’t really reading anymore.

warnings: 18+, caught masturbating, needy!nicholas, established relationship, dom/sub undertones, voyeurism, exhibitionism, denial

required listening: n/a

word count: 4,123

a/n: here’s a quick little fic <3 im sorry my word counts are so long compared to others’ — my brain literally won’t let me write unless I drag scenes out to make them seem more realistic/plausible in my head, if that makes sense LOL

reblogs, likes, and replies are greatly appreciated and let me know if you’d like to see more!

The rain outside was relentless, its constant drum against the window and the occasional rumble of thunder enough to convince me to not leave the house. I’d driven through too many rain storms in this neighborhood to know that risking getting my car flooded from driving through the backed up water at the end of the road was not worth it. That’s horrible infrastructure for you.

I had plans of hitting the gym, maybe even treating myself to a little smoothie that I had been looking forward to all day. Just thinking about the tartness of a berry smoothie after a grueling workout was enough to make my mouth water, but it looked like the rain wasn’t going to let up. The worst part was I had already gotten dressed, and I had so much pent up energy ready to be exerted.

That’s when I thought — why not just do my workout here? The living room was spacious enough, and as long as I had my music, I think I could manage. Sure, I wouldn’t have access to any of the fancy machinery, but I could still do some sets without anything extra — planks, sit-ups, Russian twists, leg raises, etc.

Determined to use up my energy, I grabbed my phone and earbuds and walked out of the bedroom, making my way over to the open-concept living room to find Nicholas perched on the kitchen counter, his back to me. He had been tirelessly looking over a potential script his agent had given him earlier — writing notes, highlighting pieces of dialogue, the like.

I set down my things on the coffee table before coming up behind him, running my hand up his back and settling it on his shoulder, giving him a little massage as I looked over the booklet open in front of him. He let out a sigh, wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling me close.

“Nic, is it ok if I work out here?” I asked while I brushed away the single strand of hair flopped over his forehead.

“Yeah, of course,” he nodded his head.

I turned my attention to the script, bending over the counter a bit to reach for it. The half-scribbled nonsense caught my eye. I could barely make out any of the words he had written, but I guess the only person that had to understand it was Nicholas — and the guy knows his shit.

“Are you sure it won’t bother you while you’re looking over your script?” I asked as I flipped through the script casually.

Nicholas chuckled, leaning back slightly on the stool. His arm stayed wrapped around my waist, his thumb brushing idly against my side. “Don’t worry; I’ll tune it out.”

I smiled, thankful for his understanding. I planted a quick kiss on his temple, running my fingers through the back of his hair. “I’ll try to keep it quiet,” I said as I pulled away from his grasp and walked toward the open space between the coffee table and the tv in the living room.

Unfortunately, I didn’t have a yoga mat, so the laminate floor would have to do, whether I liked it or not. Maybe I’d get used to the stiff floor the more my workout progressed, and I would have already done my exercise for the day by then. Note to self: buy a yoga mat.

I grabbed my earbuds, deciding to only put one in just in case Nicholas told me to keep it down, and reached for my phone to press play on my workout playlist, which consisted of EBM and Acid House — no lyrics for maximum concentration. Plus, it helped me keep a steady rhythm.

I began with a series of deep stretches, my arms reaching high above my head before I bent forward, letting my fingertips brush the floor. A quiet groan escaped my lips as I felt the soreness from yesterday’s workout still lingering.

The music pumped softly in one ear, the beat steady and hypnotic as I transitioned through my warm-up. I shifted into a runner’s lunge, my knee grazing the cold laminate as I leaned into the stretch. A soft sigh slipped out, my muscles pulling deliciously.

Rolling up slowly, I shook out my legs and moved into a few standing side bends, my hands clasped over my head. My breathing grew deeper, the ache in my sides fading as I worked through it. A low hum escaped me as I twisted my torso, relishing the sensation of each vertebra popping gently back into alignment.

I stood straight then, shaking my arms as I prepared to start the real workout. “Okay,” I muttered to myself.

I dropped to the floor for my first set of planks, planting my hands firmly and aligning my body. The strain hit almost immediately, my core engaging as I held the position. My breathing grew audible, sharp exhales through pursed lips as I counted the seconds.

“One… two… three…” My voice was quiet but breathy, each number punctuated by a soft grunt.

The timer on my phone ticked down, and when I reached thirty seconds, I pushed myself into a series of shoulder taps. My palm slapped the floor softly with each shift of weight, my breaths turning into little gasps as the effort increased.

“Almost there,” I whispered to myself, my tone more encouraging than determined.

When I finally finished the set, I rolled onto my back, chest heaving and gasping while the music in my ear pulsed. I clocked Nicholas shift in the stool then, but I didn’t think much of it. He had been sitting there a few hours now; his back must’ve been stinging.

Next up were leg raises. Lying flat on my back, I slid my hands beneath my lower back for support and lifted my legs until they were perpendicular to the floor. Lowering them slowly, I felt the familiar burn in my lower abs. Those were killer.

“God,” I groaned softly, squeezing my eyes shut as I held the hover position just above the floor.

My voice came out in broken exhales as I finished the set, letting my legs drop to the floor with a thud. My head tilted back, and I let out an exaggerated sigh, the exertion starting to creep up on me.

After a moment of rest, I rolled back onto my knees and pushed myself into a standing position. I moved into a series of squats, setting my feet shoulder-width apart and sinking low with each rep. The burn in my thighs was immediate, but I leaned into it, pushing deeper with every squat.

“One… two…” My voice grew louder, the numbers mingled with quiet grunts as I tried to keep my form steady.

By the time I reached 20, a soft whimper escaped me. I straightened, pausing to catch my breath before diving into the second set. Midway through, I let out a particularly loud groan, the sound filling the quiet room. I glanced over my shoulder toward the kitchen, half-expecting Nicholas to say something, but he remained silent, his back still turned.

He shifted in the stool again then. I noticed it this time — the way Nicholas’s arm moved. It wasn’t just a casual shift in his posture or an adjustment of his script. His elbow dipped, his shoulder tensed, and there was a sort of rhythm to it.

I thought it weird, but I pushed through the rest of my squats, continuing my quiet counting. But from the corner of my eye I could see him continuing to move his arm ever so slightly, like he didn’t want me to see. And of course, curiosity got the best of me.

When I finished the set, I let out an audible sigh to signal that I had finished my squats. His back was still to me, and I could see past the outline of his other arm on the counter that the script was still open in front of him, but his movements were stiff.

I strolled toward the kitchen under the guise of grabbing something to drink, letting my footsteps fall heavy against the floor to make noise. As I neared, I noticed the faint tremor in his shoulders as he turned the slightest bit away from me as I rounded the counter and made my way toward the fridge, opening the door casually.

I pulled out one of the cold-pressed juices Nicholas liked to keep stocked to indulge in after coming home from the gym and closed the door. I turned around on my heels, glancing over to him. His jaw was clenched, and he didn’t flick his eyes up once to glance up at me. I also noticed his left arm was under the counter while his right arm was propping up his chin, his pointer finger curled against his lips.

“Hey, Nic,” I said, my voice light as I twisted the cap off the juice bottle with a crisp crack. “Is my workout bothering you?”

He stiffened, his body locking up as if I’d just caught him in the middle of something incriminating. “No,” he said quickly, his voice unusually tight. “It’s fine. Keep going.”

I raised an eyebrow, taking a long sip of the juice as I watched him. He still wasn’t looking at me, his focus seemingly glued to the script in front of him, but he didn’t even have a pencil in his hand anymore, the pencil laying flat some inches away as if forgotten.

“Are you sure?” I asked, the tiniest bit amused at his behavior.

“It’s fine,” he replied a little too fast, his voice clipped. He shifted on the stool, his left arm pulling slightly closer to his body.

I lingered for a moment longer, watching the subtle tremor in his shoulders and the way his right hand moved to grip the edge of the counter. It was obvious he didn’t want me to see what he was doing.

“Alright,” I said with a shrug, “Let me know if I’m being too loud.”

I rounded the counter again, noticing from the corner of my eye Nicholas shifting his body away from me another time as I passed by to make my way back to the living room.

I didn’t sit down right away, instead taking my time to stretch dramatically, letting out a long exhale as I reached for my toes, glancing periodically over to Nicholas. Now that he had shifted from his previous position, I could catch his reflection from the framed artwork hung on the wall perpendicular to him, and it gave me a full view of what he was doing.

Nicholas’s left arm was indeed beneath the counter, moving with a slow, deliberate rhythm that told me everything I needed to know.

He was helping himself.

His head was tilted slightly forward as if he were trying to focus on the script, his jaw tight, and his eyes were closed — completely lost in the moment. His right hand gripped the edge of the counter, his knuckles white, as though grounding himself in reality, and he was being very mindful of keeping his noises to himself.

I froze mid-stretch, my fingertips grazing my toes as I processed what I was seeing. Heat rushed to my face and neck, a mix of shock and complete amusement. He had no idea I could see him — no idea that his every movement was perfectly reflected in the glossy surface of the artwork.

The realization sent a jolt of excitement through me. The idea of Nicholas pleasuring himself while listening to me grunt and huff was like a spark to my flame, and I intended to add more fuel.

Straightening from my stretch, I took a moment to steady my breathing and hide the growing smirk tugging at the corners of my mouth. If Nicholas wanted to keep up his little secret act, I’d give him something to really work with.

Dropping back down to the floor, I positioned myself for a new set of planks, but this time, I exaggerated every movement, letting my body shift slowly as I adjusted my form. “Alright,” I muttered, just loud enough to carry over the sound of the rain outside.

As I held the plank, I let out a low groan, my voice breathy and drawn out. “God, that felt so good,” I said, my words broken by strained exhales.

From the corner of my eye, I could see his reflection in the artwork. Nicholas’s hand paused for the briefest moment before resuming its rhythm, a little quicker this time. His shoulders hunched slightly, his body shifting as if he were trying to control himself.

Biting back a grin, I moved into shoulder taps, each motion accompanied by a soft grunt. “One… two… three…” I counted aloud, my voice deliberately low and husky.

Nicholas’s head dipped lower, his jaw clenching tighter as his hand moved beneath the counter.

“Is my counting bothering you, Nic?” I called out between breaths, my tone innocent but teasing as I watched him through the reflection.

His head snapped up, and for a second, I thought he might stop altogether. But he quickly recovered, clearing his throat before replying, “No, I’m fine. Keep going.” His voice was rough, strained, and completely unconvincing.

I tilted my head, feigning innocence. “You sure?”

His jaw tightened, and he dropped his head back down, his eyes fluttering shut as he continued to stroke himself. “I’m sure,” he muttered. “Just… focus on your workout.”

“Ok,” I replied lightly, smiling to myself and dropping my hips to the floor as I transitioned into a set of cobra stretches. My back arched as I pushed up onto my hands, letting out a loud groan as I tilted my head back.

Nicholas’s breathing hitched audibly, and I couldn’t resist glancing at his reflection again. His movements had picked up just the tiniest bit of speed, as if he were afraid going any faster might have me catch on. His other hand, though, gripped the counter so tightly I thought it might leave marks.

Pushing back onto my knees, I transitioned into a child’s pose, my arms reaching out in front of me as I let my hips sink low, making sure I let out a soft moan. I tilted my head just enough to glance at the reflection, catching the way Nicholas’s head dipped even lower, his movements more frantic now.

My lips curled into a smirk as I pulled myself up from the floor and removed my earbud, tossing it onto the couch so it could land without making a sound. Keeping my steps light so as to not warn him, I slowly made my way over to Nicholas, inching my way closer and closer.

When I was close enough to feel the heat radiating from him, I paused, watching as Nicholas continued, completely unaware of my presence. His head was still bowed, his breathing shallow and uneven, his left hand continuing to stroke himself under the counter. I bit my lip, the smirk on my face growing as I leaned forward, positioning myself just behind him.

I stayed there for a moment, hovering, my own breath steady and quiet, while he was too lost in his own world to notice. Then, as quietly as possible, I leaned in until my lips were just inches from his ear, waiting a few beats before letting out a soft moan.

Nicholas froze, his entire body locking up as his hand stopped mid-motion. His head snapped up, his eyes wide with shock, and I could see the flush spreading rapidly up his neck and cheeks. He started to pull his hand away, stammering something incoherent, but I was faster.

I reached down, my hand sliding beneath the counter to replace his. His sharp inhale echoed in the quiet room, and I could feel the tension in his body as I wrapped my fingers around his hard length.

“Don’t stop on my account,” I murmured, my lips brushing against his ear as I began to move my hand in slow, deliberate strokes. With my free hand, I brushed my fingers through Nicholas’s hair, clutching it in a fist and lightly pulling his head back toward me.

Nicholas’s head fell back against my shoulder, letting out a low, guttural sound as his mouth fell open and his chest rose and fell with labored breaths. His hand, now free, gripped the edge of the counter again, his knuckles whitening as he held on for dear life.

“Did the sounds I was making turn you on, huh?” I teased, my voice a soft purr in his ear as my hand continued its slow, torturous rhythm.

Nicholas groaned in response, his voice ragged and desperate. “Mm-hmm,” he muttered, nodding as his breathing grew heavier. His free hand slid up to cover his face, his embarrassment palpable even as his body betrayed his need. But I made sure to pull his hand away, wanting to see his beautiful face.

