#soft closing drawer system

[hettichindia]

Choosing the right drawer system can make a significant difference when designing functional, stylish interiors. Hettich, a global leader in furniture fittings and hardware, has enhanced the functionality of a drawer to a whole other level, that goes far beyond traditional drawers. In this blog, we’ll compare traditional drawer systems with Hettich drawer systems, focusing on the benefits of soft-closing solutions and why Hettich is the preferred choice for a modern home.

[raajrajasharma]

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[nochepsicodelica]

Suggestive

"Tojiii," you squeal when he picks you up, before using his back to shut the car door. You lean forward and take a long whiff of the cologne he spritzed on the collar of his shirt. "Mmm... you smell so good. You trying to seduce me?"

He chuckles at the way you go back and sniff around his neck, like a dog. "Is it working?"

You inhale deeply once more, sighing exaggeratedly before responding. "Uh-huh. Want you to fuck me. Ugh, Toji, baby, i'm ready for you," you say, getting a head start by kissing his neck.

"Nah, pretty girl. Can't do that to you, tonight." He pins you to the door to keep you balanced as he fishes for the keys in his pocket.

"What?" You say, pausing the movement of your lips, your mood quickly deflated.

"What?" Toji repeats, looking at you as he turns the key in the lock. He lifts you off the door before opening it, keeping his eyes on yours.

"Am I not fuckable? You really don't wanna do me?"

"What are you even talking about, ma?" He shuts the door, locking it before carrying you to the bathroom to help you out like he usually does after a night out with plenty of drinks at your disposal.

"You..." your eyes start watering, enormous tears quickly forming and gliding down your cheeks. "You said you don't want me."

"That's not how I meant it, baby. Don't cry."

"What. Ever. I don't care anymore. Just... just put me down," you say, pushing at his chest.

"We gotta get you ready for bed," he says, setting you down on the edge of the sink. He grabs the pack of makeup wipes from the drawer you told him you keep them in and pulls a wipe out. "Close your eyes."

You do as he says, but only because you're stuck there until he moves out of the way. "I'm..." you sigh, heavily. "I'm s-sleeping on the couch, tonight."

"Mm... and why's that?" He asks, while focusing on wiping off the mascara from your eyelashes, and the trail that made its way down your cheeks. He's not concerned for what you said, because he knows for certain that that won't be the case at all.

"'Cause you don't love me. You've made it clear that you don't want to touch me. If we sleep in the same bed, my leg might graze yours." You laugh. "Who knows what'll happen if that happens. I'm surprised you even wanna be this close to me, now."

Toji sighs, throwing out the spent makeup wipe. He rests his hands on the counter, on each side of you, before leaning forward and placing a kiss on your lips. "Just got even closer, mama. What are you gonna do?" He laughs at your widened eyes, and when your expression contorts to one of sadness again, he can't help but maintain the amused grin on his face at how quickly your mood shifted.

"Be sad," you respond, softly. "You don't wanna make love to me? How can you kiss me and not want more?"

The sound of your voice breaking softened him up a little more. That and the insufferable look of hurt in your eyes. "Hey, look at me," he says, cupping your jaw to manually bring your gaze back to his. "It's not like that, at all. Don't cry over this, sweetheart." He runs his thumbs beneath your eyes, brushing away your returning tears. "You know I love you and I want you all the time, but I'm not gonna touch you like that when you're drunk." Your pretty eyes are killing him with how sad they look. Your cheeks are reddened and warm from the mix of the alcohol in your system and your emotions, and your lips are trembling. "Baby, you can't even walk straight. I'm not gonna take advantage of you. Stuff like that is only done by shitty people. You understand?"

"No," you choke out through a sob, breaking open the dam of your emotions.

"Of course you don't," Toji says, a soft smile taking over his features as he picks you up again and carries you to the room. He sets you down on the bed, propping you up against the pillows so you don't fall over. He can hear your sniffling subside as he rummages through your drawers, searching for something to change you into.

"You wanna wear shorts or just one of your really big shirts?" He asks, spotting your favorite oversized t-shirt. You don't answer, keeping your attention on your hands, letting him talk to himself like he's a crazy person. He calls for you, again, nothing more than a "ma", just incase you don't answer again. As he expected, more silence.

"Oh, so you're just not gonna talk to me, anymore?" He asks, turning to look at you, catching the way you shake your head slightly, still not looking at him. He grumbles to himself about your little attitude, before turning back to the dresser. He closes your drawers and opens one of his, fishing out one of the black shirts he always wears, before making his way back to you.

"Arms up," he instructs, grabbing onto the hem of your blouse. You sluggishly roll your eyes and lift your arms, allowing him to pull it off. He unfolds his shirt and scrunches it up so that he can facilitate the process of getting it on you. "Alright, put your arms in," he says, when you just sit there, unmoving. Again, your attitude shows as you follow his instructions, but the second your arms go in the holes and the material of the normally short sleeves extends to your forearms, you gasp.

"Your shirt?" You ask, enthusiastically. "It's your shirt?!" You ask, again, with the most lovestruck look on your face.

Toji snickers. "Yeah, baby. That's my shirt." Your eyes are filled with so much light, it's ridiculous how little it took to get this reaction out of you. You're literally giggling to yourself over a shirt, and he can't see it as anything short of adorable. "Alright, alright. Let's finish up so we can go to sleep."

You're a lot more willing to listen to him, now that your mood is boosted. You unbutton your shorts and lift your hips to slide them off, handing the article to Toji so he can put it in the dirty clothes hamper.

"Gonna go get some stuff from the kitchen. Be right back," he says, glancing at you before leaving the room. Not even two minutes later when he returned, you were already fast asleep, quiet breaths flowing past your lips. You laid on your back, your arms folded above your head. Toji shut the bedroom door before walking over to your nightstand to set a couple of ibuprofen tablets down beside a glass of water. He swiped his thumb over the corner of your lips, collecting the small patch of drool that glistened on your skin and wiping it off on his sweats. He went back to turn off the light, and quickly made his way to his side of the bed.

He turned you onto your side, earning a few irritated whines from you due to the disturbance. "I know, I know," he murmurs, pulling his shirt down to cover your exposed hip. He stayed up a little longer, to keep you from shifting onto your back when you stirred. His hand stayed firm on your waist, preventing you from moving much at all, and occasionally he got to laugh through his nose at your nonsensical sleep ridden mumblings.

[sheetalrana1]

What are the best options for the kitchen today? Are pull-out drawers worth considering?

Pull-out drawers, also known as slide-out shelves, are among the most well-liked elements of modular furniture. These excellent, long-lasting objects that make use of cleverly constructed sliding mechanisms have many amazing advantages, some of which are listed below. Pull Out shelves installed inside cabinets can make it simple to access goods at the back without having to dig through the entire contents. The fixed shelf on top keeps serving dishes as well as large cookware, and the raised corners of these drawer shelves keep pantry essentials in place. Pull-out drawers are useful and have numerous advantages, therefore seriously considering their installation in your kitchen should be given.

First, they expand the amount of room for storage in your kitchen cabinets, making it simpler for you to maintain organisation and locate the proper location for all the kitchen's items. You may easily alter the available space to accommodate goods of varying sizes by installing these sorts of shelves at various distances and heights from one another.

Some other benefits and key aspects

Accessibility is one of the major benefits that pull-out drawers and shelving offer. Reaching items in the back of your cabinets does not require you to bend over, crouch down, or stand on your tiptoes. By taking the shelf out, everything is practically immediately removed. Even power outlets that may be fitted inside the cabinets to charge various equipment, are built into the newest pull-out shelf versions.

Since you don't need a cabinet installer to install these drawers, you may save money by doing it yourself. Also, they are made to last as long as you require them to. Pull-out shelves are a convenience, and people are prepared to pay for conveniences, so using them to improve your kitchen will also increase the value of your home.

You can always need additional storage space, whether you stay in a little apartment or a big house. The use of the entire shelf surface, rather than just the front, is made possible by the distinctive construction of sliding shelves, which can help you make the most of the space you have available.

Before there were drawer runners, the ideal method to arrange stuff in a kitchen cabinet or wardrobe was to put commonly used items at the front and rarely used items in the rear. This way, you wouldn't have to strain to take out and put back out of reach items all the time. Using sliding shelves, all is conveniently close at hand. You may draw out the kitchen drawers and easily reach its contents without straining your back.

Building a channel for drawer offers several options. Although they are frequently used in the kitchen and pantry to store pans, pots, tea bags, spice bottles, packages of pasta, and other items, they can also be useful in other places. Furthermore, the drawers are installed for multipurpose use, rather than for single use.

If you purchase one of those contemporary drawers with built-in power outlets, you may utilize them to house your entertainment centre in the living room. Drawer slides make organisation considerably simpler in the bathroom, the other room in the home where small objects like little bottles, packs, and jars like to amass. Pull-out drawers can be used in the closet to arrange your clothing so that you don't have to bend over to reach the things in the second row, or you may use them to arrange your shoes so that your prized pairs are neatly arranged side by side and you never have to worry about losing a pair again. If you’re looking for a more efficient modular kitchen in your home, there is not a better option than pull-out drawers.

[yanderefarm]

could I perhaps be goofy silly and request skott bullying.........

skott x mean supervisor!male reader

hehehehehehehehehe

ok but the funny part is after you sent this i thought of something and i was like... no thats too far. censoring myself after what id already said.

a lot of the meaner bullying comes at the end. also. whore skott is real he told me

cw; violence, electrocution, nsft, bully reader, power dynamics (you're his supervisor), dub con because of said power dynamics? i guess

your pathetic, stupid, horrible subordinate had just come crawling back to you from aurum alley. again. it was one thing to screw the ipc on the deal to begin with, it was humiliating to have the video of someone under your command barking like a dog spread across the entire star system, it was degrading when your bosses chewed you out for his poor treatment of the xianzhou natives. to do it all again? for no reason? skott should have died to the amateur swordsman. that would have been better.

you watched the video of the man squealing like a pig, your face twisted into a scowl at the disgusting sight. fucking skott. you looked from your screen, the sound of his squealing still playing as you eyed up the man in front of you. skott had his head held low, clearly aware of how much trouble he was in. you tapped your boot against the ground impatiently as his squealing seemed to only get louder. your teeth clenched together as you suppressed all the cruel words that you wanted so badly to spit at him. finally after what felt like an eternity of the squealing, the angry silence, the clenching of teeth, you took a deep breath and calmed yourself down.

"there are a lot of things that I could say to you. there are so many words i could call you. i could fire you right now." you paused the video as you spoke calmly.

"p-please i-" skott started in his way that made you want to grind your teeth again.

"stop. i won't fire you. in fact i think you've earned yourself a little promotion." you gave a small smile as you opened your desk drawer.

"oh- oh! w-well thank you so much sir i-" he was cut off again when you put a heavy collar on your desk in front of him.

"you should be grateful skott, all this time you've been a stupid stray dog running around freely. you need an owner, in fact i think you've been begging for it." you gestured for him to come closer. skott's eyes went to the collar and then you and he swallowed hard.

"this is unprofessional i-i could report you to-"

"oh please. don't act like you don't want this. i see how you eye up my desk, how you examine the width of my office. i know how hungry you are to climb the ranks." you rapt your fingers against your desk, each soft thud against the desk like another rock against a glass door. "you would sell out your girlfriend and now you're not going to play dog with me? just think, skott. you could be a good doggy for a few months and gather all this evidence of my HR violation. maybe they'd reward you with my position. with my office."

each word is like music to the power hungry idiots ears. if he had any brain he might stop and think for a second about why you're so willing to put your job on the line just to get your rocks off. of course dogs aren't smart enough to think. just like you expected skott moved to your side of the desk. before you could even open your mouth to tell him to he got on his knees in front of you. he wanted this so bad, its evident behind his golden eyes. his desire. his need. you reached down and pulled away his stupid glasses exposing his soul to your cruel gaze.

"good boy." you coo at him as you grabbed the collar.

skott didn't reply but his cheeks were red and his eyes closed in anticipation. you wasted no time clasping the black collar around his neck. a soft gasp leaving his lips as it adjusted itself to fit him perfectly, you hummed in approval. one of your hands moved from his neck to his hair and you ran it through the surprisingly soft locks. you sat there petting him for a minute, his head naturally moving to rest on your lap. you could already see the wheels in his head turning around how to bring your downfall. he's kind of cute when he's not talking. maybe instead of just ruining his life you really could train him to be a good obedient doggy.

the best start would be to break his already weak spirit. your fingers stopped in his hair and you pulled on it hard causing his eyes to shoot open as a yelp left his lips. you clicked your tongue at him before shushing him.

"don't be noisy doggy." you cooed as you guided his head from your lap to between your legs. one of your legs rested on his shoulder, the heel of your boot digging into his back.

the expression of embarrassment and disbelief that painted his face was so cute you found it hard not to laugh. he had opened his mouth to try to say something but clearly the words were lost on him as he stumbled over various exasperated sounds. yeah he's cute until he opens his stupid mouth. you pushed his head down onto your bulge, his hung open lips finding place around the outline of your shaft. a whimper left his throat but he didn't complain again, in fact you didn't even need to tell him what to do. his mouth so naturally began to move along your bulge, tongue pressing against your uniform all too eagerly. you couldn't help but wonder how many times had he done this? how often did pretty little skott drop to his knees for a promotion?

"you're such a fuckin slut." you groaned at him, your tight grip on his hair pushing his head down until you could feel his nose press against your belt. "who did you fuck to get here skotty? i might get jealous if i find out you're someone else's dog too."

skott tried to answer but you didn't let him up. instead your free hand began to undo your belt as you made him drag his tongue along your massive length. when his lips met your tip resting against your thigh he sucked greedily on it. it was hard to tell if the spot that formed was your precum or his drool. you moaned as you pulled your belt free and discarded it on the floor.

"slut."

skott didn't even look embarrassed anymore, more dazed and hungry if anything. you let his head go expecting to hear him complain about how inappropriate this was, or maybe defend himself from being called a slut. he didn't. he sat there patiently waiting for you to pull your cock out. fuck it was hot. you undid your pants and pulled down your underwear enough for your cock to spring free. you slapped the tip against his cheek and all too eagerly skott attempted to take it in his mouth. you gripped his hair again and held him still.

"beg, doggy." you ordered before the desperate whore got the taste of your cock.

"i-i.. uh.. pl-" you cut off his pathetic yammering with a harsh tug to his hair.

"doggies don't talk." you reminded him. it was funny the way his dazed, cock hungry eyes refocused into shock and confusion.

he started whimpering. he started whimpering way too easily and way too dog like. he really was some kind of kinky pervert who got off on being treated like a dog wasn't he? did he keep picking fights so that he would be publicly humiliated? what a pervert. his tongue hung from his mouth in between his all too accurate whimpering. you decided to humor him, waiting for his tongue to hang out again before you pressed your tip against it. the moment your cock touched his tongue he took it in his mouth so eagerly, his warm wet mouth closing tight around you as his tongue circled your tip. he knew how to give head. not just knew about it, he was good at giving head.

"jesus you really are such a fu-fuckin whore" you thought you could keep your composure but he was too good at this.

he took your cock back to his throat and he gagged on it a little bit before he relaxed and took your whole length down his throat, his nose pressed against your skin. then he pulled his head back and sucked and licked at your tip again. as he began the process of bobbing his head up and down he let his teeth ever so lightly brush against your skin. it was like a pornstar. he even sounded like a pornstar, the wet sound of your cock pounding into his face, the moaning that accompanied it, and the delightful sound of him always gagging a little bit. he pulled his head up, coming up for air as his hand wrapped around your cock and continued stroking your length as his swollen lips kissed the tip like he was trying to make out with it.

"fu- fuck skott you love cock that much..? you want me to cum all over your face?" you couldn't believe how quickly he had gotten you to the edge. your tip was swollen and red and dripping as skott eagerly licked up every drop.

skott didn't talk, instead he opened his mouth and pressed your tip against it while letting out a cute doggy whimper.

"inside, pretty boy?" you were met with a nod.

you reached down and began stroking your cock against his tongue as he eagerly held it open. he was even panting like a dog. you grunted as your cum finally sprayed across his tongue and into his mouth. you were gonna tell him to swallow after you caught your breath but he didn't need to be told. you watched skott's adams apple bob as he swallowed hard before opening his mouth again to show you it was empty.

"where... where the fuck did you learn that?" you could feel your cock twitch at just the sight of him, how messy and undone his face looked.

"i don't have to tell you about my personal life." oh god there was his smug attitude again. you let go of his hair and grabbed his face instead.

"you want to try that again, mutt?" you asked, regaining your composure.

"this was fun, i won't lie. i can assume "being your dog" will be similar things along with running errands and getting coffee. i'll begin saving samples of your dna starting next time." he was so fucking smug as he straightened his clothes and began looking for his glasses. "please try not to trash my office while you're still here."

you watched him put his stupid glasses back on and get up. you were stunned to say the least, surprised by his nonchalance and annoyed in equal measure. you were about to say something as he headed towards the door when he stopped in the middle of the room and turned back to you.

"oh i almost forgot you can t-" he had reached to remove the collar around his neck when it sent an electric current through his body causing him to scream and collapse on the ground.

you started laughing, his scream brought you to your senses from his stupid haughty attitude. you fixed yourself and buckled your pants, leaving your belt off. instead you grabbed the thick leather material and folded it in half. you got up and walked over to where skott lay twitching on the floor, tears in his eyes. you laughed again as you nudged him with your boot.

"oh you almost had me, doggy. i thought you were actually smart for a minute." you brought your boot heel down on his leg, grinding into him and bringing another scream from his throat. you smacked your belt against your free hand a sadistic smile on your face.

"im gonna teach you what happens to bad dogs"

[fangirlingfromdownunder]

Unwrap Me For Christmas

Pairing - Dean Winchester x Reader 

A/N: This is my @spnfanficpond Secret Santa fic for 2024. This one is for you @atenea585 ! It took some time and ended up longer than I expected but I hope you enjoy it!

Warnings: Smut

Main Masterlist

You lie in bed with your head on your boyfriend’s firm chest as it rises and falls. Generally, it would lull you back to sleep, but you can’t stop your mind from wandering to the current holiday season. You know the life of a hunter doesn’t exactly lend itself to having quiet days decorating a tree, baking cookies or sitting around drinking eggnog, but you can’t help but want that. You absent-mindedly run your fingers up and down the bare chest beneath you as you imagine doing all of those Christmassy things with the said man underneath you. Suddenly, you feel a warm hand cupping yours to stop your movements.

His deep chuckle reverberates through his chest. “That tickles”. You smile and peck his chest as you roll over more to look up at his beautiful face. His eyes are still closed, hiding his mesmerising emerald eyes. He looks so peaceful.

“Dean…Can we-I want to-Nevermind.” At your stuttering, he opens his eyes and raises an eyebrow at you.

“Cat got your tongue, sweetheart? You didn’t take any of that lunatic's spells did ya?”

“I still can’t believe you were a dog and you checked out that poodle right in front of me! But no. I just…I know what you’re gonna say.”

“I could surprise you?”

“No, I know you too well.”

He flips you over so you’re caged between his muscular arms. “You won’t talk? Fine.” He presses soft kisses over your face and neck as his fingers trail down your sides digging in softly. You squirm in his grasp but he doesn’t stop. You rarely get to see this lighthearted and fun side of the hunter, so you revel in it whenever you do. He looks younger like this, not rugged and aged beyond his years like he does whenever he has a blade or gun in his hands. He looks like the mid-30s man he is. Eventually, he stops his fingers and lifts your chin so you meet his eyes. “Ready to talk yet?” You shake your head with a smile. “I torture monsters you know? I can do this all day.”

“Alright, Cap. Prove it!” you say defiantly. He reaches for the bedside drawer and pulls out a tie dangling it above your face. He carefully ties it around your wrists and the headboard as he straddles you. You know then that you’re in for a long morning, but you’re not complaining.

“Sure you don’t wanna talk?” When you stay silent, he kisses your lips softly before working his way down your body. His calloused fingers run under his oversized shirt you’re dressed in and across your bare stomach leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. He pushes the shirt up until it’s covering just your eyes.

As you lay on his chest taking in the bliss you finally decide to talk. “I wanna celebrate Christmas…”

“Every day is Christmas since I got you.”

“So, sappy. And then what? Every other day is Halloween?”

He kisses your head. “Yep.”

“I’m serious though. I want it. A Christmas tree, gifts, mistletoe, the whole nine yards. I know we’ll never have the house with a white picket fence and two-point-five kids, but is Christmas too much to ask.”

“No…”

“See, I knew-”

“No, it’s not too much to ask. Let’s do it.”

You roll over to meet his eyes which are shining back at you. “Really?”

“Anything for my girl. The monsters’ll still be there after. We deserve a break. Plus, it’s still a couple weeks away. Now, come on. I need coffee.”

 “But I-” He lifts his eyebrow at you.

“Don’t tempt me.”

Much to your disappointment, when you and Dean finally make it to the kitchen for what is now brunch, Sam slides his laptop across to you to read a strange news report. You sigh and roll your eyes but allow him to tell you both more as you eat and let the caffeine fuel your system. You all agree that it’s worth checking out.

As you’re packing your duffle you feel a pair of strong arms wrap around your stomach. “It’ll be a cakewalk, then we’ll be back home for Christmas. I promise.”

“It’s never a cakewalk, Dean.”

“That article had vengeful spirit all over it. We get in burn the bones and then get the hell outta Dodge.”

“You’d better be right.”

“I’m always right.”

You toss a few changes of clothes in your bag with a sigh. Under your breath you huff, “You’re never right.”

“I heard that!” He shoulders his bag and reaches for your hand. “Let’s go, grumpy. The sooner we go, the sooner we can come back and have Christmas.”

The next night you, Dean and Sam are standing over a grave as you watch the bones go up in flames. “I shoulda bought chestnuts, could’a give you your first Christmas tradition,” Dean says with a wink.

“I don’t want chestnuts cooked over a dead body, Dean.”

“It’s just bones.” You roll your eyes and walk back to the car, leaving the brothers to cover the grave back over. You sit in the backseat with your legs dangling out of the open door. As you wait for them to come back you pull out your phone and start searching for gift ideas. If tonight���s tactics worked, Dean may be able to keep his promise, and you want to be ready for that scenario. After scrolling through multiple websites you’re still unsure what to get him, or his brother for that matter. Sam had accepted you as a sister long ago and so you want to show your appreciation for that as well. You know the most useful option would be more ammo or a new weapon or food, but just this once you want a proper Christmas without reminders of hunting. 

When the brothers finally settle back in the car so you can all go back to the motel for much-needed showers and sleep you just decide to ask, “What do you guys want for Christmas?”

Dean meets your eyes in the rearview mirror and winks. “Just you, Sweetheart.”

“Gross!” Sam whines. “To erase that from my memory.”

“I’m serious! I want a real Christmas and I want to get you both things you’ll like.”