“Don’t hide from me,” I whispered, tightening my grip on his wrist to keep his hand away from his face. “You wanted me to catch you, didn’t you? Isn’t this what you wanted?” I teased, increasing the pressure of my hand just enough to make him gasp.

Nicholas let out a shaky breath as his body gave into my touch. His chest rose and fell erratically, and he whimpered softly at the teasing in my voice.

“Yes,” he finally admitted, his voice barely a whisper. His hips bucked slightly into my hand, and he let out a needy moan, his restraint crumbling. “Please… don’t stop,” he begged, his voice trembling.

Nicholas’s desperation was intoxicating, and I couldn’t help but savor the way he melted under my touch. His vulnerability was rare, and seeing him this undone because of me was exhilarating. I let out a quiet moan into his ear, mimicking the sounds I was making while working out.

“Such a good boy,” I murmured against his ear, letting my lips brush against the shell of it. My hand continued its slow, steady rhythm, deliberately teasing him. His hips jerked, seeking more friction, but I tightened my grip slightly, controlling the pace.

“Please,” he whispered again, his voice cracking with need. “I need…”

I chuckled softly, my breath warm against his skin. “Need more…?” I asked, my tone dripping with playful cruelty.

Nicholas whimpered, his hand clutching at the counter like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. “More of you,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “Please… I can’t… I need you.”

His admission sent a shiver down my spine. I kissed the sensitive spot just below his ear, drawing a shaky breath from him. “You sound so pretty when you beg,” I whispered, my hand picking up its pace ever so slightly.

His entire body shuddered, and he turned his head to try to capture my lips with his own, but I pulled back just enough to keep him from reaching me. “Uh-uh, you’ve been bad, Nic,” I teased, my voice a low purr.

Nicholas let out a frustrated groan, his head dropping back against my shoulder again. His chest rose and fell with each shallow breath, his desperation spilling over in the way his fingers gripped the counter.

“Please,” he murmured, his voice trembling and raw. “Please, I’ll be good. I just… I need you.”

I smirked, savoring the way he unraveled beneath me. “Oh, I know you’ll be good,” I replied, my voice laced with mock sweetness. My hand slowed its pace just slightly, enough to make him whimper in protest, his hips shifting to chase the friction. “Tell me how much you want it,” I demanded, tightening my grip ever so slightly. “I want to hear it, Nic.”

He let out a shaky breath, his head tilting back to rest on my shoulder as he turned to look at me, his eyes glassy and pleading. “I need you so fucking bad,” he admitted, his voice rough with vulnerability.

His words sent a jolt of satisfaction through me. I leaned down, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Good,” I murmured, pulling back just enough to see the way his lips parted, his eyes closing briefly as if savoring the moment.

“You’re so perfect like this,” I said softly, my free hand sliding up to brush through his hair again, tugging gently at the strands. “So needy. So honest.”

Nicholas let out a low moan, his body trembling under my touch. “I’ll do anything,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Anything you want. Just don’t stop.”

I chuckled, the sound low and teasing as I tilted his head back further, exposing the vulnerable line of his throat. “You’re mine,” I murmured, pressing my lips against his skin, my hand resuming its deliberate pace. “Aren’t you?”

“Yes,” he breathed, his voice cracking under the weight of his need. “All yours.”

Hearing those words fall from his lips made my heart race. I pressed a kiss just below his ear, my teeth grazing the sensitive skin. “Good boy,” I whispered, my tone both soft and commanding.

Nicholas let out a ragged moan, his body arching into the back of the stool as he surrendered completely to me. Every sound, every movement he made was for me, and I relished every second of it.

“I—” His voice cracked, his body trembling as he struggled to form coherent thoughts. “I need… I need to—please, just let me…”

I chuckled softly, tightening my grip for a moment to make him gasp. “You’re going to make a mess, aren’t you?” I teased, brushing my lips against his ear.

Nicholas let out a broken moan, his head falling back against my shoulder. “Yes,” he admitted, his voice trembling with need. “I can’t—please, I can’t hold it…”

I smirked, my hand picking up its pace just enough to push him closer to the edge. “Go ahead,” I whispered, my voice a low purr.

His entire body tensed, his hips jerking against my hand as he let out a strangled moan. His eyes squeezed shut, his breath hitching as he finally gave in. The tension in his body snapped, and a low, guttural sound escaped him as he spilled over, the warm evidence of his release landing on the script spread out on the counter.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was the steady rhythm of the rain against the windows and Nicholas’s ragged breathing as he slumped backward, his head resting against my shoulder as his lips parted.

I pressed a gentle kiss to his temple, letting my hand linger on his waist as my other hand reached to brush my fingertip against the white ropes that landed all over the counter. I held his gaze as I brought my fingertip to my lips, letting the taste linger on my tongue. A slow, deliberate smile spread across my face as I tilted my head slightly, savoring both the flavor and the effect it had on Nicholas.

Quickly brushing my fingers through his hair, I softly asked, “How about you clean up your mess while I finish my workout, hmm?”

Nicholas let out a weak laugh, his cheeks still flushed as he tilted his head to look at me. “You really know how to humble a man,” he murmured, his voice hoarse but laced with affection.

I leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to his lips, tasting the lingering warmth of his breath. “And you really know how to make a workout interesting,” I teased, pulling back.

Nicholas groaned softly, running a hand through his tousled hair as he sat up straighter on the stool. “I’ll clean it up,” he muttered, reaching for a nearby paper towel with a sheepish grin.

Nicholas moved with a quiet efficiency, his usual confidence tinged with an endearing embarrassment. As I settled back into my workout, I couldn’t help but steal glances at him from the corner of my eye. His shoulders were still a little tense, his cheeks still faintly pink as he wiped the counter clean with meticulous care. He avoided looking at me directly, though I could see the hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

When he finally finished cleaning up, Nicholas tossed the used paper towel into the trash with a dramatic sigh of relief. Turning to lean against the counter, he folded his arms over his chest, his eyes locking onto me with a playful intensity. “You know I’m going to get you back for this, right?”

As I settled into my next stretch, I smirked up at him, “I hope you do.”

#nicholas alexander chavez #nicholas alexander chavez x reader #nicholas chavez #nicholas chavez x fem!reader #father charlie mayhew #nicholas alexander chavez rpf #nicholas alexander chavez imagine #nicholas alexander chavez fanfic #nicholas alexander chavez fic #nicholas chavez smut #nicholas chavez x reader #fic-o-meter

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nottswitch · 1 month ago

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— if you’ve been nice, you get…

─────────────── 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐞𝐬. ──

summary: winter begins, and so do the winter blues. your boyfriend helps you through the melancholy in the best way possible.

pairing: theo nott x reader

cw: 18+ smut, established relationship, oral (f receiving), body worship, nipple play, praise, italian pet names

wc: 2k

a/n: the first installment of my christmas celebration from the nice list. hope you will enjoy and stick to the end of it <3

navigation ; masterlist ; theo m.list ; kinkmas 2024

────────────────────────

The weather changed immediately, as if a light switch had been flipped on the night between November 30th and December 1st. You went to sleep to the sound of rain rattling against the surface of the Black Lake behind the window of the Slytherin dorm; you woke up to the sight of a thin layer of ice and snow covering its glassy surface. Winter came seamlessly, unnoticed yet so impactful on everyone around – someone immediately got a headache, the others got excited at the prospect of having fun in the snow rather soon. You? You got a bad case of winter blues.

It happened pretty much every winter – as soon as the page of the calendar turned, your mood went down, down, down, until it was coming out of the other side of the planet Earth and plummeting into space. This year was no different – ever since early morning you just couldn’t sleep. Tossing and turning in bed didn’t help, so, despite it being the weekend and a perfect opportunity to sleep in, you sat up, letting out a quiet sigh and looking down at your boyfriend.

Theo was blissfully unaware of your inner turmoil, his eyes closed, his arm loosely draped around your waist and now fallen onto your lap thanks to your sitting position. His soft breathing was the only sound filling the otherwise silent space of the dorm. Not a single feature out of place – how could he remain so perfect even while being completely knocked out?

Reluctantly, you grabbed Theo’s wrist with a touch as gentle as a cloud of cotton, pulling his arm off your lap and onto the bed. In a moment, your feet were already on the floor, sliding into fuzzy brown slippers that instantly warmed up your freezing toes. The soft comforter covering your legs was now wrapped around your shoulders as you padded to the window, climbing onto the windowsill and tucking your knees under your chin.

You sat there for a while, staring into the dark waters of the lake that seemed to still, as if the very depths of it were frozen in anticipation of winter. You didn’t hear Theo stirring in the bed, a low, quiet whimper escaping him when his hand felt the cool silken sheets instead of your body’s warmth. He blinked, chasing away the sleep, and looked over his shoulder, noticing your bundled form perched up at the window. Immediately, a small frown tugged at his forehead, and he was up in an instant, running a hand through his messy bed curls as he walked up to where you were sitting.

"Can’t sleep?" he asked quietly, wrapping an arm around your middle while the other one came to rest on your blanket-covered thigh.

You nodded, turning your head to give him a small, weak smile. "Just the weather." You glanced towards the window, where the lake was unusually quiet, devoid of any life, any creatures that would normally swim by.

Theo looked up, noticing the change in the atmosphere, and hummed in understanding, returning his gaze to your face. He placed his chin on your shoulder, pressing a soft kiss to your temple in hopes of making you smile some more, his hand giving your thigh gentle caresses. You leaned into him, straightening your legs along the windowsill, which gave Theo more access. It also gave him a foolproof idea about how to make your mood better – he didn’t like seeing you upset, even if the reason was nothing more than the cold gloom outside.

His hands slowly traveled up, grabbing the edges of the blanket and opening them up just a tiny bit to let your sleeping sweater show. You shivered as the chilly air inside the dorm brushed against your bare collarbones, but Theo quickly rectified the situation by nuzzling his face into your neck to warm it up with his breath. The shiver he gave you was much more pleasant than the one from before, goosebumps making the small hairs on the nape of your neck stand up. Theo started placing carefully dry kisses on your skin while his strong hands curled around your hips, turning your body around.

Your legs hung off the windowsill for a moment before instinctively wrapping around his waist. The warmth was now provided by the blanket still resting snugly on your shoulders and Theo’s body pressing up against your front. Sandwiched in the comfort of his presence and the softness of the fabric, you couldn’t help a quiet gasp leaving your mouth as you felt heat starting to pool between your legs. Theo quickly caught your gasp with his lips, the kiss short but enough to render you breathless for a few seconds. His hands were roaming your torso, slipping under the sweater, though without the addition of any type of discomfort – his touch was a pleasant fever, enveloping you in a blanket of its own.

"Let me take care of you, yeah?" Theo murmured, waiting for your nod before proceeding with his plan. Having received it, he kissed you once more, tracing a path from your lips down to your jawline and neck again. His hands slowly lifted up your sweater, his body not letting the chill get to you, as his fingers found the mounds of your breasts. Your shaky breath was the desired reaction, your nipples already stiff and perked up from the ever-growing arousal coursing through your form. Kneading your soft flesh, Theo bent down, his lips attaching to your left nipple, taking it into the wet warmth of his mouth. His tongue swirled a circle around it, your small moan encouraging him to go further. His right hand worked on your other breast as he gently sucked on the bud, a contrast to the roughness that often accompanied his actions.

When his lips moved to your right nipple, the grip of your hand on the windowsill tightened. Every single flick of his tongue was echoing right in your core, tingles running down and settling between your thighs. You pulled him closer, even though the space between you was already nonexistent, your fingers weaving into the curly crown on his head. Theo felt the pull deep in his gut, the scratch of your nails against his sensitive scalp causing him to moan against your skin. The need to taste you and simultaneously make you feel better was an ache he desperately craved to soothe. With one last flat lick at your nipple he started slowly crouching down, showering your stomach and sides with languid kisses, unwilling to let a single inch of you be left unattended and devoid of his love.

"So beautiful, amore… So perfect,” he whispered in between kisses, nuzzling his nose against you in an attempt to take in every molecule of your familiar scent. He made his way down, his knees finally landing on the wooden floor with a quiet thud.

Theo’s hands hooked under your thighs to pull them over his shoulders. He tugged you closer to the edge of the windowsill, making you slump against the glass, the coldness of it muffled by the blanket. With his help, you lifted up your hips, helping him slide off you pajama pants. He dropped them to the floor, his eyes immediately landing on your already glistening pussy. Looking down, you could see the undeniable hunger in his gaze, the only thing stopping him from devouring you on the spot being his desire to make this experience as soothing for you as possible. Barely holding back, Theo started placing kisses on your inner thighs, the soft skin heating up under the steady puffs of his breath. His own need was twitching between his legs, the fabric of his sweatpants straining around his rapidly hardening cock. One of his hands momentarily dipped down, tugging them down to free his erection; he wasn’t planning to focus on his pleasure, only wanting to relieve the pressure so that you would be the one to have the entirety of his attention.