The car falls quiet and you lean back on the cool leather as Metallica fills the space instead. You sigh and look out the window into the darkness. When Dean finally parks in front of your room at the motel you jump out, but he grips your wrist before you can get far and pulls you to his chest. With his lips ghosting above your ear he quietly says, “How about a pie? Homemade. Or a new knife? Or…” He tilts his chin lower so his lips are brushing against the tip of your ear. Goosebumps rush down your neck as his hot breath tickles your sensitive skin. “Or you wrapped up in nothing but a bow.” Your breath hitches and your whole body heats up. Before you can even register, he’s gone, walking into the room you both have to share with Sam due to it being the last one available. You quickly compose yourself and follow.

As you lay snuggled up in Dean’s arms listening to his even breaths his words echo through your head sending goosebumps over your whole body. You know you need something else that he can unwrap in front of Sam, but you actually like the thought of him unwrapping you. With the semblance of an idea spawning, you settle into the warm arms around you and close your eyes.

Despite being the last to fall asleep, you’re the first to wake up. You carefully untangle yourself from Dean’s arms and sneak into the bathroom to freshen up. Once you’re done, you scribble down a quick note to say you’ve gone out to get breakfast and coffee and leave it on the table. You use the opportunity while waiting for your order to continue researching gift ideas, this time of the more scandalous variety. As you’re scrolling, a convoy of police cars and an ambulance speed past the cafe towards the house you’d come to investigate. Deflated, you call Dean to wake him up. After a few rings, he mumbles out a “hello”. 

“Our little salt and burn last night didn’t work. Tell Sam to get back on the research. I’m on my way back with coffee and breakfast now.” Without waiting for a response you hang up, grab your order from the bench that you barely noticed was ready and hurry back to the Impala. 

Back at the motel, you dump the food on the table and explain what you saw. Dean sits there rubbing at his eyes as he tries to wake up and take in your words. 

Four days later you’re finally back in the bunker after finding and burning the cursed heirloom ring from the recently deceased grandmother and freeing her restless spirit to move on. During the pursuit you’d had barely a minute to do any further research or shopping and you’re irrationally annoyed with Dean. You know it’s not his fault the hunt turned out the way it did, but you knew it would—it always does—and he promised. Now your idea of a peaceful Christmas is quickly slipping away. You huff as you shoulder past him to go to your room, put your stuff away and collapse in bed. When he catches up with you in your shared room he pulls you close.

“I’m sorry. You were right…you’re always right.”

“Whatever. I just wanna get in a few hours before Sam lines up the next one.”

“No more hunts till after Christmas.”

“Tell that to your oversized baby brother!”

“I have, he promised.” He kisses the top of your head. “Tell you what, you go have a warm bath and relax and then we can watch whatever sappy Christmas movie you want.”

“Really?”

“Really. Now go, I don’t want to see you for at least an hour.” You peck his lips and then pull away. As you go to the door he adds, “And check under the sink, that’s where Sam keeps his special hair stuff. Just don’t tell him I told you.”

“Thanks, Dean. I love you.”

“Love you too, Sweetheart. Now get outta my sight before I change my mind.”

In the bathroom, you quickly strip out of your sweaty clothes from travelling and start to fill the tub. You pour in some floral-scented bubble bath and slip into the shower to quickly shave your legs and wash your hair while you wait for the tub to fill. You get out of the shower just in time before the tub gets too overfilled. You shut off the water, massage in a small dollop of Sam’s secret conditioner, pin up your hair and then slip into the warm bubbly water. You sink down until the water is lapping your collarbone and let out a contented sigh. As you lay there letting the hot water soak into your skin and relax you, you continue considering what to get the brothers. So far all you can think of is a new book set for Sam and some new vinyls or cassettes for Dean, plus the special gift for his eyes only. You know they’d both be more than content with those options so you make a mental note to order them and then let your mind wander back to other Christmas activities, such as what movie you’re going to subject Dean to after the water cools. 

By the time your skin is well and truly pruned, the water is starting to feel cooler, so you drag yourself out of the tub and wrap yourself in a towel. You let the water out and then brace yourself for the cool air in the rest of the bunker. As you wander down the cold hall to your room, your body instantly feels cooler. You miss the warmth of the bathwater already, but you force yourself to go on. In your room, one of Dean’s hoodies, a pair of thick tracksuit pants and a pair of fluffy socks are spread out on the bed with a note: 

Hope you enjoyed your bath, Sweetheart. Put these on and meet me in the Dean-cave.

You smile as you quickly drop the towel and slip into the prepared outfit. You pad down to the Dean-cave and your jaw drops. A fibre-optic tree stands in the corner of the room lighting the whole space in vibrant colours. A fireplace crackles on the TV in the centre of the wall adding a warm glow and an overwhelming aroma of pizza and gingerbread wafts past you. Then you finally settle on the man standing in the middle of the room with his arms outstretched. His comforting smile warms your soul and sends the butterflies in your stomach into a frenzy. You never thought a hunter could feel this way or make memories like this, but you’re so grateful that you can. You know in this moment that Dean will be your forever and it only strengthens your resolve to throw the best Christmas either of you have ever experienced. You run over to him and jump into his embrace, his strong arms catch you and hold you tight.

“Merry Christmas, Sweetheart,” he whispers next to your ear.”

“Thank you. Merry Christmas, Baby.”

Unsurprisingly, Dean falls asleep midway through the movie. You take the opportunity to pull out your phone and order their gifts. Looking at the confirmation emails, you feel more content and positive about the chances of having a real Christmas this year. You carefully move the empty popcorn bowl to the coffee table and snuggle into your boyfriend’s weak embrace to enjoy the remainder of the sappy Christmas flick. 

The next week passes quickly and it’s Christmas Eve before you know it. Over the last few days, you decorated more trees to put in the library and kitchen and baked Christmas cookies. Finally, the bunker looked, smelled and felt Christmassy, at least in the most used rooms. Your gifts had arrived and you managed to sneak away to wrap them, now all that’s left is to put them under the tree, celebrate Christmas day and then orchestrate Dean’s special present.

While Dean’s working hard in the kitchen cleaning up from his Christmas cooking, I sneak out and put the presents for them under the tree in the library where they’re most likely to see them. I then quickly sneak back to our room and snuggle up in bed while I wait for Dean to join me. The anticipation sparkles through my body making it hard to relax. I scroll through my phone to distract myself by it’s no use, every photo is of people out celebrating Christmas. 

When Dean finally comes and joins me, I snuggle into his embrace and try to relax. He checks his watch and then kisses my head, “Merry Christmas, Sweetheart.”

“Merry Christmas my love.” 

When you wake up, the bed is already empty. You’re a little disappointed at first but then you figure that Dean must be up doing something special, so you forgive him and jump out of bed to search for him. Predictably, you find him in the kitchen in front of the industrial stove. You approach quietly and wrap your arms around his chest. “Good morning, Handsome.”

“Good morning, Beautiful. Your special Christmas breakfast will be ready soon.”

You glance around him at the frying pan. It’s full of bacon and a plate of fried eggs sits to the side. “We have bacon and eggs all the time.”

“So? It’s still special.”

“I guess. I’ll be right back.” You kiss the back of his shoulder blade and then pull away. You go to the bathroom to freshen up for the morning, brush your teeth and then get changed into the dress you ordered when you ordered their gifts. It’s a bright red A-line dress with long sleeves, the hem falls around your knees and it flows around you as you move. You rarely dress up like this. The most you generally get to do is a button-down and pencil skirt when you’re pretending to be FBI or short slutty numbers when you’re playing bait in bars. This dress is cute and conservative but makes you feel so pretty. You sway a few more times in front of the mirror admiring your different look before finally emerging from your room and going back to join Dean in the kitchen. When you walk in, he’s set the table with plates, and cutlery and poured you both a mug of coffee. As a treat, he even added a dash of milk and sugar to yours. You can drink it black and often do due to not always having access to the luxury of milk and sugar, but he knows you prefer it on the sweeter side. You smile and he checks you out. He’s speechless. He nudges you towards your seat at the table.

“Sit down before I change my mind about all this and take you back to bed for breakfast instead.”

You smirk as you twirl in front of him. “You like?”

“You kidding? You’re stunning. Sometimes I forget you’re a woman and can look this beautiful.” You give him a disgruntled look and he tries to backpedal. “You know what I mean! I know you’re a woman, it’s just you never dress up like this. You’re always dressing and acting like one of the guys with me and Sam. You fit so well that sometimes it just feels like you’re one of us instead of my incredibly sexy girlfriend.” You giggle a little at his clear embarrassment and he shakes his head with a mock glare. “Sit down and eat your breakfast, it’s going cold.”

“You gonna make me?”

“Don’t tempt me I just m-” Sam comes into the room cutting off Dean as he’s about to reach for your waist and turn this day around. Not wanting him to expose his present yet, and especially not in front of Sam, you quickly sit down and sip your sweet coffee. 

After a large gulp of caffeine, you finally say, “Good morning, Sam. Merry Christmas.”

“Morning, Y/N. Merry Christmas.”

“I know Dean wouldn’t have cooked it, but that meat-free bacon you like is in the fridge. I wanted-”

“You what? You know there’s no meat-free shit in the Meat-Man’s kitchen!” Dean proclaims loudly.

“One, it’s not just your kitchen, Babe. And two, that does not mean what you think it does,” you say with a pointed look before smiling back at Sam, “help yourself. Consider it your first Christmas gift.”

“Than-”

“First? Why does he get more than one?” Dean complains.

“Who said you don’t? Stop whining and eat your breakfast.”

“Or what?”

“Stop it or I’m going back to bed!” Sam says. “I’m not listening to your bedroom talk at breakfast.”

“Yeah, Y/N, stop it.” Dean teases.

“You’re so childish,” you say with a smile before diving into your breakfast.

Once you all finish eating, you help clean up and then move to the Dean Cave. Dean flops down on the two-seater and stretches his arms along the back so you can slot in beside him. You turn on the lights on the tree and then sit down beside him as Sam sits on the single recliner beside you. Dean flicks on the TV to fill the space and finds a Christmas movie playing. After a few minutes, you all realise how sappy and predictable it is, so you get up to go get your gifts from the tree in the library. You hand them to the brothers and then sit down to watch them unwrap them. Sam goes first, carefully peeling apart the paper to reveal the new fantasy book set. He flips it over to read the blurb and then thanks you, saying he can’t wait to read it. You then turn to Dean. He fiddles with the packages trying to guess what it is and you grimace, worried he’s going to break it. Then he finally rips the paper off and inspects the albums. 

“These will be great to play in our new machine. Thanks, Sweetheart.” He carefully places them to the side and slaps his thighs as he gets up. “My turn I guess.” He collects two messily wrapped gifts from under the tree. He tosses one to Sam and hands the other to you gently. “Sam first,” he winks at you as he sits back down. Sam tears off the newspaper wrapping and smiles knowingly at the bottle of beer and skin mags. Then they both look at you expectantly. You take the hint and open yours. It’s small and feels solid as you turn it in your hands. You hold your breath as you peel away the paper to reveal a small velvet jewellery box. You shake your head as you look over at your boyfriend. He just nods. You close your eyes as you flick the box open.

Dean rests his hand on your bare knee urging you to look. When you finally open your eyes you see it’s a small pendant of a strange symbol hung on a thin black rope that matches his. You finally allow yourself to breathe as he takes it out of the box and ties it on your neck. With his lips near your ear, he asks, “You expected a ring?”

“Maybe…But I was more scared that it was. I love you Dean, but-”

“I know. It��s an angelic protection symbol, just FYI. Cas showed me and I made it.”

“I love it.”

Sam then gets up and retrieves two paper bags from his room. He hands one each to you and Dean. You both carefully reach into the bags at the same time pulling out a bottle of booze. Yours is a sweet strawberry and cream liquor that he caught you ordering at a bar a while ago. It was highly over priced to buy by the glass but you know it’s not something any of you would buy at a liquor store as you always get drinks you can all share or that are on the sale rack. Dean then inspects his bottle of top-shelf scotch whiskey. You know it’ll be gone in no time, but he’ll enjoy it. You both thank Sam for the thoughtful gifts and relax back into your seats. 

You all spend the rest of the day relaxing in the Dean Cave watching Christmas movies until it’s time for dinner. Around 5pm Dean stands up and disappears into the kitchen to start preparing some festive food. He carves ham off the bone, heats some turkey pieces, mashes potatoes and roasts a range of seasonal veggies after covering them in salt and oil of course to make them edible in his eyes. You spend the time while he’s distracted getting your room ready for his after-dinner surprise. You make the bed nicely and lay the thin lacy dressing gown you bought with the lingerie on the end of the bed for quick change. Finally, you hang one of his ties on the door knob so you can blindfold him when the time is right.

The table is set beautifully when you finally join the brothers in the kitchen. Sam has a glass of eggnog in front of him. He pours one each for you and Dean with a small smirk and you instantly know it’s going to be strong. You take a small sip and wince. You place it down, you want to be sober-ish tonight for a seamless execution. Dean places the last of the food on the table and sits opposite you. You all start dishing up your food and try to have a lighthearted conversation that doesn’t revolve around hunting; it’s harder than you thought. As you eat, you take small sips of the eggnog. Dean smiles at you whenever you look up. As much as he’d never admit it, you know he’s enjoying celebrating Christmas as much as you are. He’s never had much chance to have anything nice or indulge in normal celebrations. Since you’ve been in his life you’ve tried to do what you can, but being a hunter makes it difficult. The most you generally manage is to buy or make him a pie and then either start or end the day with mind-blowing sex or a blow job, but if you’re hunting he rarely even gets that. That’s why you’re so determined to make today special. 

Dessert comes soon after dinner is put away and cleaned up, which you’re thankful for. The nearer the end of the night gets, the more eager you get for Dean’s gift. You barely want to eat as you don’t want to go into a food coma; you want to be agile enough for the night’s activities but you know if you don’t eat it will be suspicious, so you force yourself to eat a small piece of pie slowly. Across from you, Dean scoffs his pie like it’s his last meal on Earth. You can’t help but smile. But then a blush creeps up your neck and cheeks as you imagine him eating you as passionately as he is the pie. You know he would, and likely will later tonight. You force yourself to push away the thought before they notice.

Half an hour later it’s finally acceptable to sneak away. Sam excuses himself to his room to start reading the books you gave him and you use the opportunity to sneak out of the kitchen yourself. You lean against your bedroom door as you wait patiently–or impatiently rather–for Dean to come find you. You fiddle with his tie as you wait. After what feels like an eternity, but is really only a few minutes, you hear Dean coming down the hall. You instantly straighten yourself up and put on a confident front. The second your eyes meet he smirks knowing something is up, or maybe he has plans of his own, you’re not entirely sure, but you know there’ll be time for both if he does. He picks up his pace to jog to you, but as he gets within reach you put your hands out in front of you, the tie dangling off the fingers of your right hand. 

“You gonna tie me up?” he asks lowly, eyeing off the piece of material.

“Maybe…but first, lean down, you’re too tall.” He happily obliges but he kisses you briefly as he does. You take the opportunity to quickly wrap the tie over his eyes and in a bow at the back of his head. He doesn’t complain, he just uses his other, now heightened senses to continue to kiss you and hold you close. As he does, you reach behind you to turn the doorknob and slowly walk backwards into the room. Once the door is shut you step back quickly out of his reach and slip your red dress over your head, quickly replacing it with the lacey dressing gown. You tie a careful bow as Dean tries to seek you out. You stay just out of his reach as you sneak around behind him and lay carefully in the middle of the bed trying your best to pose seductively.

“Alright, come get your gift, Handsome.”

A low growl comes from his throat as he takes small careful steps towards your voice. When he’s facing you and almost against the end of the bed you tell him to take off the blindfold. He reaches behind his head quickly ripping the fabric off his head. His hair spikes up in all directions and you almost laugh, but you stay composed as his eyes run over you. “You gonna unwrap your present?”

“Fuck yeah. Just gimme a second to admire you first. So sexy.”

You stretch your legs out, reaching for him with your toes, but he quickly captures your foot and runs his calloused hand down your calf to your knee. He keeps a grip on your knee, holding you close as he crawls onto the bed. He runs his other hand down your other leg before lightly pulling them both around his waist. You cross your ankles behind his back pulling him closer. He falls to his hands, hovering over you as he continues to take in the moment. He kisses you softly before sitting back on his knees. He softly runs his fingers over the soft material before paying close attention to the bow. Savouring the moment, he unties it slowly before pushing the material away to expose the sexy red lingerie that leaves little to the imagination.

He growls lowly again as he asks, “Were you wearing this all day?” You nod and he throws his head back groaning. “I knew I should’a brought you back in here earlier.” He looks down at the thin lace covering your sex and bites his lip. “Looks like the wait was definitely worth it though. You’re so ready for me already.” 

You nod. “So, why’d you stop unwrapping?” That’s all he needs to pull you up to him and strip the grown from your shoulders. He kisses you deeply as his hands explore the lace and your body. You can tell he’s searching for how to remove the barrier from your body, but it’s admittedly complicated, so you just bring his hand down to where you need him and push the fabric to the side. He obediently slides two fingers into your heat with a groan and hooks them forward. You throw your head back and his lips slide down your neck, kissing every sensitive point like he has them mapped out in his head (to be honest, he probably does).

Near your ear, he whispers, “This is the best Christmas ever. Thank you, Baby.” You gasp at his words. He rarely calls you that, that particular pet name is saved for his precious car, but whenever he does it’s during passionate moments like this and you know then that he considers you one of the most important aspects of his life. Deep down you know he’d let the Impala fall off a cliff if it meant saving you or Sam, but it’s still extremely important to him; she’s his last tangible link to his parents and you’d never begrudge him of that. Your thoughts are dragged back to the present when he pulls away. You open your eyes to glare at him when you notice he’s shedding his shirts and jeans. You use that moment to undo the hidden clasps that keep the lace in place. He shakes his head at you, knowing he never would’ve found them on his own. He reaches out his hands to pull you up to him so he can help you the rest of the way out of what looks like a very sexy trap. The second you’re both naked he gently guides you back onto the bed and crawls over you. He kisses you softly as he slides inside your wet heat with a moan. You bite down on his lower lip as he pushes all the way in, filling you perfectly. He gives you both a minute to adjust and get used to the bliss before pulling back slightly and thrusting back in with more force. You dig your fingers into his short hair as he continues to increase his pace and pressure. As he bites his lip and his little sounds intensify you can tell he’s trying to hold back and drag out the moment. You slide your hand up his left arm and lock your fingers with his before guiding his hand to your clit. He rubs small circles at just the pressure he knows gets you off as he slows his hip movements slightly, dragging out each forceful thrust. You throw your head back with a loud moan as you feel yourself let go around him. He gives you two final thrusts before finally letting himself go. He pulls his left hand back off you to hold himself up as his lower body convulses with yours. After a few seconds, he falls to the side beside you trying to catch his breath. You lay there just revelling in the pleasure too until he reaches out and pulls you to his chest. He kisses your head and says, “Merry Christmas, Baby. Best gift ever.”

“Merry Christmas my love. I completely agree.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

[linopls]

kinktober day two

titfucking seungmin x fem!reader summary: seungmin's biggest pet peeve is when you forget plans warnings: warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI, 18+, degradation, humiliation, manhandling, use of color system 0.9k words

“seungmin, i’m sorry! i didn’t mean-”

“ground,” he commands.  you comply, not wanting to piss him off more than he already is.

“i’ll make it up to you! i promise! whatever you want-” tears are streaming down your face and your grabbing at his legs, begging him to forgive you.

he grabs your chin in one of his big hands to cut you off. “i want you to shut the fuck up. since you want to act like such a slut, i’ll fucking treat you like one.” he forcefully releases his grip on your face, in a throw-like motion. “take your shirt off to match your fucking cunt.”

you quickly take your shirt off and throw it god knows where. you sit on your knees, hands in your lap, waiting for seungmin to make his next move. you had forgotten that seungmin said he would come over after his schedule today and he caught you playing with yourself. he had previously said that this event would probably stress him out so he wanted to come to your apartment and make love to you before falling asleep. 

“i’m already fucking exhausted from today,” he says, walking over to your nightstand and opening one of your drawers. “and i expected to come home to my beautiful lover that i could make sweet, romantic love to. but no.” he turns around, a small bottle of lube in one hand and he’s unbuckling his belt with the other. “i came home to a slut, who couldn’t even wait for me to come home to make her feel good.”

he grabs you by the chin again and lowers himself to eye level with you. “i was going to be so sweet and gentle with you today, i was thinking about it the whole way home. but now i don’t think you deserve it.”

you gulp, too scared to respond, seungmin picks up on this. normally you would have a snarky remark or would continue to beg for forgiveness, but today you’re too disappointed in yourself to do so. 

“color?” seungmin whispers, lightening the grip on your jaw. 

“g-green,” you whisper back, lowering your head.

“good,” he says, as he stands up fully.

“c-can i say one thing?” you ask meekly.

“yes,” he answers, standing above you looking down at your solemn figure.

“i’m very sorry, i-i had mixed up what days y-you said y-you’d be o-over and i,uh, thought it was ‘morrow.”

“shouldn’t be so forgetful,” he laughs, pulling his belt off and throwing it onto your bed. 

“i know. you can do whatever you need to me tonight and i’ll make it up to you in the morning.”

“i intend to,” he spits. he pulls his slacks down just enough for his hard cock to spring free, the sight makes your mouth water. “sit up,” he commands. 

you do as he asks and sit up on your knees, you’re face to face with his stomach and you look up to him. he looks so handsome like this, telling you want to do and holding this power above you.

“push ‘em together,” he says, removing the cap from the bottle of lube. he doesn’t have to explicitly say it, you know exactly what he’s talking about.

you knew that seungmin was a tit guy, the way he always groped at them or stared at them no matter what you were doing. a couple months ago, you were having a similar scene but you were allowing him to face fuck you. he stopped suddenly and asked if it would be okay to use your tits to get off. ever since then he had become addicted to it and would do it any time you misbehaved.

you pushed your breasts together and he prepared his cock and placed it between your tits. 

“good?” he asks. everytime he checks in, it makes your heart swell. you nod in response.

he slowly begins to move back and forth between your soft breasts. “fuck,” he groans. 

you nod. you feel yourself dripping all over your hardwood floors and you adjust yourself to close your legs and stop any further leaking. 

“sitting nice and still while i use you is the least you could do right now.” he says through gritted teeth.

you try to move again but seungmin grabs you by the jaw and pulls you to look at him.

“why the fuck are you moving?” seungmin yells.

“d-don’t want to make a mess on my floor,” you whisper.

“speak up slut. you were so loud earlier begging for my forgiveness. where is that now?” he taunts, tightening his grip on your jaw.

“i’m making a mess on my floor, d-don’t want to leave a puddle.”

“oh my god,” seungmin erupts into laughter. “you are such a fucking slut aren’t you? i can just use your tits for my own pleasure and it has you gushing all over the place, hmm?”

your face turns red and tears threaten to spill over.

“gonna cry, hmm? save it.” seungmin grabs both of your shoulders and begins to fuck your tits faster.

“push ‘em together further, slut.”

you push your breasts together as hard as you can and seungmin moans loudly in response. 

“gonna come all fucking over you,” he spits before releasing his load. he paints your breasts, neck, and jaw white and you sigh in relief. he takes one of his fingers and slides it over a pile of is cum and holds it to your mouth,

“suck,” he commands and you eagerly take his fingers into your mouth. 

once you wipe them clean, he ponders for a moment. “push ‘em back together,” he says, stroking his cock back to its full length. “i’m not finished yet.”

seungmin simps please rise !!