When his mouth finally reached the place aching for it, you held your breath, the air coming out of you in a ragged exhale. Theo’s eyes briefly drifted up, his eyelashes doing nothing to hide the flame of desire mixed with tenderness at the sight of your parted lips and slightly widened eyes. A second later, he was already latched onto your center, his tongue drawing a flat line against your folds. The muscles of your thighs clenched at the contact, but your entire body seemed to relax just a moment later, as Theo started slowly lapping up and down. His hands rested delicately on your thighs, his thumbs rubbing small circles into the bare skin, the softness of it interrupted by the occasional wave of goosebumps rising up.

He was taking his time with you, as much as his already leaking cock was begging him to rush from below. Theo’s tongue started making his way to your slit, spreading the folds open by flicking from side to side. A low, quiet moan escaped your lips when he reached your clit, lingering there for a second before continuing to tease the area just below. That second was enough for your pussy to clench in anticipation of what was to come. Theo smirked faintly against you, relishing your reaction to his touch before finally swirling his tongue around your clit. Another quiet moan stuttered into a whimper on your lips, but it was strangely enough for him. Usually, Theo would bask in the knowledge that he could easily make you scream, but the sullen silence of the winter morning played its trick on him as well. He thought it comforting, to be able to have you so close he could feel each and every uneven breath you took, hear the smallest mewls barely breaking through the stillness of the atmosphere inside the dorm.

Theo’s mouth continued its deliberate work, switching between his tongue drawing shapes and his lips sucking and kneading at the bundle of nerves, each of them bare and responsive. His hands were skimming your thighs, soothing the pleasant ache his mouth was burning into your body. At the same time, his hips started moving subtly, rocking back and forth, as if trying to search for friction his hard member desperately needed. Theo didn’t let it get to his head, though, focused entirely on chasing your blues away.

"You taste so damn sweet, tesoro," he mumbled into your core, his voice muffled by your wetness. "So sweet…"

Your hand found its way into his hair, without any added pressure – you just needed something to hold on to as you felt your peak slowly creeping up, and the edge of the windowsill seemed to do a poor job. Theo hummed, sending vibrations up your body, his cock throbbing harder at the feeling of your fingers threading through his curls. He allowed himself to pick up the pace, the sounds of his loving feast mixing with your soft, needy whimpers.

Your orgasm reached you suddenly, built up from minutes and minutes Theo spent on his knees for you. It wasn’t the usual mind-blowing craze you were used to feeling with him, though not meaning it was any less satisfying – it felt like warmth consuming you from the inside, coursing through your entire body and coming out of your mouth with his name and a moan so sweet it could rival cotton candy drizzled with chocolate. Theo could barely hold back, lapping up your release, careful not to let a single drop go to waste. As he felt your body calming down, he slowly stood up, tracing his path up with his tongue sliding along your skin. The journey ended at your lips, your taste an intoxicating brew with the familiar taste of his mouth.

Gathering yourself back into one piece, you glanced down, where Theo’s cock was still as eager as before. You smiled, shifting your gaze back to his face, noticing how he tried to keep the pleading out of his expression, yet his eyes betrayed the need for you to reciprocate.

"Let me take care of you, yeah?" you murmured, mirroring his own words he said to you earlier. The relief washing over his features was obvious, turning your smile into a smirk as you pushed yourself off the windowsill. Theo’s own winter blues were about to be rendered nonexistent.

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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 2 months ago

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mornings with suguru feel like a pipe dream.

there’s something honeyed in the air, bleeding into the scent of freshly brewed espresso, fried eggs resting on the stove, newly bought flowers on the windowsill — apricot nectar heavy on your tongue, dripping down your lip in a sticky stream. his thumb reaches over to wipe it away before you can even try.

suguru is sitting right in front of you, looking like what dreams are made of. eyes a little bleary, mind still sinking into the reality of morning, hair put up into a messy bun; raven strands tickling his forehead and framing his eyes, warm and fond, a nice mocha brown. he’s wearing a white button-up, the scent of laundry detergent seeping into the fabric. he’s smiling, and you’re so in love you can barely breathe.

he always wakes up before you. always has breakfast prepared, or half-done, by the time you stumble into the kitchen on unsteady feet — you love clinging to his back while he cooks. but you love this even more.

outside the frail glass of your window, the world is subdued by the changing seasons. autumn is in full bloom, the sky enveloped by wet, molten clouds, a light layer of mist; on the ground are a row of golden trees. it’s a cozy, indoor kind of morning, the kind that makes your veins feel all sleepy, heart all tender, as if melted down by the gentle rain — the kind that has you sipping from your cup, rubbing your eyes, watching your fiancé from across the kitchen table.

there’s nectar on your tongue, espresso behind your teeth, and you wish you could open your mouth and speak. but you’re too tired, still far too groggy — far too sentimental. you can scarcely breathe. you can only sit there, and silently think: i could never love anyone like you. could never even come close.

do you have any idea what i’d do for you?

you’re sure he doesn’t. sure he prefers to see himself as your protector, not the other way around — that he’s most comfortable being a caretaker, rather than someone who gets taken care of. you know how he is. it’s in everything; the cup of coffee he made for you, the shirt he draped over you last night. his own, always, as if he thinks the fabric will bring you sweet dreams. it’s in the way he holds your hand when you cross the sidewalk, the way his thumb rubs over your knuckles when you’re anxious. it’s in the rain, gentle and comforting, watering your plant-like heart.

there’s nothing you wouldn’t do for him.

nothing. absolutely nothing.

i’d drink a million cups of coffee, one after the other — i’d run out in the rain and pluck the apricots from every tree. i’d listen to that song you like. i’d listen to it until my eardrums bleed, and still wouldn’t stop.

nothing, nothing, nothing.

he turns his head, to gaze out the window, his bangs swaying gently as he does — and your gaze gulps down the lines of his jaw, the bridge of his nose, every flutter of his lashes. he parts his lips, and murmurs something about the weather. he’s smiling, a soft curve, his eyes just barely crinkled —

and you can’t breathe.

you’re so lovely it kills me.

your chest aches with yearning. you want to reach across the table and touch him, but you’re still too immobilized by how beautiful he is, how intense this love has come to feel. how devastating it is, to have this kind of life, to know you can do nothing but savour every bit of it. you can’t stop staring, drinking in his softened features, that content look in his amber-coloured eyes — the rasp under his velvety voice. your baby, your angel, your sun.

(you want him to shine forever.)

when you look down at the table, there’s an open palm waiting for you. smooth skin, soft lines, gleaming under the dim glow of the kitchen lights.

you look up, and suguru smiles.

he doesn’t speak until you’ve lifted your hand, tangled your fingers together with his. it feels good, the skin to skin contact, the sight of your rings pressed up against one another. his thumb begins to rub gentle circles into the knots of your knuckles, just the same as always. soothing, rhythmic, a mantra you’ve learned by heart.

”something on your mind?” he asks, softly.

(everything.)

”nothing,” you answer, a quiet lull of your tongue, averting your gaze with a heat to your ears. it’s too early for him to be so gorgeous, to aim his unbridled attention in your direction. ”i just love you…”

his lashes flutter, for a moment.

then his mind catches up to your words, and he laughs — breathy and sweet, the slightest gravelly residue. squeezing your palm in his own.

”i love you too,” he croons, lips curled upwards, and you swear you could never tire of hearing him say those words. ”is someone still a little tired, hm?”

”… maybe.”

a low chuckle. he tugs at your hand, gently, bringing it to his lips; they’re warm against your skin, his hot breath seeping out, gliding across your knuckles, stopping right by your ring finger. his eyes gleam with mirth, like the golden leaves just outside your window, pressed against the glass. his voice comes out as a purr. ”do you need another cup, my love?”

his lips trails down, all the way to your wrist, catching onto your pulsepoint. you can’t help but shiver.

”or should i wake you up just like this?”

he’s smiling, and something about it seems smug. he knows exactly how weak you are. and he must think he’s flustering you, acting so suave — but that’s not quite it. when he’s tilting his head like that, he looks more like a puppy than anything, so cute you think you might just melt right through the floorboards.

through the sleepy haze of your mind, to the tips of your fingers; your brain retaliates.

you tug his hand back, bringing yours with it; all the way to your puckered lips. lazily smearing a kiss on the inside of his palm, just barely catching the hitch of his breath, the inhale his heartbeat deigns to swallow down. it makes you smile, against his skin.

(and the tips of his ears bloom with heat.)

everything i need is you. the words are silent, unspoken, only barely mouthed against his skin. i don’t need the rain or the sun. just you, only you.

when you pull away, your intertwined fingers finding their way back to the tablecloth, suguru gives you another smile. almost painfully tender.

you can’t help but feed into each other, like this. on sleepy mornings, when the words don’t come as easy, so actions are all you have. that, and loving gazes. all you can think is that you want more autumn mornings; you don’t want any of them to end before you’ve finished sipping from your cup of espresso, finished watching him from across the table. not until you’ve woken up enough to spill the words helplessly building up in the back of your throat, the butterflies stuffed in between your ribs.

until then, this morning mantra will have no choice but to continue. until then, you’ll opt to stay silent.

until then, all you can do is stare.

(and all your mind can think, is nothing, nothing, could ever measure up to this. nothing in the world.)

#geto x reader #geto x you #geto x y/n #geto suguru x reader #geto fluff #suguru geto x reader #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk fluff

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monamipencil · 3 months ago

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── 𝗠𝗥. 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗠𝗥𝗦. 𝗬𝗢𝗢𝗡 ft. jeonghan

⛧synopsis; an intrusion, a couple, a murder and a twist. — second fic of lola's spooktober

⛧ pairings; husband! jeonghan x fem! reader ⛧ genre; smut, gore, horror ⛧ w.c; 4.1k+ ⛧ warnings; hybristophilia, body worship, blood, murder/death, description of corpse, sex on the dining table lmao, HORNY fucking, unprotected sex, oral (f.receiving) creampie, allusions to cults, devil worship, etc etc. mentions of food ⛧ a/n; *clears thorat* *coughs* im so sorry for the delay lmao, i was absolutely not motivated to write. but anyways, enjoy!!

READ AT YOUR OWN CAUTION ⛧ MDNI

[ 07th October, 2024 ]

Thunder crackles, and lightning strikes. The heavy rain pitter-patters on the windows and roofs. Water flows, flooding the streets, making them inhabitable to unlucky strays. Chaos brews outside, and you observe it from within the safety of your home.

A ‘meow’ shifts your attention. You smile at the cat you rescued from the storm and rub its head. It meows again and shuffles to the living room, black fur disappearing behind the couch.

“-And everyone is requested to stay at home or take shelter till further notifications. Police’s investigation into the recent murders have been halted due to the storm. We request everyone to stay sa—”

The television cuts off and comes alive again, buzzing and glitching. You turn it off with a sigh. Except for the pitter-patter of the rain, your home is silent. The silence lays heavy on the walls and floors. You can’t seem to fill it no matter what. Your hand involuntarily touches the pendant your husband gifted you. Muttering a prayer to Him, you ask for Jeonghan's safe return to you.

[ ... ]

The gentle sizzle of the vegetables fills your ears, and you pour water into the vessel, turning down the flame.

Your newly adopted cat nuzzles between your legs, purring with content at the warmth. You smile and coo at it. But before you can adore it further, the doorbell rings.

You wipe your hands, contemplating whether or not to attend it. It couldn't be Jeonghan. You sigh and walk to the door. The black furball stays in the kitchen, observing you with its yellow eyes.

Looking through the peephole, you see someone shivering from the cold and absolutely drenched. Your hands fly to unlock the door, and the person is startled at the force you open it.

“Come in, please!” you move from his way. He nods his head with gratitude and walks in weakly.

Quickly shutting the door, you lock it. The stranger turns to see you secure the array of locks on the door. You greet him with a smile. He smiles back.

“I'm sorry for the inconvenience,” he apologizes, but you assure him and welcome him into your home. “Oh no, It's fine. I don't mind some company.”

He removes his drenched coat and hangs it on the coat hanger. While doing so, he notices another coat on it. “Is it just you at home, miss?”

“Mrs.” You correct him and reply, “Yes, my husband is out of town for business.”

He also removes his shoes and places them near the door, noticing another pair of shoes. “May I ask you why you are out in such a storm?”

“Ah, I turned up for work and my friend who was supposed to pick me didn't turn up.”

You give him an apologetic nod and gesture towards your living room. “Please make yourself at home. I'll quickly put together a warm soup for you.”

He tries to protest, but you reason with him and disappear into the kitchen. He sits on the sofa with a sigh and thanks God for helping him at the right time.

The low purr of a cat catches his attention. A black cat sits in the middle of the living room. It stares at him, and he awkwardly smiles at it and tries to distract himself. It leaves eventually.

The interior of your home mesmerizes him, reminding him of those vintage homes. The teal wallpapers and the antique decors mesh well together and create a homely look. The myriad of pictures on the wall near the kitchen intrigues him.

He walks towards it and observes each photo. He sees you in all of the frames, along with a man whom he deduces to be your husband. He sees all types of pictures, varying from road trips to studio ones.

“Is your husband a celebrity by any chance, Mrs. Yoon?” He inquires after seeing a frame with the writing, ‘Mr. and Mrs. Yoon.’ A vague feeling of familiarity brews in him the more he looks at your husband.

“Ah, no, no. He's devilishly handsome and he could be a great actor but he only does business.” You voice from within the kitchen, but his mind drains you out. He's more fixated on the pictures, unable to shake the feeling.

He doesn't say anything after that, but you don't mind the silence. Quietly humming, you put together the soup. You smile to yourself, thinking of your husband. If he had been here, he'd be behind you, arms wrapped around your waist as he peppers kisses on your neck.

Your daydream feels almost real as you feel a presence behind you. Chuckling, you shake your head and move to grab a bowl. But before you could, a voice shouts behind you.

“Did you kill him?!” The stranger yells, anger surging through his voice. Confusion strikes you, “What do you mean?”

You try to distance yourself from him and grab a knife. His hand catches your wrist harshly, and you cry out. Acting on your instincts, you fling the pot of soup at him. He yelps as the hot liquid makes contact with his skin.

With him muttering a plethora of curses, you run out of the kitchen. The cat observes the chaos, slowly wagging its tail. The stranger blindly moves to the sink and splashes water on his face to wash off the soup.

After gaining composure, he trudges out of the kitchen with a meat knife. He checks every door and room, eyes darting to all corners to find you. His skin stings and burns painfully. He winces but doesn't let it deter him.

The floor creaks beneath his foot, and he doesn't care if it alerts you. He wants you to know where he is, to be afraid of him. He wants to make you feel fear.

A smirk pulls his lips when he notices the basement door open. He stands in front of it, observing the steep set of stairs. As he descends down, a foul stench hits him, and he covers his nose.

He struggles to find the light switch and crashes into a few things. The stench is unbearable, and he cringes. After finally finding the switch, he turns it on.

Light illuminates the room, but some things are better hidden in the dark, like the dead guy tied to the wall. He can't find it in himself to scream or even utter a word. The only noise that escapes him is a gasp.

His horror intensifies when he recognizes it as his friend. “You fucking bitch! You killed him!”

But it seems that there are far graver things than his dead friend. The red pentagram etched on the ground makes his skin crawl. A turn of his head also reveals a board pinned with a map that has pictures of people pinned on several locations.

His heart stops beating when he finds his own picture on it.

A noise from the cupboard pulls him out of his trance, and he stalks to it. Yanking the door open, he finds you there, cowering in fear. You push him off you and run away from him. But there's no way out with him standing directly in front of the stairs.

He runs to you, pinning you to the wall. “You bitch!” Then, he cackles, “Aww, can't run anywhere now?” His grip tightens, and dread fills your gut. He leans in closer, “You're going to be so sorry for what you did when I gut you.”

You flinch and shut your eyes. The sound of a stab echoes through the room, but you don't feel any pain.

A heavy thud echoes through the room, followed by the sound of a body falling on the floor. Warm blood dots on your face, and some stain the cotton of your slip. You gasp and shudder, chest heaving as you struggle to breathe. Your eyes land on the injured body. Blood flows from his mouth and his chest. Three holes punctured through his chest.

You don’t need to look at him to figure out who your savior is. “Jeonghan!” you cry, throwing your arms around him. The garden fork he yields in his hands meets the floor as he hurries to take you in his embrace.

Your lips are on his instantly, kissing him with ardor. He matches your passion, both his hands on your waist, pulling you flush against him. You curl your arms around his neck, lost in the warmth of his lips. It isn’t long before his tongue prods your lips, and you’re more than happy to oblige.

His tongue glides over yours like it has countless other times. He shifts his head to gain a better angle and kisses you deeper. One of your hands uncurls to caress his face—his flawless skin, his high cheekbones, the bone of his jaw before it slides down further. You glide your hand over his shoulders, his lean biceps, and finally his crotch.

Jeonghan pulls away, out of breath and overjoyed. You mirror his grin when you find him rock-hard beneath his slacks. “Oh, how I missed seeing you kill,” you finish with a giggle.

With a playful roll to his eyes, he retorts, “it’s been barely four days since I did it.”

“And four days since I’ve seen you.” you pout, making him doe eyes at him. He melts instantly and cradles your face. “Always hungry aren’t you?”

“For you? Yes.”

“And for blood.” he adds, making you both giggle.

“Come on now, you gave me something to take care of.” With a pat on his bulge, you pull him up the stairs. Jeonghan happily follows but throws a cautious glance at the presumably dead body. He smiles, catching no sign of life in him, and trails behind you.

You strut to the dining table that adjoins the kitchen and the living room and sit on it. He grins at your place of choice, and lust taints his visage when you spread your legs, inviting him.

He stands between your thighs, taking a moment to appreciate the beauty in front of him. Little drops of blood decorate your face, but the look in your eyes entrances him. A myriad of emotions swirl beneath your irises, but he recognizes all of them, mainly lust and hunger.

His eyes dip down to the column of your neck, which he glides his forefinger over. His finger slowly ventures down and undoes the knot of your slip. He tuts, complaining about the blood on them. “That’s fine. It gives me evidence of your love.”

“I’m right here. The living proof of my love for you,” he pecks your lips and pushes the slip off you.

He pulls you to the edge of the table. His fingers ghost over the cloth of your underwear, brushing against the wet spot on them. His warm breath wafts down to your breasts when he kisses your neck and chest. “I can prove it now, if you want me to.”

A breathy moan escapes you, giving him somewhat of a ‘yes.’ With another kiss to your jugular, he pulls away and kneels down. He kisses your heat through the cotton material and smirks, eyeing the wet patch formed by your arousal. In one sly movement, he removes your hipsters. His lips are on your heat before you can process it. He kisses your little nub and gives kitten licks to your hole. His eyes dart to your eyes, mischief swirling under his dark irises. “Jeonghan! Please!”

“Please what sweetheart? You have to use your words.” You feel his smile on your core, and his warm breath wafts against it.

“Please, eat me out!”

He groans and obliges to your wishes right away. He dives right in, licking and kissing your folds. He moves above, wrapping your clit between his soft lips. He sucks on the bundle of nerves, tongue flicking at the bud softly. He makes sure to look at you the entire time he’s buried between your legs.

You relax and lay back down on the table. He spreads your legs further and licks up stripes on your sopping cunt. His tongue provides you the utmost pleasure, and moans fall from your lips freely. He switches to a slower pace as if he’s making out with your cunt.

His tongue prods your folds, licking and savoring your taste. His hand moves to spread your lips, and he places a wet, loud kiss on your clit. A gasp escapes you when his tongue slips past your hole. He slowly moves his tongue in and out while he thumbs at your clit, drawing circles.

He tones up his pace, getting faster and faster. Your legs tremble around his head as the coil in your stomach tightens. You cum the easiest whenever Jeonghan touches you after a “long time”—which is three days at the least. He seems to have some magic hidden up his sleeve to bring you the utmost pleasure possible. And, of course, all your years of marriage add to it.

The pressure on your clit builds up, causing your entire body to shudder and tremble. Your back arches, lifting off the table, but Jeonghan pushes you down, holding you firmly. And now that he has secured a tight grip on your hips, there is no escape from his tongue.

“Jeonghan!” you moan his name, hand shooting to grip his black locks. You push his head further into your cunt and move your hips in sync with his tongue. He smiles lazily between your legs, eyes holding nothing but awe and mirth.

The coil snaps, pushing you over the crescendo of pleasure. Wanton moans fill the room, and you cum on his tongue, giving him all your sweet nectar. Jeonghan licks you dry, caressing your trembling legs before he stands up.

Though you achieved your climax, the sight of your husband undoing his belt warms you up again. You sit up eagerly, hands flying to unbuckle his belt and slacks. He only chuckles, patting your head and muttering a low coo of ‘that's my girl.’

He slips off his shirt along with his slacks and boxers. It prompts you to undo your brassiere, presenting yourself bare to him. With a grin, he approaches you. You fawn at his rock-hard cock and undo your legs unconsciously.

Overwhelmed with the urge to feel him inside you, you pull him to you. He crashes his lips on yours in the process, giving you a searing kiss that sets your body aflame with desire. Your hands don't stay put, eager to roam all over his body. He does the same, hands relearning the route of your body for the nth time.

The heat of his body on yours melts your brain, knocking every thought out of you. The only thing you remember is his name and the way he makes you feel. Not the dire situation at play now or the dead body in your basement.

The brush of his fingers on your nipples, the poke of his cock against your inner thigh, the sensation of your sweltering skin making contact with his, the glide of his tongue on yours—all of it pushes you over the edge, driving you insane. Your arousal drips down your core, and it throbs with desire.

“Hannie,” you whine his name, your desire burning with a rage only he can control. “Fuck me.”

“As you wish, dollface.”

His cock slips past your entrance with ease, filling you up in an instant. You hook your legs behind him, your foot digging into his back to push him in further. Your gummy walls envelop him in a warm hug that makes him dizzy.

You moan in unison when he bottoms out, in bliss with how perfectly he fills you. Throwing your arms around his neck, you prompt him to move. The first thrust is easy, given how your cunt drips down with arousal. It fills you with a pleasure that makes your body tremble.

He sets his pace, fucking you with eagerness. Each slap of his balls against your ass makes your eyes roll to the back of your head, and you cling to him for dear life. Sinful moans rumble from your throat with each snap of his hips.

His lips find yours again, but this time the kiss is sloppy and messy, with moans passed between your tongues and erratic snap of his hips. You meet his hips with the same vigor. You fuck him with an animalistic desire in your veins, and he gives you back just the same.

“Ah—fuck! God, I love fucking after we kill.” you yelp between your moans. He groans, replying with a “fuck, yes.”

Jeonghan grips your hips firmly, driving his cock in and out of you with a vigorous pace that numbs your nerves. Your nails dig into his back, and you scratch his delicate skin, leaving red marks for him to admire. “Ah, ah, ah, ah!” you moan, unable to control your pleasure. The table squeaks in response to the vigor of his hips. You press your tits against his chest, desperate to feel more of his warmth.

You look down to where your body meets him. The sight of his cock disappearing into your cunt with a wet squelch each time makes you moan. A creamy ring forms at the base of his cock, and some of your arousal drips down to the table.

Jeonghan shifts one of his hands to harshly grip the back of your head, forcing you to look up at him. A grin decorates his face at the hazy look in your eyes. He keeps up his pace while moving his other hand to squeeze your mouth open. You push your tongue out eagerly, waiting for him to spit in your mouth. He does, and you happily taste him before swallowing it.

“Good girl,” he kisses your forehead, sliding his hand down to wrap around your throat. He grips your throat, squeezing it lightly. A chuckle erupts from his chest, watching your eyes roll back. He kisses your forehead again, only for him to deliver light slaps to your cheeks. Warmth pools in his chest when you whine and push yourself closer to him.

“Fuck, I love it when you go dumb on my cock.” He whispers into your ear, tickling you with his breath. His cock kisses your sweet spot, and you feel him twitching inside you.

You clench around him on purpose. He groans a low curse, and his movements turn erratic. You continue to do so till he eventually stops, whining a string of curses. “Stop it. Stop doing that,”

Obliging to his wishes, you observe him as he takes a few seconds to compose himself. His eyelids flutter, and his lips fall apart as he tries to regain control. A knowing smirk graces your lips, knowing the effect you have on him.

“Brat,” you only giggle in response, which is cut short when he thrusts with a force that has you shuddering. His tip kisses your cervix, sending shudders of pleasure through your body. Tears prick your waterline and eventually cascade down your cheek as you cry out his name.

All it takes is one more thrust to push you over the crescendo again. This time, it's more intense and mind-numbing. You moan his name over and over again, like a prayer for salvation. He follows suit and fills his load inside you, shuddering the same as you.

His hands wrap around you tightly and, yours around him. Leaning your head against his shoulders, you catch your breath and try to control the shivers through your body. His warm breath on your back calms you, and so do his feather-light touches.

Your eyelids feel heavy as slumber descends upon you. And, before you know it, you fall asleep in his arms.

[ … ]

“We have to let the others know about this,” Jeonghan informs, stirring his cup of tea with a spoon. You nod wordlessly, sipping your own cup of tea.

Slumber hasn't left you completely, and the tiredness weighs down on your bones. Your eyes slowly close shut again, and you lean back on the loveseat. Jeonghan sighs to himself, setting his cup down on the coffee table. He takes away yours before you can spill it on yourself.

Your soft groans make his heart flutter, and you stir awake again. The first thing you see is your husband sitting on the floor as he massages your legs.

“Poor thing, you must've had a hard time.” The pout on his lips makes you smile. “Not really,” you chirp, feeling more energetic as the seconds pass.

“Oh really?” he muses, and you hum. He shakes his head, worry marring his features. “What if I didn't get here on time? Why did you even allow him in?”

“I was bored.” To which he glares at you, a tired sigh falling from his lips.

“And, He visited.”

Jeonghan stops massaging your legs and looks up at you, confused. You see the tinge of fear in the clench of his jaw and the hold of his breath. You point to the black cat that has made itself home despite all the chaos that went down a few hours ago.

He visibly calms down and bows his head at the cat meows in return. He looks back at your smiling figure, and it strikes him. “Right, I asked for your safety to Him.”

“He saw our pictures,” your words barely audible as you look at the big wall covered with all your pictures with him. A soft smile graces your lips when your eyes fall on your wedding picture. 14th October, 1949.

Then you cackle, recalling the realization and terror on that guy's face. “Oh, you should've seen his face.” Jeonghan laughs along with you and resumes his ministrations on your legs. You relax on the cushion and let out a blissful sigh.