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[hannibals-favourite-meal]

.⋆｡Gone But Here All The Same｡⋆.

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x plus size reader

Being a military wife could be quite lonesome especially being a military wife to a ghost but he knows exactly what you need to make you feel less alone

Warnings: smut, phone sex, masturbation (m&f), some reference to death and PTSD but not really, dom!Simon, sex toys, bit of voice kink, size kink

WC: 1.7k

Minors DNI

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

You knew what you were getting into when you married Simon. He was a member of the special forces who technically didn’t exist- you were used to the long months when he was shipped off, the anxiety that John Price would show up on your doorstep with a frown and a letter from the military, the anger and the fear that your husband carried on his chest every moment of the day.

You knew all of this and yet you still married him because he was the best thing to ever happen to you and besides that, he was the best lay you ever had.

Simon had ruined you for any other man (and toy) the moment that his thick fingers slipped between your soft thighs and into your panties under the bar table on your third date. He drove you insane with the smallest of touches, playing with your body with a finesse that only a seasoned soldier could.

You constantly ached for him, feeling so hollow without his thick cock stretching you to your absolute limit. Sure the reunion sex was absolutely mind-blowing every time he came home but with Simon leaving for sometimes months at a time, your need for any sort of pleasure drove you insane.

But luckily, he was going to call you today.

Simon called when he could, usually it was from a private number or some foreign phone, a different number every time. He had created a system with you, he would always call on the 13th of every month and if he missed it, he would call you on the 23rd. 

You sat on your shared bed, staring intently at your phone. The minutes ticked by at a snail's pace as the sun cast a warm orange glow over the large bedroom. You sighed when the clock hit 8, you doubted that he would call today.

A groan slipped from your lips as you rocked forward to slip from the bed, but just then the phone screen lit up, displaying a cute photo of you and Simon on your honeymoon as a random number rolled across the top. You snatched it up and quickly answered.

“Simon.” You breathed, relief flooding your body. His chuckle crackled through your phone’s speaker.

“Hello to you too bunny.” Your smile grew even wider if that was at all possible. He only ever called you bunny when he was in a good mood. You flopped back against the mountain of pillows propped against the headboard, keeping your phone as close as you could in lieu of your husband’s massive body.

“Are you coming home soon?” You tugged the collar of the shirt you were wearing up to your nose, inhaling the fading scent of his cologne.

He was silent for a moment. “No, not yet love.” ‘Love’, that’s what he called you when he was trying to let you down easy. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion but he quickly spoke again. “I do have a present for you bunny.” He purred, his voice dropping down an octave to that deep baritone that haunted your wet dreams.

“But nothing was delivered to the house?” 

“Oh bunny.” He said mockingly. “Your present is already in the house. How ‘bout you check my nightstand.” You practically dove over to his side of the bed in your excitement, Simon’s broken laughter following after you.

The drawer slid open and you gasped. Sitting on top of one of his many spare balaclavas and a book he was in the middle of reading was an enormous dildo. There was a suction cup on the bottom where the balls should have been and with a little bow sitting on the head, it made you laugh a little under your breath. “Got it?” 

Simon’s voice broke you out of your trance. You snatched up the toy and gasped at the weight of it. “Simon what is this?” You settled back into your original spot, your fingers flexing around the purple silicon almost unconsciously.

“I would think you know what it is considering how often you beg for it.” He said right as your middle finger brushed against an incredibly life-like vein towards the base of the fake cock, a vein you knew very well.

“Is this- is this your cock?” Molten heat pooled between your thighs as you held the toy even tighter, now realising that you were indeed holding a replica of your husband’s generous gift. Already you were using your free hand to pull your soaked panties down your legs.

“Damn right it is. You think I would let another cock near you?” He snarled, sending another wave of arousal right to your core. You moaned softly into the air as your fingers brushed against your aching clit, smearing your wetness over the sedative bundle of nerves. “Oh you like that don’t you.”

“Si.” His groan echoed through the room and you could faintly hear the sound of a zipper.

“Go on bunny, get that cunt nice and stretched for my cock.” You were dripping onto the comforter beneath you, desperately eager to follow each and every one of his orders. Excitement began to curl in your stomach as two of your fingers easily slipped into your cunt. It wasn’t nearly enough for you, your fingers weren’t as thick or as long as your husband’s but they were warming you up well enough.

“Can I put it in now?” You pleaded into your phone, needing your husband’s cock nestled inside you once more, even if it was only a replica. He let out a sniffled groan and you could just picture the way he was biting his lip to keep his voice down, his blue eyes squeezed shut as he gripped the base of his dick to stave off his end. He always got noisy when he was about to cum.

“I don’t think your little cunt can handle it.” He managed to get out through clenched teeth. You nodded frantically. “Words bunny.” He snarled, briefly jolting you from your haze.

“Yes Si, can handle you. Always do.” Your other hand practically flew between your thighs, the toy gripped so tightly you could feel the silicon give under the tension. The cold tip bumped against your hot skin as you notched it at your entrance. 

Your cunt burned as it finally breached you, dousing the ache in your belly. You whined with pain and Simon moaned. It was no secret that he loved the size difference between you both, he revealed in the way you cried when he fucked you, his massive cock stirring up your guts in the most deliciously painful way.

You could barely breathe as you reached the halfway mark. “So big.” Your back arched and you forced another inch inside you. A wet slapping came through your phone’s speakers along with Simon’s muffled breaths.

An image of him flashed behind your eyes- fully dressed in dark clothes but with his fly open and his thick cargo pants shuffled down his hips just enough for his cock to be free. The ridged lines of his skull mask would hide the way his lips twitched as he got lost in the feel of his gloved fist around his aching length. 

You cried out as you finally reached the hilt of the dildo, finally you were full of him once more. “Simon, you feel so good.” You pulled the toy out only a few centimetres before pushing it back in and sending a shockwave of pleasure through you. 

“Fuck bunny, keep talking.” He ground out as the wet sounds on his end picked up the pace.

“I can feel you in my belly, so big. Stretching me out.” Your hand began to move faster. It wasn’t the same as when your husband fucked you, you couldn’t feel his weight keeping you picked to the mattress or the way his cock would throb and twitch within you but the sound of his voice right next to your ear was all the same. 

His groan resonated through your chest, lighting your nerves up with that familiar fire. “Take that fucking cock, bunny, be a good girl and fuck yourself on it. Let me hear you cum for me.” 

You thrashed on top of the bed, hips rolling down to meet your hand with each thrust. “Simon!” You clumsily strummed your clit with your other hand so wishing for the rough fingertips of your husband instead. “‘M close.” You mewled.

“Cum.” The connection crackled with the depth of his voice but the effect was still the same. Your body seized suddenly as your jaw dropped in a silent scream. Pleasure rippled through you like a tidal wave, both easing and fuelling your lust. 

As soon as your breath returned to your lungs, you chanted his name over and over again as you rode out your high. “That’s it, good bunny.” Simon cooed, his breath hitching as he thrust into his fist with an added fervour. You were delirious with ecstasy, the toy inside of you now only keeping you full while your orgasm began to fade.

“Simon. Need your cum.” You begged softly into the phone. “Please Simon. Need it so bad.” He gasped and then moaned deep in his chest. 

“Shit.” He said breathlessly after a moment. “Shoulda brought a towel with me.” He grumbled and you laughed.

As gently as you could, you eased the dildo from your cunt. You winced at the stretch, now feeling sore and satisfied for the first time in two months. “How much longer do you have left on the call?” There was a grunt and then the sound of a zipper.

“Not long.” You sighed and relaxed back into the pillows. Simon always got quiet after sex, his pillow talk was practically non-existent.

“I love you.” There was a beat and then.

“Go take a shower and have a snack. Don’t forget water.” He never said it back but you felt it all the same. “I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

There was muffled shouting in the background and he sighed. “Stay safe out there. Don’t worry about me.” Your fingers curled around your phone and tucked it closer to your body.

“Always do bunny.” He replied simply. “Always do.” 

You held onto the device long after he finally hung up. It was hard being Simon’s wife but it was also the easiest thing in the world because you knew that he would always be right there, even when he was thousands of miles away.

MW2 Masterlist | Main Masterlist

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[doomhands-jr]

Pairing: Delinquent!Noah Sebastian X Pastor's Daughter!Reader

Summary: Noah is a delinquent with a lot of anger at the church. You're a pastor's daughter plagued by moral perfectionism, charged with overseeing the community service he's been sentenced to complete. You've never encountered true temptation before. How will you fare up against Noah, who not only isn't bound by the same rules of purity as you, but actively scoffs at them?

Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Warnings: Needles, underage drinking, explicit language. This is the last filler chapter before shit starts picking up again.

Masterlist

Thanks to @flowerynerds for the banner!

Thanks to @throughwoodsanddirt for the beta!

______________

The late morning streamed into your room, flooding the ornamental rug in dappled sun. A light snow had begun collecting at the bottom of your window, but the cloud cover wasn’t yet dense enough to obscure the light. 

You’d woken up several hours ago but hadn’t worked up the wherewithal to drag yourself out of bed. Instead, you’d spent the time scrolling through various social media apps, keeping up to date with how your friends were spending their winter break. 

Your mom had Facetimed you that morning to check in. She’d updated you all about the trip she and your father were on. Several prominent members from a network of churches in the region had flown to some obscure part of Africa and were currently building a school and a church. They were planning to open it on Christmas Eve and have a dedication ceremony. They’d also purchased toys for the kids to open on Christmas morning. Her excitement poured through on her face and in her voice, and despite your reservations about missions trips, you smiled. 

As much as you wished middle-class families could participate in philanthropy and still respect the cultural belief systems of the people they were visiting, a school was a school, and you hoped it would be a net positive to the village. 

Once you got off the phone with her, your stomach began to rumble, so you rolled over and dug through a drawer in your nightstand you’d designated as your snack drawer until you pulled out a pack of cinnamon pop-tarts. Probably not the healthiest breakfast you could have chosen, but whatever—you ate them without tasting, continuing to scroll while your thoughts drifted to yesterday.

You heaved a sigh, unsure how to proceed with Noah. He seemed like he was the real deal, but then again, he had seemed like that before and ended up hurting you anyway. Now, he was weaseling his way back into your heart, burrowing under your skin and making himself comfortable as an uninvited guest. Worse still, you found yourself growing soft for him, which was a problem for you.  

It was possible that you were blinded by your attraction to him, giving him the benefit of the doubt because you were naïve and wanted him to be better than he was. 

But yesterday, he’d treated you with more respect than you’d ever received from a man. It didn’t feel performative, either… Your intuition told you he was being honest, but even if he wanted to do better—was he capable? Could he turn his behavior around that easily? Was it all an act just to get back into your good graces? 

You came upon a video that broke you out of your thoughts. Ava had posted herself and her little cousins playing some card game you didn’t recognize. You smiled, noticing how old they were getting. You’ve been close with Ava’s family since middle school and remember when her cousins were first born. As much as Ava fought with her parents, her cousins were always a soft spot for her. 

You replayed the video, brushing the crumbs off your shirt when you heard a knock at your door. 

Speak of the devil…

Cautiously, you slid off your bed and padded over to the doorway, opening it to find a very out-of-breath and sweaty Noah in a black tracksuit and puffer jacket. Impressive, in light of the cold. 

“Hi?” you said, the question likely as evident on your face as it was in your voice. 

“Hey,” he said, watching you observe the sweat that clung to his forehead. “I jogged here.” 

“I can see that,” you replied, fighting a smile. “What’s up?” 

“Do you wanna come work out?” he asked.