He sighs and zeroes in on the blood spots on your vintage slip. One of his many gifts to you, and it's something you've treasured for over seven decades.

“Ugh, it's fine. You can always buy me a new one.” You say, and a smirk adorns your lips when your eyes fall on the Johnny Cash vinyl on the shelf. You stand and walk towards it, pulling it out gently.

You flash your husband a grin, and he mirrors your visage. Placing the vinyl on the platter of the vinyl player, you move the tonearms and set it on the vinyl.

The world tunes into a buzzing background as you dance with him. His hands are gentle on you, holding you delicately. The setting is all a little too familiar to him, and before he knows it, he takes a trip down memory lane.

But the only one he can remember is the time when he almost lost you to death. The image of your bed-stricken figure flashes through his mind. He holds you a little closer.

In his life plan, Jeonghan never even imagined that you'd be diagnosed with cancer fifteen years into your marriage. Nothing held out, and it was hard to be optimistic with his wife on the lifeline.

And as he was holding your pained body in his arms, he cried and cried. What kind of god would allow this? Why should you be taken away? He felt life slowly slip out of you, and he couldn’t stop it.

They say to never pray to the gods that answer at night, but that’s all he could do. Turning his back on religion and righteousness. His love for you blinded all reason, and he yearned to be in your embrace once again. He could never live without you—what he feels is an immortal desire, lust, love. Even if he is to die, the ground around him will flourish and sprout your favorite flowers—an amaranthine yearning.

So he did it. He prayed and prayed, and when He finally answered, he vowed to do anything and everything that He wished for. Immortality for the curse of bloodied hands. He cringed at the sight of blood staining his skin, but as your bloodied hand intertwined with his, all felt right and in place.

His hands take purchase on your hips, holding you as you sway to the gentle hum of the music. You smile at him and lean on his shoulders, content in his embrace. He mirrors your smile and kisses your forehead.

What a blessing it is to be here with you? To gently sway to some music in the living room of your home with your blood-stained slips and his stained soul?

He kisses you, and you kiss him back. You bite his lips just enough to draw blood. A thousand ways to bleed, but you are his favorite.

⛧spooktober taglist !

@verogonewild @blancflms @chromequette @junniepookiedookie @kyeomiis

@jeonghnie @scoupsieee @xuminghaes @ohmygodwhyareallusernamestaken @ririesna

@monstacheol @hoshiskimchi @miyx-amour @woozidanisms @choco-scoups

@cookiearmy @shadowyjellyfishfest @wonwoossecret @strxwberry-skiess @iamawkwardandshy

@merakilles @vitaminkyeom @okiedokrie @armycarat2612 @gyuguys

@idubiluranghae @goodforgyu @jungkooknippleanddicksucker @gyubakeries @nonuify

@aaniag @4cheezflatbred

#lola's spooktober ⛧#jeonghan smut #svthub #svt smut #seventeen smut #jeonghan fluff #yoon jeonghan #seventeen #jeonghan drabbles #jeonghan hard hours

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crystallinestars · 11 months ago

Text

If They Were Your Pet Cat

Happy Cat Day (22.02)! I was inspired to write a few headcanons about what the boys would be like as cats.

I wanted to include a few more boys, but my brain ran out of juice.

Parts 2 and 3 with Honkai Star Rail boys here and here.

Contains: Kaveh, Alhaitham, Itto, Scaramouche, Venti, and Dainsleif.

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Kaveh:

🍷 Is a Siberian breed.

🍷 When you first brought him home, Kaveh took a while to warm up to you. He was wary of your intentions and reluctant to let you touch him. With some patience and gentleness, you eventually melted the golden feline’s heart, and he became inseparable from you. Wherever you go in the house, he follows, or at the very least checks on you to know where you are.

🍷 Kaveh is very sensitive to your emotional state. If you’re feeling depressed, he likes to lay on your chest and purr until you feel better. When you cry, he’s always by your side, rubbing his cheeks against you and licking at your face as if trying to wipe them away. He doesn’t leave your side until he’s sure you’re alright.

🍷 Due to your work/school, Kaveh is used to you coming and going at certain times as a part of your daily routine. However, if you come home later than usual, expect to have a grumpy cat on your hands. He will angrily meow at you non-stop and flick his tail in annoyance. He doesn’t like being alone, and he lets you have a piece of his mind if you leave him alone for long periods of time. He’ll sulk unless you coax him with some treats and gentle pats. Spending some time grooming or playing with him usually calms him down afterward.

🍷 Is very good with having guests over. Kaveh is a sociable cat and always greets anyone that comes through the door and gives them a sniff to learn who they are. He’s open to being petted by others but prefers to sit on your lap as opposed to your friends or family.

🍷 He’s a gorgeous cat but his coat is high maintenance. Because it’s so thick and long, he doesn’t tolerate the heat well. He requires regular brushing and grooming to keep his coat healthy. It’s a good thing he enjoys being petted because it makes grooming much easier. He tends to lean into your touch or the hairbrush when you stroke his body and purrs a lot throughout the entire process. He loves being pampered.

🍷 Kaveh likes to sleep on your bed, pressed up against you or lying on your chest. You got him a cat bed, but Kaveh still prefers to sleep right next to you in your bed.

🍷 He’s generally very affectionate. He both loves to give you affection and receive it. You’re not sure how well Kaveh understands what you say, but he always looks very smug whenever you praise him and give him scritches. He’ll headbutt you, asking for more head pats and affection.

🍷 You often find him staring out the window with rapture. You’re not sure what captivates his attention so much—maybe the sunset, the rainbow after the rain, or perhaps the flowers that bloom right outside your window. He’s also strangely attracted to lightning. Rather than get scared and hide, he sits by the window and stares out at the stormy skies.

Alhaitham:

🎧 Is a Russian blue.

🎧 Alhaitham is the quietest cat you’ve ever met. Hearing him meow or make any kind of vocal sound is rare. He’s also very introverted and prefers to spend time alone, hidden in some cozy nook or cranny.

🎧 He’s also very stubborn and smart. If you want to put a silly little cat costume on him for laughs, you can forget it because Alhaitham will give you the slip every time without fail. Rather than try to chase and play hide-and-seek with him, it’s much easier to abandon the idea altogether. If he doesn’t want something done to him, you won’t be able to force him.

🎧 As mentioned earlier, he’s a very smart cat. Alhaitham figured out how to open doors on his own, and is even able to open the fridge all by himself. It’s a bit annoying because he sometimes uses his abilities to sneak a tasty little something from the fridge, but his intelligence is truly a marvel. When you speak to him, Alhaitham’s expressions and body language change in response to your words, almost as if he understands exactly what you’re saying and is reacting to it.

🎧 Most of your friends and family have only caught glimpses of him when they visit. That’s because Alhaitham dislikes having guests over, and tends to hide from them. He only comes out once they leave.

🎧 He’s not a social cat in general and likes to keep his distance even from you. He’s not a lap cat, and will jump off and leave if you try to force him to lay on your lap. When he does feel like being social, Alhaitham will lay beside you if you’re reading a book, or perch on your shoulder to observe what you’re doing.

🎧 Is a very lazy cat, so you frequently find him taking naps while lying in a warm spot of sunshine. If you disturb his nap by attempting to pet or poke him, he gives you a displeased look and flicks his tail in annoyance. He’s very grumpy when his sleep is ruined.

🎧 Alhaitham never listens to strangers but does listen to you. If you call him over, he will come to you. He also tolerates your touch, and lets you squeeze and pet him without biting or scratching you. He looks unhappy about it, but lets you do as you please. However, if you ruin his attempts to leave once he’s had enough of your affection, he will take his revenge. That cup that’s sitting near the edge of the table? Yeah, he’s gonna push that off and stare at you without remorse while it crashes to the ground.

Itto:

🐂 A Maine Coon.

🐂 Itto is not meant for a house cat lifestyle. Despite your best attempts to keep him indoors, the rascal always manages to slip out somehow and venture into the great outdoors. His yearning to explore the greater world is too strong for you to contain, so you have to make peace with the fact he’ll spend most of his time roaming outside. On the bright side, Itto always comes home to you without fail, looking happy to see you and bask in your affection again.

🐂 He made friends with some stray cats in the area, so you have a small group of them regularly come to your porch and meow until you give them some food. It’s a bit costly to feed so many mouths, but watching the cats play together or rub against your legs while purring affectionately convinces you it’s worth it.

🐂 Since Itto spends so much time outside, he tends to come home dirty and matted. He needs to be bathed to stay clean, but good luck getting him in the bath. He screams and yowls bloody murder every time you try to wash him, to the point that your neighbors knock on your door to ask what’s going on. Thankfully, they grow accustomed to Itto’s bathtime opera and stop pestering you about it.

🐂 Brushing Itto’s fur also proves a challenge because he just can’t sit still. The little guy has too much energy to keep contained, so he usually ends up looking disheveled.

🐂 Itto is also a giant glutton. He’s capable of eating a week’s worth of cat food in just 3-4 days, yet somehow doesn’t gain weight. It’s expensive to keep him fed. If you try to put him on a diet, he will be very vocal in his complaints and even steal food from your plate.

🐂 He’s a troublemaker, but he’s incredibly loyal to you. If you’re feeling down, he’ll get you to play with him to take your mind off your troubles. If that doesn’t work, he’ll become more affectionate and rub up against you to get you to pet him and relieve stress. He never abandons you if you’re not feeling your best.

Scaramouche:

☂️ Is a domestic shorthaired tuxedo cat.

☂️ Was very hostile and cold towards you when you first got him. He was averse to touch, and often hissed and glared at you for the first few months of your joint cohabitation. Over time, when he was sure you meant him no harm, Scaramouche relaxed in your presence and wasn’t so hostile towards you anymore. He still glares daggers at any guests you may have over, but with you, he’s calmer and more affectionate.

☂️ Scaramouche is a bit of a loner and tends to slink off on his own to whatever corner of the house he calls his own. When guests are over, he likes to sit in an elevated spot (top of the closet, fridge, or shelf) and observe everyone from above. He does this for two reasons: firstly to discourage people from touching him, and secondly to keep an eye on the people around you.

☂️ If there’s someone he doesn’t like, Scaramouche will make it very apparent. That unfortunate guest of yours will get a warning growl to stay away from you. If the guest doesn’t comply, Scaramouche could even go as far as scratching the person. It’s not good behaviour on his part, but Scaramouche has his reasons. You’ve come to learn that he’s very good at picking out individuals who have bad intentions towards you or are just overall not good people.

☂️ He's a bit of a grumpy cat. He’ll let out noises of discontent if you pick him up to cuddle him or groom him, but he’s just all bark and no bite (but only with you). As unhappy as he’ll look, he’ll tolerate whatever it is you want to do to him. Unless it’s dressing him in silly costumes. Then you’ll get a harmless swat to your face (he makes sure to keep his claws retracted) and won’t see him for the rest of the day. Scaramouche won’t come out even when you call for him. No silly costumes, please.

☂️ For all his grouchy attitude, he still loves you. He wakes you up on time if you sleep through your alarm, badgers you if you forget to take your meds, and purrs on your chest when you feel sad. He’s very intelligent for a cat.

☂️ Is very picky about food. He won’t eat just anything you give him. Unfortunately for you, the only cat food brand he’s willing to eat is very expensive. He’s a very spoiled cat.

☂️ Hates bathing. Scaramouche tolerates brushing and nail trimming, but God forbid you try to put him in the bath. He will meow angrily and try to run, so it’s always an ordeal to hold him still long enough to bathe him. Sends you a scathing look if you laugh at how skinny he looks once his fur is matted to his body, making him look several sizes smaller. If you laugh, he’ll give you the cold shoulder afterward, so you won’t see him for a few days.

☂️ Isn’t into playing with cat toys, but he does hunt in his spare time. He brought you birds and mice a few times as a ‘gift’. He genuinely meant well, so was a bit irritated that you threw his gifts away.

Venti:

🍃 A munchkin cat.

🍃 Venti is a cat that cannot be tamed. He clearly understands your commands because he sometimes complies with them when he feels like it, but most of the time he prefers to do his own thing. This includes venturing out into the great outdoors. Venti is not content staying cooped up at home, and you’ve long since learned to just let him go out when he wants. He’ll find a way to escape one way or the other. Besides, he still comes home, so it’s not like he doesn’t like living with you.

🍃 Venti seems to have an appreciation for music. He becomes energized whenever you play music, no matter what genre the song may be. He becomes more playful, so you often find yourself sidetracked playing with the cat instead of doing your work. If you can’t play with him, then Venti will zoom around the house like a cat on a sugar rush.

🍃 To your surprise, Venti also likes to sing. Or at least, you think the caterwauls he’s making are his attempts at singing along to some of the songs. It’s an amusing, albeit weird, sight.

🍃 Is generally not a lap cat, but he makes exceptions if he senses that you’re feeling down. During such moments, he becomes more subdued and nuzzles into your side, allowing you to pet him. His gentle purring and soft body usually help you feel better. If not, then he’ll stick to you like glue and follow you around the house to keep you company. It will be one of the few times when Venti sleeps next to you at night since he usually goes off on his own during that time. It’s obvious that he worries about your well-being.

🍃 Out of all the foods you let Venti try, you never expected him to like apples as much as he did. You swear he likes them more than the expensive cat treats you bought him. You trained him to do all kinds of tricks and even sit still for grooming in exchange for a few slices of apple (given as a treat).

🍃 He likes sleeping outside under the shade of the canopy, accompanied by a gentle breeze. You often catch him sleeping high up in a tree or a nook somewhere in the grass.

Dainsleif:

🌌 A Norwegian Forest cat.

🌌 You got Dainsleif from a shelter. He has a chronic illness that requires you to take him to the vet regularly for treatment, and some kind of scarring on his right side. The right side of his face and flank has matted, thinning fur, and you can only guess what happened to him before he ended up at the shelter. He was a very pitiful sight, which is why you brought him home. Under your care, Dainsleif lives the best life he can given his afflictions, and you’re even proud to say that aside from his mangled right side, the rest of his coat looks gorgeous.

🌌 Dainsleif is a relatively quiet and well-tempered cat. Though he’s shy and skittish around strangers, with you, he is more open. In private, his sweet temperament comes out. He often grooms you with his tongue as an act of affection and relishes in your gentle caresses when you pet or groom him in return. Watching his eyes close as he relaxes is a nice feeling since he usually has his guard up.

🌌 He’s not playful. Dainsleif is kind of serious for a cat. He dutifully waits for you at the door like a dog whenever you leave the house and greets you with a loud meow when you return. He doesn’t play with the toys you got him and prefers to spend most of his time sitting by the window and staring outside with an expression you can only describe as wistful.

🌌 Likes to sample whatever food you’re having. Dainsleif eats his cat food just fine, but you notice that he’s often curious about what you’re eating. He can’t help but want to sniff and taste human foods since the unique scents and flavors entice him. You share a little bit of your food with him after making sure it’s safe for cats, and Dainsleif couldn’t be more grateful for your generosity. However, this led to him expecting you to share a bit of your food with him during every meal. He’ll look dejected if you don’t.

🌌 When not weighed down by his illness, Dainsleif is very agile and has good stamina. He’s well suited for traveling outdoors with you if it’s something you want to try and will stay by your side like a loyal guard dog the entire time.

🌌 He’s very pliant with you. He tolerates bathing and grooming like a trooper despite not being fond of it since you’re the only one he trusts. If someone else attempted to groom him, then Dainsleif would simply run off and hide. However, he allows you to maneuver him in whatever way you need to complete the work well, and he doesn’t even complain about it. He becomes the sweetest cat in your presence.

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #kaveh x reader #alhaitham x reader #arataki itto x reader #itto x reader #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #venti x reader #dainsleif x reader #genshin fluff

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dollfacefantasy · 11 months ago

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neglect kink with older leon???!!?!? like… you’re super horny whining and begging for his attention and he’s just. completely ignoring you. maybe he eventually lets you cockwarm him but he’s still ignoring you… the only way you know he’s enjoying this is because he’s still hard… no sounds or nothing. you’re so desperate for ANYTHING a kiss, a touch, literally any words at all but he’s just focused on his work!!! maybe daddy kink because everything needs daddy kink… maybe, like, you did something bad so this is your punishment… i don’t know… maybe he gives you the attention eventually or not!!!!

pairing: leon kennedy x fem!reader

summary: you've been bad, but you never seem to learn from spankings. leon has to try something new to remind you why you should be a good girl.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, cockwarming, masturbation, overstimulation, daddy kink, praise/degradation, age difference, dom/sub stuff (rules, punishment, etc.)

word count: 6.2k

a/n: you're so right, everything does need daddy kink <3 thank you for the request, love. i hope it's what you were wanting. i imagine post-DI leon for this so he's a bit older, but i just used DI for the pic. anyhow, reblogs and comments are always appreciated <3

tags: @sleepyluxe @kaitkatme @tosuckmyweenis @pupthepokemonenthusiast @bizzarethirst @death-paint @iron-toxinz @wildest-dreams-at-midnight @nexysworld @explorevenus @luniaxi

Your deep breaths and soft whimpers had overtaken the quiet murmur of the tv in your bedroom. An old movie played on it, one you had seen time and time again. It no longer had your attention. Instead, you’re focusing on playing with the pulsing bud between your legs. Your fingers thrum back and forth over the sensitive spot, hips pushing down against the mattress as sparks fly in your belly.

Technically, you weren’t supposed to be doing this. It was one of the rules you agreed to when Leon had approached you with some things he wanted to try out for your sex life, just a small set of guidelines to play with. ‘No touching yourself without daddy’s permission' had been listed among others. He counted each one on his fingers as he did, and you nodded your head and looked up at him with your sweet set of eyes. The same set that now flutters with ecstasy as you played your forbidden game. But as long as he didn’t know, it was fine, right?

Your heels dig into the blankets beneath you while your breasts rise and sink with each inhale and exhale. You feel that hot sensation between your legs, the tightening cord, the boiling pleasure. You’re about to let it loose until you hear the front door open and shut, keys clatter on the table, and the familiar grunt Leon does when he slips his shoes off, using the tip of one on the heel of the other.

You nearly miss these little cues because of the rain clashing against your windows, but in a stroke of luck, you catch it all and tear your hand out of your shorts at light speed. Leon’s just walking into the bedroom as you drape the blanket over yourself. Shifting around a little to get comfy, you then gaze up at him, putting some tenderness into your eyes in hopes of throwing him off your scent.

As he gets closer, you take in his appearance. Little droplets of water on the shoulders of his jacket from the rain outside. Shiny hair fresh from the shower he took this morning, shaggy bangs hanging down into his face. Tired glaze over his eyes, work must not have been a walk in the park.

Once he approaches you, he raises his eyebrows, and for a second, you’re sure you’ve been found out. But all he does is sit next to you on the edge of the bed and run a hand over your head. His eyes fixate on you as if he’s studying your features. Your heart pounds, waiting to hear the words belt, over my knee, or sore & stinging leave his lips, but they don’t.

“Been having a nice day, baby?” he asks you, petting your head a few more times.

“Mhm,” you respond. Innocent enough.

“That’s good. What have you been doing?” he asks. Oh fuck.

“Um, just watching a movie,” you answer.

“Yeah? That all?” he continues. Fuck fuck fuck.

“Pretty much. It’s all rainy out. Don’t really feel like getting out of bed,” you say with a casual shrug.

He nods. It seems like an approving gesture, but you could swear there’s a little knowing glint in his eyes. Maybe that’s just your imagination. Hopefully, that’s just your imagination.

“Alright. I gotta go finish up some work for a while, just wanted to check on you first. Keep being a good girl for me,” he tells you. He gives you a small pat on the ass before getting up and walking out of the room as quickly as he had entered.

Your body relaxes, and your pulse descends to normal levels. Maybe you did pull it off. Heist of the century in your book. You settle in to truly just pay attention to the tv for now, but it’s not as simple as it should be when you’re still so pent up. You’d just breached the threshold of release, before you were torn out and back to reality. You could feel the slick that had gathered between your legs, the ache in your clit calling out to your fingers.

The thought of continuing does cross your mind. It would be so easy. Without any suspicion on you, all you would have to do is clamp a hand over your mouth and rub slower so the bed didn't creak. Plus, when he went in his office, he usually worked until the evening anyway. You could cum and be done with it before he had the slightest idea.

No, no, no. You told him you’d be a good girl. You wouldn’t wanna break daddy’s heart by being bad, right? No, you wanted to make him proud. You resign to wait until he wants to play with you. He always did; you can’t recall a night he left you wanting. So you lay on your side, eyes focused on the blue-tinted screen across the room, and keep it together.

But hours go by. And then more hours go by. You keep yourself occupied, marathoning nearly an entire franchise of movies, eating, going on your phone. But none of it fills the Leon-shaped void inside you.

This was the longest he’d ever been in that office. He never worked in there into the night. He always told you that he tried to spend as little time in there as possible. That’s time that could be spent with his good girl, that’s what he told you. Only you hadn’t been a good girl today.

You shake your head, and tell the stupid little voice inside to zip it. He seemed tired, remember? This is probably just an extension of that. He knew he’d have to come home and be in his office all day. It was all a coincidence, this whole thing. There was literally no way he could know what you’d been doing. But daddy knows you better than you know yourself.

Oh god. This was like some form of torture, you’re sure of it. Self-inflicted, or was it really? He was the one who’d made you this way. Whatever. Enough was enough. There was no reason to be paranoid. You could literally just go ask him. Sort this out and soothe your anxiety, so you can go back to waiting patiently like the good girl that you are.

Pushing the covers to the side, you slide out of bed and head down the hall to his office as thunder crackles outside. A gentle push on one of the French doors leads you into the room you rarely entered. Despite that, you liked it in here. Leon’s desk faced away from the door, towards the window that looked out onto the street. The curtains were drawn now, brown fringe overlapping with the spare cushions on the window seat below it. Some bookshelves lined the walls perpendicular to his desk, though you never had the time to actually check their contents.

You walk a few paces into the room. Your eyes cast over to him. He doesn’t even look like he’s doing much for someone working into the night, but who are you to judge? You step over a crinkle in the rug to stand in front of his desk. Your hands rest on the hardwood as you gaze at him over the monitor of his computer.

“Hi,” you say simply.

He nods. A movement so vague that he could’ve told you his head twitched, and you’d believe him.

“Whatcha doing?” you ask.

“Work.”

You stare at him for a moment. Sure, he wasn’t normally super chatty, but he also wasn’t usually so clipped. He knows.

“How’s it going?” you say.

You’re met with a shrug. You have to up your efforts.

Circling around his desk, you position yourself behind him and wrap your arms over his shoulders. You drag your nose against his cheek like an affectionate kitten and kiss the skin a few times.

“How much longer you gonna be in here?” you ask. Your voice remains gentle and undemanding.

“A while,” he grunts. The clacking of the keyboards starts up again, and his eyes remain locked on the documents in front of him.

“But you’ve been in here for hours,” you point out and feign a pout.

“And I’ll be in here for even more if you keep bothering me,” he says with a little gesture that wasn’t fully shrugging you off but at the same time was shrugging you off.

Ouch. Your pout was no longer feigned. You stand up straight and walk back to where you stood originally. He still doesn’t spare you even the smallest of glances.

“Can I stay in here with you?” you ask hesitantly.

“If you want to,” he says. Wow. Not that he wanted you to, no. If you wanted to. Sure, people could call you sensitive for being upset about that, you don’t care. You’re tempted to leave with a huff, slamming the door behind you, but now you’re even more curious if he was aware of your illicit afternoon activities. You kinda hope he is at this point because at least that would give a reason for his icy attitude.

You walk over to the one other chair in the room. Yeah, there was the window seat, but as pretty as you’d made it for him, decorating it with little throw pillows and cute coverings, it wasn’t very comfortable. You plop down on the corduroy cushioning of the beaten-up seat in the corner. with a sigh. Bringing your legs up over the armrest, you lean back against the opposite one and scan the room out of boredom. Your feet swing back and forth absentmindedly as you puff breaths of disinterest from between your lips.

You really try to give him time to finish, but it feels like he’s taking actual eternity. Also, it sounds like he’s barely doing anything, and now you are going to judge because he’s cutting into your precious personal time with him. You stare at him for several minutes, keeping your eyes locked on his face. Unlike any normal person who’d get uncomfortable, he just continues “working.” Finally, you crack.

“How’s it going?” you ask.

No response.

“Are you almost done?” you try again.

Nothing.

Your eyes darken, your frown growing. “Leonnnnn,” you whine.

And still absolutely nothing. You have one more weapon in your arsenal. If this doesn’t work, you know you’ll just have to pack it up for the night.

“Daddy…” you whimper, using the softest voice you could manage, the one that always shot right through him. You jut your bottom lip out a bit more and put that pleading in your eyes. After this, all you have is literal tears, and you’re hoping it doesn’t go to that point.

Leon knows this, and he doesn’t want it to get that far either. He finally spins his chair in your direction. His eyes land on your face. He has to repress the smirk rising to his face over your neediness.

“Funny how that name seems to always slip out most when you want something,” he replies.

At least he wasn’t ignoring you anymore. “All I want is your attention…” you say, keeping up your sweet performance.

“Oh yeah?” he taunts, “Tell me, baby. Were you thinking of daddy today when you were home alone?”

Your eyes dart away from his face, but you force them back. You couldn’t blow this by being too obvious, so you respond with a simple nod.

“I thought so, princess. What else would have had you so riled up today when I came home? It wouldn’t be because you were breaking one of your rules, would it?” he asks. His tone was obviously leading. He knew. You were so desperate for him though that at this point you were starting to think a spanking wouldn’t be that bad. At least it was some form of physical contact to sate you.

“I wasn’t riled up earlier,” you say quietly with a little shrug.

He chuckles and shakes his head. “You’re not lying are you? Cause that’s another rule. Two broken rules in one day. That wounds me, babydoll,” he says.

“I’m not breaking any rules. I’m being honest,” you say.

“So you being all squirmy, hot skin, heavy breathing; that wasn’t you being riled up? Is daddy imagining things now? Do I not know what my girl looks like when she’s aching for me?” he asks, “What she looks like when she’s been trying to solve her little problem herself?”