Your face contorted with confusion. “Work out? Right now?” you asked, leaning back into your room and checking the weather on the other side of the window. “It’s snowing.” 

“Well, yeah,” he said. “The gym isn’t that far away. I was on my way and thought I’d stop by and see if you wanted to join.” 

You pouted. “Gross.” 

Noah’s face scrunched up as he snickered at you. “Come on,” he pressed. “It won’t be that bad.”  

You wrinkled your nose. “It sounds hard.” 

Noah rolled his eyes. “Go get changed. We’re going to the gym.” 

____________

“Ten,” Noah breathed. “Alright, you can do it. Give me two more and then you’re done.” 

You tensed your whole body, squeezing your core as he’d instructed, the iron bar heavy across your shoulders, knurling cutting into your skin and bruising the back of your neck. 

“I don’t understand why you want to see me suffer so badly,” you panted, struggling under the weight.  

Noah laughed. “Call it a kink. Come on, you can do it.” 

You flushed at his remark, diverting your gaze from his for a moment to collect yourself, and when you locked eyes with him once again in the mirror in front of you, his expression told you he knew exactly where your mind had gone. 

He stood behind you, arms outstretched and ready to catch the bar should you fail. You dipped down into a squat, legs straining to keep you balanced and steady, and then with monumental effort, you brought yourself back up to standing. 

“One more,” he said, voice coming out low and soft to soothe against the burn you felt in your thighs. “I’ve got you.” 

You didn’t think you could do it, every muscle protesting against you, but you’d come this far. You dipped down once more, feeling your legs start to give out. When you got to the lowest point of the squat, you got stuck, legs beginning to give out under the weight of the iron. 

“Come on, get it up,” Noah said, voice gaining in volume. You squeezed your eyes shut, gritting your teeth as you concentrated on standing. A few more moments of strain, and then Noah’s hands grasped you around your middle, warm and firm on either side, holding you steady. He added just enough leverage that slowly, inch by inch, you moved the bar until you were back to standing. 

As soon as you re-racked the bar, you collapsed onto the black rubber mat of the gym floor. Sprawled out, chest heaving to catch your breath, you looked over to Noah, who fought to hide a smile behind a hand that pretended to scratch at his lip. 

“And you willingly subject yourself to this kind of torture?” you said, legs somewhere between numb and burning. You kneaded the soft flesh, trying to bring back sensation into the limbs, now draped uselessly in front of you.

“Give it a few tries. You’ll get addicted to it,” he said, taking a seat next to you and removing the cap from his water bottle. 

The gym he’d taken you to was in an old warehouse that had used to store lumber, Noah had mentioned on the snowy walk there. Inside, an array of rusted equipment littered the room with no real rhyme or reason. You had no idea what most of it was even used for. 

The gym was mostly empty on a Thursday morning. Across the room, a middle-aged man performed set after set of bicep curls in front of the mirror. In the corner, a thirty-something woman jogged on a treadmill, and two teenage boys took turns bench pressing, which you only knew because Noah had given you a run-down of the most basic strength training exercises, as well as lectured you on why they were so important. 

“You can either choose to suffer in ways you can control now or be forced to suffer in ways you can’t control later,” he said. 

You rolled your head across your shoulders to look at him. “What are you even talking about?” 

He rested his weight behind him on his palms and looked down at you with a patient sort of condescension. 

“You’re young and fit now,” he said, “but that goes away more and more every year. Pretty soon, you’ll wake up with back pain and hip pain and all that other stuff. The longer you let it go, the worse it gets, and the longer it takes to fix. If you build a good foundation now, it’s a lot easier to maintain.” 

“Ugh,” you scoffed, leaning back onto the floor and staring at the metal roof above. He had a point, but you hated when he got all preachy—you’d had enough of that in your life. “What got you into working out?” 

“My job,” he said. “It’s really hard on the body—too much repetitive motion.” As if to hammer his previous point home, he hoisted himself up by the side of the squat rack and began loading heavy iron plates onto either end of the bar. “My body is my instrument.” He stepped under the bar, situating himself in the center to evenly distribute the load across his shoulders before he heaved the bar off the rack. “I have to take care of it.” 

You allowed yourself to watch unapologetically, taking in the corded ropes of his hamstrings, the broad expanse of his shoulders, the sweat that dripped down from his forehead, off the end of his nose, and down his chest, pooling in the space above his collarbones. The hard set of his jaw as he focused on his form. He bottomed out in his squat, pausing for a moment before exhaling a heavy breath, then ascended, every muscle in his legs straining against his skin until he stood tall and proud. 

And then he repeated it. 

_________

“Jesus?” 

“Yeah…and?” 

Noah winced, hissing through his teeth. Every time he booked a tattoo session, he was confident that he was familiar enough with the sting of a tattoo needle that it wouldn’t faze him, and every time, he was proven wrong. 

“Nothing, I just…I thought it would have come up before now.” 

Noah couldn’t see your reaction from where he sat in the chair, but he could tell you were mulling over the large portrait of Jesus Christ done in American traditional style on his back. 

“I didn’t want you to read too much into it,” he said, sucking in a breath and holding it while Winston, his tattoo artist, colored in a particularly sensitive spot right over his spine. 

He could tell that was exactly what you were doing by how quiet you were. The Jesus tattoo had started out as a joke—something that allowed him to reclaim a bit of religious iconography in an almost tongue-in-cheek way. As he absorbed more pain from the needle over multiple sessions, however, it morphed into something else. 

In his mind, the figurehead represented a belief that suffering was ultimately the path to righteousness. Not suffering in an unnecessary or gratuitous way, but suffering as in self-sacrifice. And not righteousness in the way Christianity frames it, but from a mental health perspective. 

Noah’s mental health had always been a delicate instrument with which he’d had to tinker. Lately, he’d been learning more and more about what improves it and what causes it to tank. Humble work through low-level suffering has been the best way for him to take control of his psyche. Engaging in pleasures of the flesh was fine every once in a while, but ultimately left him feeling empty. 

It was something he supposed Jesus probably knew all along. Perhaps that what was Christianity should have been about. 

“So why Jesus?” Your curious voice broke him out of his thought pattern. 

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I saw it in a flash book one time and I just liked it. It doesn’t have any meaning.” 

It did, actually, but he wasn’t ready to unpack all of that yet, let alone admit it. Maybe with time. 

“I’m thinking of getting one,” you said. Noah tried to turn his head to look at you, but his artist tutted and directed him to keep still. 

“Like what?” Rather than look at you, Noah instead focused on the wall of framed artwork in front of him. Hundreds of tattoo designs hung on the wall ahead—sometimes several to one page. Noah had two of the designs on him: one a floral symbol on his hand, the other was a heart with a burning cross on top of it that he’d chosen to incorporate into his back piece. 

“I liked this little rose I saw in one of the flash books,” you said. 

“I could fit in a palm-sized flash tattoo after I’m done with him. My last appointment cancelled. Damn snow,” said Winston. 

“How much?” you asked. 

“Depends on what you want.” 

He heard your footsteps behind him as you walked away and came back a few minutes later. Noah held his breath—Winston was working on filling something in right below his armpit and it took everything in him to keep still. He wished you would hurry up—the conversation with you was a good distraction for him. 

“This one,” you said. You must have been holding the flash book up for the artist. Noah wished he could see which one you were referring to. 

“Black and white or color?” Winston asked. 

“Color.” 

“Same size as the picture?” he asked. 

“Can you do smaller? Like half the size?” 

“Sure thing. That’ll probably run you about one-twenty.” 

“What about for black and white?” 

“If you just want linework, we can do eighty. If you want shading, it’ll be a hundred.” 

“Is there an ATM nearby?” 

“Right across the street,” said Winston. “But we take card.” 

Noah gritted his teeth as the needle ran across a nerve, but he was finally starting to adjust to the feeling. It always took him a few minutes before he got in the zone. 

“I don’t want the charge to show up.” 

Winston huffed out a laugh as a response. He wasn’t overly-talkative, which Noah liked. He’d been going to Winston on and off for the last two years for his back piece, which was so large it took several sessions. He could have done it faster, but tattoos weren’t cheap, and piece work didn’t exactly pay a fortune. It took several months to save up for a session, and then he’d usually drop six hundred at once and sit for hours at a time. 

Today, however, was just a short session. He’d received a small Christmas bonus and had some spare time, so he’d called up Winston that morning to see if he could get squeezed in. Since half the town had gone home for the holidays, the artist’s schedule was open. The last thing he’d expected was for you to want to tag along. 

The bell for the shop chimed and Noah heard you walk back in. 

“Did you decide on color?” asked Winston. 

“Yep! I’m still deciding on where to get it though. I don’t want my parents to see it.” 

“You could always get an ass tattoo,” said Noah. He’d meant it as a teasing remark, but the way you paused to consider it had his gut turning even more noticeably than the needle currently stabbing ink into his spine. 

________

“You’re being ridiculous, you know.” 

Noah didn’t think he was being ridiculous. If anyone was being ridiculous, it was you. 

“It’s called having manners,” he defended. He stared straight ahead at a blank corner of the shop, fists clenched, trying to determine whether the paint on the wall was a true red or if it had a slight orange tint to it. 

“It’s called being uptight,” you said. 

He didn’t blink, set on winning the staring contest he was holding with the wall. “You’re one to talk.” 

“I’m not the one hiding my nose in a corner because I can’t look at a girl’s hip.” 

Noah rolled his eyes, turning around to face the bench and finding you sprawled across it, face down with the waistband of your pants pulled low on the right side. He swallowed, steeling himself against the sight lest his face betray his thoughts. 

“Is mocking me distracting you from the pain?” he asked. 

“Little bit.” 

He relaxed at the same time you hissed and buried your face in your arms. Hesitantly, he allowed his eyes to run over the curve that stretched from the small of your back to the height of your ass cheek and back down to the top of your thigh. 

The tattoo artist ran his needle over the stencil, outlining the small rose nestled right where your ass and hip met, just below where the waistband of your underwear would sit—he could tell from the vague hint of a tan line still left over from the summer you’d spent at the camp you told him about. 

He could picture you there, getting out of the pool with a wet T-shirt draped over your body because the church camp had rules about modesty when it came to swimwear. Despite your best intentions, the shirt still clung to your curves, the hem riding up to reveal the swell of your ass, bikini bottoms suctioned against the skin, water dripping down your thighs, and… 

“Like what you see?” 

Noah’s eyes snapped up to meet yours. You peeked at him over your shoulder with a knowing smile playing on your face.

“Shut the fuck up,” he spat, but it came out whinier than he’d intended. 

You burst into a fit of barely-suppressed giggles. 

“Hold still,” commanded Winston. 

You whispered an apology and tucked your lips between your teeth to keep from laughing until karma intervened and you winced at a sore spot.  

________

“What do wanna do next?” you asked, practically skipping out of the shop in your post-tattoo high. 

“Nothing,” said Noah from behind you.  

You stopped in your tracks and looked up to find him staring back down on you without any expression you could read. “What?” 

“Look around you,” he said gesturing to the snow. You did, recognizing the wind and snow could put a damper on the evening if you let them, but they didn’t have to. 

“Okay, and?” you asked. 

“It’s a fucking blizzard out. Come on,” he said curtly, grabbing your hand and pulling you in the direction of your dorm. “I’m getting you home.” 

Perhaps it was your temper, or perhaps you were still buzzing from the thrill of getting  your first tattoo but you ripped your hand out of his. “No.” 

Noah spun back around to face you. The wind whipped his hair in front of his face. “What do you mean no? I’m taking you home.” 

“I’m not ready to go home. I want to do something else.” 

Noah sighed, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Like what?” 

“I want to get a drink,” you said, scanning the streets for any nearby bars. 