Finally, he unveils his reasoning. You freeze and stare at him, trying to think of what to say. Even though you wanted attention, there was still that innate part of you that hated being in trouble. You’d much rather be perched on his lap to be loved on like the precious thing you were.

“I don’t know what you mean,” is your weak attempt at an excuse. He laughs and leans back in his chair, the old springs creaking with his motion.

“Did you put your fingers inside or just play with that pretty little clit?” he asks, eyes boring into you as he goes for the kill.

“Just my clit…” you mumble and look down.

Shaking his head again, he turns back to his computer. You watch him, expecting him to start in on you again. To lecture you about your impatience. Tease you about your borderline pathetic need for him. Take you over his knee and crack you on the ass while making you repeat each of your rules back to him.

But none of this happens. Instead, this man just goes back to straight up ignoring you. Your jaw drops and a confused whine comes from your throat. “Daddy, c’mon. I’m sorry,” you say.

He resumes typing, fingers gliding over the keys and eyes fixed on the little words appearing in front of him. You groan in frustration and sink back against the brown ribbed fabric of your chair. You glare at him from your place, trying to telepathically will him into entertaining you again. You must be lacking in mental communication though because he doesn’t change what he’s doing at all. One of your thighs crosses over the other, unintentionally giving your pussy a little friction.

That’s what made this all the more frustrating, you were still unsatisfied from earlier. You should’ve just made yourself cum like you wanted. You’d be in trouble either way. You could only hope he’d take it easy on you now for having chosen the former.

Different scenarios run through your head for how you want to play this. A spectrum of possibilities lies in front of you. On one end, you could just leave. Keep whatever dignity you had left, cut your losses, and go to bed. On the other, you could be over the top. Hop in his lap and smother him with a flurry of kisses before he could object. Either one would probably only earn you more punishment, so you try to think of a middle ground. A way to continue the game.

As you think, your right hand lazily runs up and down your chest. Your middle finger coasts over the area spanning from the valley between your breasts to your navel. Taking your lip between your teeth, you decide to start here. Your fingers move to your tits and round your nipples. The buds harden into small peaks beneath your shirt. You pinch and pull at them gently, and your cunt flutters in response to the teasing. You shift your hips up before shimmying your shorts off and letting them drop to the ground beside your chair.

You reposition yourself next to sit properly in the chair. Your heels come to rest on the plush cushion as you spread your legs and expose your damp panties to him. Not that he bothered to look.

Now your fingers moved down there. They pet your most sensitive area over the thin, wet cloth. Your breath hitches as your fingertips brush over your clit. You press down a little harder and make a soft breathy whine. His eyes flit in your direction, but they don’t linger. Take what you can get, you guess.

You slide your digits back down and massage your dripping entrance. The fabric becomes more wet as you rub it on your slick folds. Your middle and ring finger move in tandem to stoke the flames down there and to ensure the fabric is completely soaked. Once that mission is accomplished, you lift your hips for the second time to remove this garment. Only you don’t drop it to the floor. This time you toss them in his direction, landing them on his desk, lace half covering one of his wrists, half covering a section of his keyboard.

The sound of typing halts, putting the room into silence, spare the raindrops splatting against the window. His eyes remain stern and not on you. Without even looking down, he wads the panties up and shoves them in his pocket. The sound of typing resumes.

“Daddy,” you huff, “I got ‘em all wet just for you.”

He still doesn’t acknowledge you. You let out a growl of sorts and narrow your eyes at him. Your fingers slip through your arousal coating your center. You pay more attention to your clit now that it’s exposed.

“I just missed you so much today. I couldn’t help it,” you reason.

You whimper and squirm in your chair as you start rubbing faster. Your eyes are still locked on him, watching for the slightest crack in his resolve. So far there are none. You continue toying with yourself.

“I was thinking of you the whole time,” you whimper, “That should count for something. I was imagining your hands and your eyes looking down at me. I was pretending I could hear your voice.”

He remains unaffected. Your head tilts back against the plush cushioning as your hips rock in place. You mewl softly which soon turns into a long, drawn-out whine. Finally, he shifts in his seat a little, and you know right away it’s cause he’s starting to get hard.

“I just love you so much, daddy. Can’t control myself when you’re not around,” you say, further chipping away at the little dent in his stoic facade.

Your moans increase in volume as does the slippery sounds coming from your fingers moving through your slick. That feeling from this afternoon is starting to come back. Pleasure builds in your abdomen, one piece stacking on top of the other. You’re shaking more, voice getting less even with each little cry of joy. He finally turns to look at you when you start doing that thing you do when you’re about to cum, the ultra-specific puff of your chest that rolls through your abdomen to your hips. His eyes capture yours, unamused with your antics.

“If you cum right now, a spanking is the only kind of attention you’ll be getting until you learn some self-control,” he tells you.

In an instant, your fingers sputter to a stop. Your mind bounces back and forth on what to do like a metronome. But as always, your craving for Leon’s approval wins out over every other option. You remove your hand from between your legs and even sit up, closing your thighs. Maybe now, he’ll see you’re being good and cut you some slack.

Yeah, right.

He goes back to his computer. Again. You’re about to lose your mind or explode, you aren’t sure which will come first. Standing from the chair, you start walking to his desk. He still didn’t look at you! How rude, you’d think that the touching yourself rule was his favorite or something even though you knew it wasn’t. That title belonged to the rule that let him pick your outfit whenever the two of you went out.

A few paces in his direction, and you’re back right where you started. Arms looped over his shoulders, nuzzling your face against his cheek, and kissing the side of his head. “I said I’m sorry daddy,” you say softly, “I’m really really really really sorry. I know I was a bad girl, but only for that.”

He grunts and scoots closer to his desk, away from your embrace. A noise of exasperation leaves you, and without thinking, you roll the chair back a couple inches and embrace him again, only tighter. A grin rises on your face when you see the bulge that had formed in his lap.

“Pretty please? I’ll take whatever punishment. I don’t want daddy to be mad at me anymore,” you plead and give him some more pecks on the cheek. You knew you probably looked ridiculous, pantless and visibly horny, but that wasn’t a true concern at this moment in time.

“Go to bed,” he states simply, “I’ll deal with you later.”

That wasn’t good enough. You wanted him now.

“Daddy,” you whine, stretching out the last syllable. You lower yourself to your knees and slink down in front of his chair. “C’mon, I said it like a million billion trillion times. Can’t we just kiss and make up?”

He stares down at you, not impressed with your show of submission. He was playing harder than usual. He knew that wouldn’t deter you though. You squish your cheek against his thighs as your hands creep up his legs.

“Do I have to make a special apology?” you ask, looking up at him with puppy eyes.

He pushes your hands away as they reach his thighs. “Quit it,” he growls, “Let me finish my work and maybe we can work something out.”

But you don’t quit it. You move yourself closer to one of his legs, preparing to put on a little show for him if need be. Your eyes don’t quit and neither does the pleading expression on your mouth.

“But I need my daddy now,” you huff, “I-”

And that’s it. You’re cut off by Leon reaching down and yanking you into his lap.

“Such a fuckin’ brat,” he grunts, “Ready to hump my leg like a bitch in heat cause I don’t give you attention for a couple hours.”

You squirm a bit as his hands rub up and down your sides and squeeze your hips. He stills you with a firm slap to your ass. Both of your eyes gaze into the others, the small spheres swirling with arousal, annoyance, and adoration.

“I just missed you. I would’ve left you alone if you weren’t so mean to me,” you point out.

“Who says I have to be nice to you? You don’t get to decide when you wanna listen based on that,” he says and pulls you to his chest. You lean in against the muscular expanse while his hand snakes between the two of you to get at his button and zipper. “Your job is being a good girl. Not just when you feel like it. Not only when daddy’s giving you kisses and calling you pretty. The only time you stop is when I say, and that didn’t happen today did it? Am I imagining things again?”

“No,” you agree reluctantly, “But I-”

“Cut your yapping out. I’ve heard enough. Give me some quiet or I’ll put those panties to good use,” he threatens.

As your lips fall shut, you hear the tug of his zipper and feel him shift as he takes himself out. Now you’re really quiet, more from anticipation than obedience.

“Now I’m gonna let you sit on my cock, but that’s it. No squirming, no ‘getting comfy,’ no whining, no ‘but daddy.’ You act up too much, and I’m truly sending your ass to bed for the night.”

You look up at him and nod, not even speaking because you didn’t want to cut your chances at dick off before they started.

“Good,” he says.

One of his hands helps elevate you so that he can position his length underneath you. The tip slips through your folds, already soaked from your prior escapades. He doesn’t tease too much, wasn’t interested in hearing you beg right now. He’d heard enough of that for tonight. He pushes you down onto it. His mouth twitches, and he sucks in a deep breath as he feels the warmth of your walls engulf his cock.

You slide all the way down with ease. Looking back at his face again, you feel the insatiable urge to give him a little kiss. If you did that though, would that be one of the things you aren’t supposed to be doing?

“Daddy… can I have a little kiss first?” you ask.

He merely shoots you a look that tells you don’t push it.

With a final look of defeat, you nestle yourself against his chest, head on his shoulder so you can look up at his face. He was so focused. If you didn’t know you were here, you never would suspect he’d be up to this level of multitasking.

You let out a sigh. It was nice being full, but you still yearned for more. You were really trying to be good though, so there wasn’t much for you to do. Minutes tick by as you try in earnest to think of a potential solution. To make matters worse, at a certain point, after you’d been on his dick for a while, his hand starts roaming your back. A soothing touch that made your walls flutter around him. He knew it would too, you could tell from that little smirk on his face.

Trying to focus on the positives, you mentally study every feature of his cock that you can feel. It’s so deep, he’s resting right against the spot that could drive you wild when properly battered. It pulsed rhythmically, twitching slightly when your muscles would contract or release around his shaft.

You’re actually doing better than expected, letting your mind wander. But then, he’s the one to move a bit under the guise of necessary readjustment. The whimper that falls from your lips is inevitable. He shushes you, and you mutter an apology, but that simple movement was enough to reignite the fire in your belly.

You bite your lip, the neediness in your eyes intensifying. “Daddy?” you whisper, testing the waters.

Nothing.

So he had gone back to this? Not if you could help it. You don’t bother speaking again. Instead, you move the tiniest bit, rolling your hips as you act like you’re shifting to alleviate a cramp. To your shock, he doesn’t say anything, just shifts his hips a bit in return.

You glance up hopefully. Maybe he was going to ease up, but he just didn’t want to verbally admit it. You move a little more, but this time, you’re a bit too zealous in your attempt. His hands grab your hips and dig into your flesh, keeping you in place.

You’re so pent up and frustrated. Your forehead thuds back onto his shoulder. “Ple-”

“What did I say?” he asks.

“But da-”

“What did I say?” he asks again and tightens his grip.

“I just wanna cum,” you whimper, “It hurts, been achy all day.”

“Oh it hurts, does it?” he mocks. He jerks your hips to give you some fleeting friction while maintaining his control. “What is it about today that’s making it so hard for you to listen?”

“I-” you start to defend yourself out of instinct but can’t actually come up with anything. “I don’t know.”

“That’s right you don’t. So quit acting like you do. You think with that slutty little pussy, and then act like you don’t need daddy to make the decisions. It’s a little disappointing, babydoll,” he scolds.

Your eyes flicker with every stage of grief as he says this. That’s literally the worst thing he could say. He could call you any name in the book and you’d brush it off with an eyeroll or a “hmph.” But disappointing? That was evil. That word could worm its way into your heart and weigh on you for days.

“I’m sorry,” you say quickly in a desperate attempt to remedy, “I just… I’m so pent up. Can’t think with my head when my pussy keeps distracting me.”

“Oh, poor baby,” he mocks with a chuckle and a shake of his head.

“That’s why I have to cum,” you plead, “I need it. It’s not even the same when I do it. I should’ve just waited. I’m sorry.”

“You need it?” he repeats, “So fuckin’ spoiled. I give you some dick even when you don’t deserve it, and it’s still not enough. I gotta train some gratitude into you next.”

“You’re the one who spoils me,” you pout.

“Oh, so it’s all my fault? So you’re saying I shouldn’t be so easy on you, huh?” he challenges.

You shake your head as fast as humanly possible, now set on backtracking your fuck up. But it was too late. “No, I was just sayi-” you start before he cuts you off yet again.

“And just when I was about to start fucking you too? That’s a damn shame,” he says.

Your eyes widen, and you shake your head more. This had gone from a slight improvement to a downward spiral.

“I mean, why would I bother now? All you care about is getting to cum. Don’t care about all the work daddy puts in to make you feel good the entire time,” he taunts, “If that’s the case, then go ahead. Cum. Take what you want, but don’t you dare move those hips.”

Your look of anguish evolves into that of confusion. You don’t really want to question him right now, but you’re unsure of how you’re supposed to follow that command. “I can’t…” you say softly.

“Why not?” he asks.

“Not enough,” you answer.

“Then make it enough,” he growls, “You were having so much fun today with those fingers. They don’t work anymore?”

Oh. Your face feels hot as the realization dawns on you. You shyly bring your hand to your center and awkwardly fumble with your clit. You look at him, silently begging to ride him.

“You can do better than that,” he responds, “You were putting on such a show earlier, so don’t act like you need my help all the sudden.”

Shamefully, your fingers pick up some speed. You whimper as the pads of your digits rub over a sensitive spot. The whole time he’s still inside you. It felt kind of weird, but still good. You weren’t going to complain. Your upper body twitches a bit, but he holds you straight up, making sure you're looking at him while you work.

“That’s it. How’s it feeling, baby? Is it as good as when daddy does it?” he taunts.

“No…” you whimper, “It’s ok.”

“Aw, well, it’s gonna have to be good enough for now because it’s the only way you’re cumming.”

You groan and whine at the statement. It was the truth, but that didn’t mean you wanted to hear it. You start circling faster and flicking your hand with more urgency. Your head falls back at the sensations as a breathy moan floats from your lips. He squeezes your hips again as you tighten around his cock from the euphoria you brought yourself.

“Look at that. Think you’re gonna be able to cum all by yourself?” he teases.

You nod. Your hips rock involuntarily as the pleasure ramps up, but his grip keeps you stationary. Little gasps like the ones from earlier when you were in the chair escape you. Your fingers move almost like they’re automated.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Please can I finish?” you whimper, “Wanna cum so bad, daddy, please?”

“I already gave you permission, baby. Guess you really wanna show me how good you actually are,” he chuckles.

You can’t even say anything back before the switch flips inside you and release tears through you. Your back stiffens up and a strangled rope of moans come out of you. Your hips jerk harder than before, giving you brief brushes with the head of his cock. He sighs contentedly as you flutter around his cock and provide him with a muted sense of bliss.

You’re still riding it out when his hands are no longer just holding you, but rather, beginning to bounce you. You feel it in your cunt before your brain even catches up with the general motion of your body. It’s because you’re still so sensitive. The tingly stab pulling a quiet shriek from you.

“Daddy, gimme a break,” you whine.

“What? Daddy doesn’t deserve to finish too? Is that what you think? You just get to have your fun, and leave me to deal with it. That’s not how it works, princess,” he says.

“I’m not- I didn’t… I just can’t… it’s too much,” you struggle to get out between the whimpers coming from you. He keeps bouncing you, groaning as that hushed ecstasy blossoms into an encompassing euphoria. The noises of him sliding in and out are nearly louder than all the whining and moaning you’re doing.

“You can take it,” he grunts, “I’ll say when you’ve had enough.”

You cry out in a mix of pleasure and pain as his hips start to meet your hips guided by his hands. A deep groan rumbles in his chest as your cunt’s constant contracting massages his length. After a while, it feels like you’re almost numb down there. The fire still rages in your belly, but your actual pussy has been beaten into submission by your boyfriend’s cock. He watches your face as he moves you, relishing the way your eyes are getting glossy with a cocktail of tears, both of overstimulation and relief.

“So pretty for me, sweetheart. Gonna be even prettier when you cum again all over my dick and milk me dry,” he grunts.

“Uh huh,” you moan without thinking, head wildly falling back and forth in what’s supposed to be a nod.

Soon enough, his chest and belly are tightening up. He knows the end is near and pistons into your cunt extra hard for the finale. You wail and grip his biceps for support as you explode. You didn’t ask to cum this time, but being so close to his own release, he couldn’t really find it to care.

He keeps going through your orgasm, practically making you sob in pleasure. You feel impossibly tight, warm, and wet. And when he sees how your precious face is getting tight too, scrunching up as you reach the peak of the peak, he can’t hold it off.

His fingers dig into your hips so hard that you feel like the future bruises are already there. Your eyes are rolled back in advance as he fires his cum deep inside you. A goofy smile graces his features as he pumps it in, enjoying the waves of pleasure that wash over him throughout. And the whole time you’re pulsing away through your own release.

You look even dumber than he does, silly smile not just on your lips, but visible in your eyes too. You’re whimpering, extra whiny and a higher pitch. He rubs your skin to remind you he’s right there. He can see your head coming back to reality as the whirlpool of ecstasy subsides.

“Oh that’s it, there’s my good girl,” he coos as you finally reach the end of the high. His hand rubs your back in long, even strokes. “So proud of you, sunshine.”

A dreamy, self-satisfied grin comes across your face. His words were the best drugs while you were in this state, and the tone of his voice only made them that much more addictive.

“Such a good girl,” he repeats, “Now how ‘bout you give daddy a kiss.”

Eagerly you boost yourself towards his lips to connect in a hazy smooch. You’re a bit sloppy with it, but he expected that and found it cute. Of course you were dizzy. He just fucked you stupid. Once you pull away, he strokes your hair and smiles at your blissed out face.

“Aw, cutie. Looks like it’s time for you to head to bed,” he says as his fingers move to rub your cheek.

“You too. I wanna cuddle,” you say, locking your arms around him.

“Mhm, I’ll be right behind you. I gotta finish up the last of this. Now that I don’t have you distracting me, it should only take about fifteen minutes,” he teases.

“That’s like a million years, and I already had to wait all day,” you sigh dramatically.

“Then I’m sure you can handle a few more minutes,” he says and rubs his nose against yours, “Don’t start getting mouthy with me, little love. I still have those panties I can easily turn into a gag.”

With a playful glare, you get up on wobbly legs to make your exit, dizzy smile still plastered on your face. You start to stumble to the door when he calls out to you.

“Wow princess, not even going to say good night to daddy? I expected better from my baby,” he chides teasingly.

You roll your eyes while smiling and return to him to smack one final big kiss on his lips. “Night daddy,” you say with a small giggle.

He smirks at your clear happiness. As you turn to leave, he swats your ass. “I’ll be right there. Bet you’ll already be passed out by the time I get there,” he says as his fingers start working the keyboard again.

“I’ll be dreaming of you though,” you tease before going out the doors and down the hall to your bed.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy smut #resident evil imagines #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut #resident evil x you #smut #ch: leon kennedy 💌

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coastalcowgirl35 · 5 months ago

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Just Us- Tyler Owens x Reader

Note: I accidentally wrote this in first person, then had to go back and fix it and I'm very mad.

Also I'm horrible at titles, mb guys

Also I went to go see Twisters again last night and let's just say I've reaffirmed that Glen Powell is going to be my entire personality for quite some time.

Also listened to the soundtrack while writing this, 10/10 Too Easy is literally the most motivational song ever.

Also apparently Y/N really likes murmuring against Tyler's lips when they kiss, once again mb

Warning: pretty hot and heavy at the end guys, idk what came over me

"Y/N... Y/N" You blink my eyes open slowly revealing your boyfriend Tyler's grin in your face. "Hey baby, come on get up, we've got a big one coming." His excitement is palpable as he plants a kiss on your lips.

"Wait what?" You mumble, confused.

"Time to get up hon, we got a storm to chase." He kisses you again then pulls away so you can sit up. You quickly brush your teeth, change into cargo pants and a tank top, and pull your hair back to keep it off your neck in the Oklahoma heat.

"Okay Ty, I'm ready!" You say as you slip on your boots. He's looking up at you from where he sits on the edge of the bed with a grin on his face. "What?" He stands up and wraps his arms around you.

"You're just so damn cute." He says, tilting your chin up to give you yet another kiss.

"Mhmm I thought we had to go." You murmur against his lips as your kisses become more passionate and his hands find their way to your waist.

"We do." He agrees and you reluctantly pull apart. You open the door and he grabs his keys.

"Who's coming with today?" You ask over your shoulder as he ensures that the door is locked.

"Just us today sweetheart, that okay?" He says, grinning again. You nod and he puts an arm around your waist as you walk into the parking lot and up to his giant red truck.

As soon as you are both in your seats he places a hand on your thigh, you're dying internally but he acts as if it is the most casual thing in the world. You clear your throat and shake your head, trying to think of anything else.

"Do you see it?" Tyler asks quietly. His green eyes are fixed on something up ahead on the red dirt road and you follow his gaze. A dark mass of clouds are forming and you can see it too, the way they are swirling towards each other slightly, the way the wind is brushing over the grasses in that direction, in a way you both know will add fuel to the fire and hopefully cause a storm.

"God it's beautiful." You whisper.

"Not as beautiful as my girl." Tyler responds, eyes fixed on you now, a wide grin on his face.

"You're so fucking cheesy." You say, as if your cheeks aren't flaring a bright red and your heart didn't skip a beat at his words. He simply laughs and looks back at the road, with his hand still on your thigh.

You fall into a comfortable silence as you watch the clouds. They seem almost as if they are dancing, their movements so perfect and fluid. Tyler's driving matches the storm and as it begins to grow faster he speeds up, soaring down the open road as the sun just barely begins to peek over the horizon next to you.

The sight is truly breathtaking. The orange light spills across the acres of land sprawling out before you and is heavily contrasted by the dark clouds floating menacingly above, miles away.

As you get closer light rain begins to tatter against the top and sides of the truck. You watch, transfixed by the storm, when suddenly an idea hits you. You roll down your window and unbuckle your seatbelt.

"What are you doing?" Tyler asks, but he clearly can guess because he slows down slightly. You slip away from his hand that is still resting on your thigh and hoist yourself up so that your entire torso is outside the window. You tilt your head back, enjoying the gentle shower of droplets and reach one arm out, feeling the wind. You stay like that for a few minutes before Tyler calls up to you.

"Get back in Y/N/N, the rains about to get harder." He says gently. You nod and slide back inside, resuming your previous position and rolling the window back up. Tyler doesn't miss a beat and his hand is already on your thigh again before you can re-buckle your seatbelt. You smile and blush but don't say anything.

As Tyler predicted, the rain gets harder almost instantly and you can feel the atmosphere changing as you venture away from the orange sunrise and towards the gray storm.

You peel your eyes away from the storm and turn to look at your boyfriend. His beautiful green eyes are fixed on what's ahead, his jaw set determinedly.

"Whatcha looking at pretty girl?" He asks, caressing your thigh with his thumb. You blush and he turns to look at you, grinning.

"Eyes on the road Tyler." You say, blushing harder.

"What so you're allowed to stare at me but I can't look at you?" He teases.

"Just drive." You groan, attempting and failing to not laugh at his comment.

"Alright, alright." He says, still grinning. "Hey look" He points out the windshield. The clouds are swirling closer together and beginning to form a tight tendril that reaches towards the ground.

"Come on baby." You urge in a whisper, willing it to touch down. Tylers grip on your thigh tightens slightly. It reaches closer and closer then finally touches the ground, instantly causing a swirling cloud of dust to explode into the air. "Fuck yeah!" You shout, clapping your hands together triumphantly.

Tyler laughs raucously at your reaction but can't hide the excitement on his face.

"Happy are you?" He asks with a grin.

"You're lucky you're I love you Ty or I would absolutely hate you." You scoff. He laughs harder at that.

"Whatever you say babygirl."

You sigh dramatically at his teasing but can't help the permanent grin on your face. You're really in love with the stupid Tornado Wrangler. The wind and rain both get harder and louder as you both pull on your harnesses.

Tyler is going at nearly full speed now. Your heart is pounding, adrenaline pumping through your veins. The cyclone is growing and hurtling towards you faster than you are hurtling towards it.

"Ready Y/N/N?" Tyler asks, almost shouting so that you can hear him.

"Hell yeah!" You shout back. He slams his foot on the break, pulling you to an unnecessarily rough stop. You give him a look and he smiles apologetically as he deploys the augers.

"Here she comes baby!" He yells. You curse under your breath and wrap your hand around his wrist tightly as he squeezes your thigh again.

The cyclone slams into the truck, throwing both you and Tyler harshly against your harnesses. The swirling cloud of dirt and leaves and who knows what else obscures your vision on all sides. The truck rocks violently and you squeeze Tyler's wrist so hard you wonder if it will bruise.

As fast as it started, it ends. The howling wind pulls past you and dust begins to settle on everything that was torn apart in its path. You laugh in astonishment, no matter how many times you chase you'll never get over that feeling. You and Tyler both jump out of the truck, turning to watch the twister get further and further.

You don't hear him walk around the truck but suddenly Tyler is next to you. You turn to him, beaming at his handsome face.

"You have fun babe?" He asks, endearingly tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. You nod and stand up on your toes slightly to press a kiss against his lips. He tangles his fingers into your hair instantaneously as the other hand finds its way to your waist, pulling you closer to him. "God I love you Tyler." You murmur against his lips.

"I love you too Y/N." He walks you backwards until he has you pinned against the truck. You whimper quietly as his hands start to roam your body and his kisses become more passionate. He suddenly breaks away and tilts your head upwards gently so his can kiss your neck. "You. Drive. Me. Fucking. Crazy." He pants out as he sucks on your soft skin harshly.

You moan breathily at his words and unconsciously buck your hips towards him, desperately searching for relief. He reads your mind and, while still passionately marking up your neck, slots one of his legs between yours so that you can rub up against his thigh.

"Fuck baby, I need you so bad." He groans, pulling his head back. His eyes are filled with lust and longing and his beautiful lips look swollen from your kisses.

You place a hand on the side of his face, peering straight into his perfect green eyes.

"Well it's a good thing it's just us today." You say with a smile. "The backseat is wide open."

#glen powell #glen powell x reader #twisters #tyler owens #tyler owens x reader #glen powell x you #tyler owens x you #twisters 2024

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