Noah crossed his arms, tongue prodding at the inside of his cheek. “Are you even old enough to get into a bar?”  

“No, but Folio said he got into bars all the time when he was underage.” You didn’t always listen to Nick when he monologued instead of completing his community service, but that story clung to your mind. 

Noah sighed again. “I told you, I don’t want to overstay my welcome. We’ve already been hanging out most of the day. I don’t want to get in too deep.” 

“You’re not,” you protested. “Besides, you may not deserve it, but I do.” 

At that, he stilled, and you continued. “I’ve spent my entire life trying to be the perfect Christian daughter, okay? I’m so tired of playing it safe. I want a taste of freedom. I’ve earned it. And to be honest, you sort of owe me after the way you treated me.” 

He pursed his lips, considering it, but you already knew you had him backed into a corner with that last remark. A moment later, his shoulders dropped in resignation. “One drink, and then we’re going home.” 

You let out a sound of delight, skipping again to catch up to Noah and then grabbing onto his sleeve when the snow caused your boot to nearly slide out from under you. 

________

“Try not to die on the way there,” he muttered. 

Noah studied the stained glass of the lamp that hung above the pool table, trying to decide whether the red spots were leaves or flower petals. Or were they feathers? 

He wouldn’t let his eyes drift lower, because if he did, he’d have seen your exposed lower back, arching as you bent over the pool table to line up your shot. 

Inside the bar was sweltering. The bartender had mentioned the temperature control on the furnace was on the fritz, and the only options were either letting it run continuously or shutting it off and letting the patrons freeze. 

Sweat beaded at Noah’s temples and at the back of his neck, causing his hair to stick uncomfortably to the skin. Taking an elastic from around his wrist, he gathered his hair and tied it in a knot on top of his head. Even the thin short-sleeved shirt he wore began collecting sweat on the back. 

When the two of you had arrived at his favorite dive bar, the Empty Keg was nearly just that—empty. Nobody had carded you, so Noah had led you to a small table near the back of the place behind the pool tables and told you to sit tight while he ordered drinks from Steve, the familiar bartender Noah had already established a rapport with. 

Guessing at what would be tolerable for you, he ordered you a rum and coke, asking Steve to give you a light pour. He got a whiskey neat for himself and then went ahead and ordered some wings for the two of you to share, since you’d been complaining that you hadn’t eaten much. 

It was torture enough watching you lick wing sauce off the tips of your fingers. Torture again when you peeled your sweater off your body to reveal a practically transparent camisole underneath. Torture a third time when, after your first drink, you asked him to teach you how to play pool. 

He’d tried to remain as respectful, showing you how to hold the cue with verbal direction, rather than being obvious by lining himself up behind you to position you with his hands. A slight hitch in your smile let him know you were frustrated with this, but he insisted. 

You made a show of bending over the pool table to line up your shot, cleavage on display, and Noah had to leave, making the excuse that he was going to buy another round. 

At the bar, he wiped the sweat off his forehead with the hem of his shirt and slumped into a stool. The bartender immediately greeted him and asked if he wanted another round.

“Yes,” he answered, without looking up from where his face was planted in his palms. 

“Girl troubles?” asked Steve as he began pouring the rum. 

“I don’t know,” Noah answered, honestly. It wasn’t something he wanted to get into, and sensing that, Steve shrugged and finished making the drinks, setting the glasses in front of Noah with a clatter. 

Noah knew you were flirting and he wasn’t sure if he was ready to be tested so directly. You made him weak, transforming his resolve from sturdy to feeble with a simple glance and he felt like he was going to die. 

He was in deep. It took every ounce of his resolve to continue treating you like a normal person and not use every single trick he’d acquired in his long history of fuckboyery to get you naked and in his bed. 

It would be so easy, too. You were already doing your best to tempt him. He knew all he had to do was say the word and you’d be all over him in a second. In the humid, whiskey-soaked haze of the bar, it was growing harder and harder to think of a reason why he shouldn’t just give in. 

Except that he wasn’t ready. He knew it. If he gave in too soon, he risked throwing himself back into his normal fight-or-flight response. He’d overthink it and find some reason to pull away in order to protect himself, like he always did. 

No, this time he had to go about it the right way, and you weren’t making it easy on him. 

Without a good reason to delay any longer, he carried the drinks back over, only to be greeted with the sight of you bent over the pool table, tank top riding up and exposing your lower back and the curve of your hips and the beads of sweat that had appeared along your spine and god, if Noah didn’t want to just collect them all with his tongue. 

Jesus fucking Christ. 

He inhaled and exhaled sharply through his nose, saying a silent prayer to excuse his language. Tensing at his jaw and in his fingers around the glasses, he set yours next to you forcefully before taking his place on the opposite end of the pool table so there was at least something sturdier than his resolve separating the two of you. You took your shot and sunk it into the corner pocket. You were obviously hustling him on top of everything else. 

“Thanks,” you said casually, picking up your glass and sipping from it. “I think it’s your turn.” 

“Right,” said Noah. He set his own glass down and searched for his next ball, glad to have something else to focus on. 

He could tell you were unsatisfied with being ignored. You rounded the table and perched yourself on the edge of it next to him, crossing one knee over the other and swinging your legs casually. You leaned up against the pool cue, letting the strap of your tank top fall off your shoulder as you looked at him knowingly and it took all of Noah’s focus not to look back at you. 

“Noah,” you said, voice low and breathy and full of everything Noah had been trying to avoid, and as soon as his name left your lips, Noah scratched, sending the cue ball shooting off the edge of the table. 

“I got it,” he said at the same time that you huffed and jumped down from your perch. He rushed across the bar, chasing after the white ball and when he came back, you stood next to the table with your arms crossed, impatiently tapping your foot and staring him down. 

You were going to have to work harder than that to break him, though. Noah was dead-set on getting out of this interaction without any incident and it was just a matter of who was more stubborn at that point. 

Without making eye contact, Noah set the ball on the table. 

“You’re up,” he muttered, grabbing his drink and letting his eyes nestle deep within the glass of amber liquid. 

He could feel you boring into his face, but he wasn’t going to crack. As soon as you realized that, you slumped over the table and resumed the game. Noah hid his smile in his glass of whiskey and pretended not to notice the exaggerated arch in your back as you bent once more over the table. 

________

Stepping outside the bar, a punishing rush of wind slammed into Noah, causing him to stumble a bit. The conditions had grown even more severe, and Noah knew there was no way they were going to make it all the way to your dorm. 

You must have come to the same conclusion when Noah did, because you tugged on his jacket to get his attention. 

“My dorm’s too far,” you shouted over the wind. “Can I crash at your place?” 

The obvious answer was yes. Both of you knew it, but Noah was still reluctant to answer. This is exactly why he wanted to get you home earlier. 

He trusted himself at the gym. He trusted himself at the tattoo shop. He even trusted himself (barely) at the bar. But in his home? Overnight? With alcohol making his head all fuzzy and softening the lines between your skin and the cloud of lust around you? 

Noah was cooked. 

“Come on, then,” he said, turning and beginning to trudge down the few blocks it took to get to his house. 

You seemed to understand that it was important for you to be on your best behavior or else he might change his mind about letting you stay, so you silently followed, stepping in the footprints he’d left behind. 

________

“Do you need anything to sleep in?” he asked as soon as the two of you reached the entryway of his dilapidated rental. He rubbed his hands together to warm them up—they’d started aching with the cold. 

“I should be okay,” you said, still shivering despite the warmth of his home. 

“Are you sure?” he asked. He scanned you up and down. Your pants were soaked up to the knees from melting snow. 

“Maybe some sweatpants, then” you said, following where his eyes had gone. 

Noah chuckled on his way back to his room, reemerging later with the same set of clothes he’d let you borrow last time. You thanked him, expression a bit bashful as you grabbed the pile from his hands and rushed to the bathroom to change. 

When you came back, your hair was down, spilling pleasantly over your shoulders and Noah watched the way it reflected the low lamplight in waves as you moved. He’d seen you in his clothes before, but in a much different context. 

Now you were here, making yourself at home on the couch while his sweatpants and hoodie swallowed you in comfort. You rubbed your tube-sock-cladded feet together like a goddamn cricket and wrapped your arms around yourself, still apparently trying to get warm. 

“Hey, do you have a blanket or something?” you asked, scanning over the living room. 

“I was, uh,” he began, rubbing a palm over his chin. “I was thinking you could take my bed. I’d crash on the couch.” 

“What?” you said, face twisting with confusion. “Noah, that’s ridiculous. You sleep in your bed. I’m the one burdening you. I’ll sleep on the couch.” 

“I’d feel more comfortable if you took my room,” he said. As much as he hated his hometown, some things about it still stuck with him, and southern hospitality was one of them. 

“But you’re like, a million feet tall,” you countered. “Would you even fit on the couch?” 

“Can you just humor me?” he said. “I’ve been needing to put fresh sheets on my bed anyway. This will be a good excuse.”

You sighed and rolled your eyes as you always did—an expression Noah was growing increasingly fond of, and gestured to his room. “Be my guest, I guess.” 

He bowed his head an inch or so and returned to his room, rifling through his closet for the only other set of sheets he owned. 

It was silly, and he knew that. Part of him just enjoyed the thought of you sleeping in his bed. He liked the idea that he’d have that shared experience with you. Both of you would know what it was like to be in his room. Perhaps tomorrow, once you were back in your dorm and he was done with his shift at the factory, he’d lay his head down and his pillows would smell like you. 

Jesus, he needed to get ahold of himself. 

He ripped the old sheets off, piling them in the corner of his room and began the arduous process of figuring out which end of the fitted sheet went where. 

When he came back to the living room, you were sprawled out on the couch and with your eyes closed. 

“You asleep?” he asked softly. 

“Mmm, no,” you said without bothering to open your eyes and Noah took a second to taken in your relaxed features and how your skin glowed softly in the low lighting. 

“Bed’s all made up.” 

Your lower lip jutted out in a soft pout and Noah’s stomach did a somersault. 

“Come on,” he said, nudging you with his knee. “Get up.”

You whined in protest, curling further into the sofa.  

He sighed. It was cute, but not cute enough. “Get up or I’ll call the police and turn you in for trespassing.” 

At that you opened your eyes, shooting him a look that perfectly communicated your annoyance. He nodded towards the room. “Let me know if you need anything else. I’ll be out here.” 

You huffed, finally heaving your body off the couch and stood in front of him. “Thanks for letting me stay,” you said in a rare moment of genuine gratitude. 

“Any time.” 

He watched you slump lazily towards his room and listened to hear the click of the door before making up the couch to suit himself. He had to grab a spare blanket from Ruffilo’s room, making a deal with himself to wash it and return it before his friend got back from visiting his family, and then spread himself out on the lumpy sofa, hoping to get a few hours of sleep. 

Sleep, however, did not come. Instead, his mind wandered over to his bedroom, picturing how you looked curled up in his bed and wondering whether you were also having trouble sleeping. 

His dick twitched. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, willing it away. 

It was one night. One night with an attractive woman in his bedroom. He wasn’t even in the same room. You were on the other side of the house. He could get through this. 

Rolling on his back, he stared at the ceiling and began running through all the steps needed to make a tapping block on his machine. 

Set X to 1.5 inches. Set Y to 2.5. Run program. Remove block. Deburr. Place block back into clamp. Select tool #5. ¾ in. drill. Set Z axis to 1 inch. Run program. 

Fuck. He forgot the next step. 

He tried to get his mind back on the machine, but it was too late. An image of you writhing underneath him flashed in his mind like a lightning strike. 

He dug his fingernails into his thigh, swallowed hard, and went back to the tapping block, already knowing it wasn’t going to work. 

Sighing, he felt around for the remote on the coffee table. Maybe he could put on a documentary or something to distract himself until he fell asleep. 

His hand clasped around the black plastic and he thumbed the power button. The TV flashed, momentarily hurting his eyes until they adjusted. 

Choosing the first streaming service he could find, he searched the documentaries and came up with one about how the Himalayas were formed, and that couldn’t possibly be sexy, so he selected it and waited for his mind to switch off. 

Two minutes into learning about why scientists have found fossils of cephalopods he heard the squeak of a door opening, followed by soft footsteps. 

Of course. 

“What’s up?” he asked softly, without taking his eyes off the screen. 

“I can’t sleep.” 

Your voice came across quiet and drowsy. He looked at the clock and it had already been an hour since you’d gone to bed. 

Sighing and, with great effort, sitting up, he scooted his body to one end of the couch and gestured for you to have a seat at the other. 

“Learning about the Himalayas,” he said. 

“Is this the PBS one?” you asked. 

Noah shrugged, turning his attention back to the TV and trying to ignore the way his body buzzed in your presence. 

“Hard to believe they’re younger than the Appalachians,” you said. The documentary hadn’t mentioned it. This was information you’d apparently gathered elsewhere. 

“I didn’t know that,” said Noah.  

“Yeah,” you continued, resting your toes on the edge of the coffee table. You started doing that thing again where you rubbed your feet together like a cricket—not that Noah was paying attention. His eyes were trained on the screen. “The Appalachia date back to Pangea, and actually part of the range continues on into Europe.” 

“Nerd,” he said. 

“You’re the one watching a documentary about it.” 

Noah said nothing, but his heart thrummed in his chest. 

You kept quiet after that, the two of you watching side-by-side as the narrator talked about the four thousand species of flowering plants native to the zone, and the diversity of fauna, and how the landscapes and ecosystems around the range changed dramatically after the formation. 

Eventually, Noah looked over to see you dozing quietly on your side of the couch. He smiled to himself, knowing that it would probably be better if he moved back into his own room. 

Perhaps in a little bit, he would. It was a really good documentary. 

________

All rights reserved to @doomhands-jr, 2024. Do not copy, repost or translate.

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[rezwrites]

Since we are in October… is there any chance you could write a Vampire!Agatha x reader?  Agatha finding the most delicious blood of her entire long life (Reader’s blood) and getting excited/horny when she drinks Reader’s blood

love your writing

thank you sm!!

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, TW needles/blood/phlebotomy/venipuncture, blood kink, violence, allusion to kidnapping, non consensual thigh riding, unconsciousness

a/n: sry for going overboard with this, but vampire!hematologist!Agatha was so fun to write, I had to make a moodboard! <3

Waiting in the hematologists office you wring your fingers with nervousness, simultaneously regretting not bringing a light jacket to combat the chill of the air conditioner. You’ve heard nothing but good things about this doctor, hoping for some form of a miracle after cycling through many specialists only to come up empty-handed. It’s worth the out-of-city drive if you get some answers this time.

The nurse calls your name, taking you back to an examination room. As the nurse takes your temperature and vitals, you explain what’s been going on, going through routine questions. After jotting everything down, she orders a quick blood test to test your levels. Leaving to retrieve her equipment you lied down as she instructed.

Turning your head you refused to see what was happening as she tied the tourniquet around your upper arm, the strong sting of the alcohol wipe wafting through your nose. Wincing at the poke of the needle entering your vein, you exhale deeply. The nurse patches you up, gathering the vials. You thank the nurse after she lets you know the doctor will be in soon, leaving the room.

Anxiety rises up again as you await the results, trying your best to keep your breathing steady. Running your eyes over the walls, you read the various degrees and accolades framed. It blew your mind that this woman has fifteen years of school under her belt, being a doctor is definitely not for the faint of heart. A sudden rapping on the door brings you out of your thoughts.

“Hello, I’m Dr. Harkness.” She steps into the room, casting a soft, comforting smile. Her wavy, brunette hair tied in a bun, some loose stands falling over her white coat. Closing the door, she sat on her chair.

“Well, your blood pressure was a little lower than it should be. Lab results showed that you have a decreased amount of red blood cells causing Anemia. Now, if it’s a sudden loss of blood somewhere or an underlying illness, we don’t know yet. It honestly astounds me how those other doctors failed to see this for so long.”

“From time to time I’ll wake up with a sore neck or wrist. And my problems will arise after that.” You added. She looks at you intently, cerulean eyes full of concern. Turning to her computer she started typing everything you had said into her system.

“Mhm and when was the last time you woke up like that?” She questioned.

“A few days ago.”

“And you said you noticed all this happening after you gave blood at a blood drive a few months ago.” She asked.

“Yes,” you confirmed. Finally, some form of an answer and one step closer to a treatment plan. It all hit you at once, there was no way to stop the floodgates.

She turned away from her computer, closing your chart, “I’d like to keep you overnight to observe your condition.”

Her face turned in worry and the sight of your tears, “Oh dear, I understand it’s scary.” She grabbed some tissues off the counter offering them to you.

Taking them you shook your head, drying your eyes, “I’m more relieved to have more or less an answer.”

She pulls some documents from the drawer, explaining that’s it’s a consent to overnight admittance form, “Don’t worry, I’ll give you a note for work if you need one, but it is imperative we get to the bottom of this as soon as possible.”

You nod, signing the paperwork before she put a patient wristband on you. Directing you to follow her she leads you deeper into the building, the atmosphere becoming more homey and welcoming, “This is where I keep my overnight patients, it’s more relaxed and calming than a hospital.”

Opening a wooden door there was a single bed with a television mounted on the wall. A small restroom in the corner and a medical cabinet next to the hallway door. She pulled a medical gown from the cabinet, instructing you to change, then lie down on the bed before exiting to give you privacy.

Re-entering the room she placed an IV bag on the counter moving towards the bed, “I’ll just hook you up to the monitor. I’ll also put you on an IV drip for the night as well, so you can get the vitamins you’ve been missing.” She clips the pulse oximeter to your finger, walking over to the cabinet against the wall grabbing everything she needs.

Once Agatha turned around with the needle in her hand, you turned your head away holding out your arm. Prepping and cleaning the crook of your arm, she warns you, “Small pinch.”

“Good girl.” Agatha praises slipping the cannula into your arm, securing it with tape connecting you to the cannula hanging the bag on the IV hook behind the bed, “here’s the remote for the television, press the call button if you need anything. I’ll be back soon to check on you.”

Dr. Harkness checked on you multiple times throughout the afternoon, making sure you were comfortable and not in any pain. She took another blood sample telling you she just wanted to see if your red blood cell count has increased. You’re truly thankful for her thoroughness and thoughtfulness. The warmth of the evening sun seeping through the small window of your room was causing you to grow drowsy, despite your earnest to stay awake in case anything came up. Unable to keep your eyes open any longer you texted your family, updating them before dozing off.

A soft knock on the door pulls you back into consciousness. Turning on the lamp you called out allowing the person on the other side to come in. Dr. Harkness steps through the door apologizing for the intrusion so late. Her hair loose, coat gone; a different air around her.

“So, good news I know exactly what’s wrong with you.” Agatha starts explaining, striding to the end of the bed, hands in her pants pockets. You listen close to what she has to say.

“Bad news is I’m not exactly going to help you.” She states matter of factly. You blanched at her words, heartbeat quickening. Eyebrows pulled together as you sat up, pressing your back deeper into the pillows.

“I mean, of course, I want you to be as healthy as possible don’t get me wrong, but I found the perfect snack in you at that blood drive.” Fear gripping you as Agatha stepped closer to the bed, her sinister smile showing her fangs, “I settled for rationing twice a month on you, but now that you’re here, I’d be a fool to let you get away this time.”

The room was now energized with malevolence. This woman, monster, was the cause of your problems. Why you can’t get out and enjoy your life anymore because you’re so dizzy and tired to do anything. Balling your fist, fingernails digging into your palms; knuckles turning white, “And when the police come? People know I’m here, if I don’t come home they’ll-”

“Easy. You went out the back where no cameras are, it’s easier to get to the parking lot that way than circling the whole building again. What happened after that nobody would have a clue.” Agatha countered, her smile was sickening, your stomach flipping.

“Even if, small if by the way, you managed to escape and get help who would believe that the good Dr. Harkness, was a vampire.” She started laughing in disbelief.

You eyes shifted between her and the door. Throwing the blanket off you you attempt to jump out of the bed, but Agatha was on you in a second wrestling you back down to the bed. Managing to get an arm free you landed a solid punch to her jaw, the pulse oximeter flying off your finger. Paralyzed with terror when her smile grew, completely unfazed by your punch, her eyes maniacal., “It’s just us here, feel free to scream all you want.”

As much as you wanted to, you couldn’t. Not a sound would come out. Pinning both your wrists in one hand, her other hand sliding off her slacks.

“I believe I got your neck last time,” her knees pushing up your gown as she shuffled up your body. Letting out a pleased sigh Agatha settled herself on your thigh.

Bringing one wrist to her mouth she didn’t waste any time sinking her fangs into you. The sharp, piercing pain elicited a cry from you, tears falling down your face. Agatha’s cold hand held your wrist tightly as she sucked roughly, hips rocking frantically.

“Absolutely divine.” Agatha growled out her ruby eyes holding yours as blood ran down your arm and her chin. She licks the blood running down your arm, her thighs tightening around yours. Tossing her head back as she shudders on top of you moan loudly, “Always so delicious.”

Your breaths grow shallow, everything is cold as you stare at the gray ceiling. A small whine escapes you, vision blurring as you teeter on the brink of consciousness.

“That’s it. Rest easy now.” Agatha voice is fading, “you’re going to need it.”

[lovelytsunoda]

the puppy bowl. | lance stroll

summary: one simply does not wear a joe burrow jersey to the puppy bowl. or, an important fact gets left out of the super bowl party invitation

pairing; lance stroll x girlfriend!reader

warnings: miscommunication, the relationship is still fairly new , kinda gets a bit frisky in like the middle-ish, lance gets wherever the dog version of baby fever is, i talk about lance's tattoo again because its one of my favorite lance related topics.

“brad said the guys are on their way, they’re just stopping to get some beer. you guys want anything?”

yn shook her head, placing a large bowl of doritos on the coffee table, next to a tray lined with soft drinks. “I’m good, you guys know I don’t drink anyways. but if you guys want something go ahead.”

“you sure? not even a coffee or anything?” ella asked, leaning against the kitchen counter. “I can send brad to tim’s. he won’t mind.”

“go on then, grab me a medium white hot chocolate. has he picked up lance? I haven’t heard from him all morning.”

by the tv, her other roommate, faith laughed. “he’s fine. james took his phone when he got in the truck. last I heard they were singing wonderwall in a liquor store parking lot.”

the girls had lived together for going on five years, an arrangement that had started back in college when they were randomly selected as roommates by the colleges matching system. they survived the three years of hell spent in student accommodations before faiths parents (who owned a property rental company) helped them pool their resources together and get the house together. somewhere along the line, this vaguely sports related party had become a tradition, with their boyfriends joining one by one, starting with brad.

“be nice to him, guys. we’ve only been going out for a few months, and I’d like him to stick around.”

elle giggled. “what, do you think we’re going to haze him?”

she paused, thinking about what had happened to james during his first puppy bowl. “something like that.”

“he’ll be fine! I’m sure he can handle james and brad. they’re harmless.” faith insisted, pulling y/n in for a hug. “I can’t wait to meet him properly.”

there was a knock at the front door that was clearly intended only as a courtesy as they could hear a key turning in the lock shortly after. brad pushed the door open, marching inside with his ball cal on backwards and a six pack of budweiser in his hand.

“who’s ready for some sports, bitches!”

“language!” elle scolded, walking around the couch to give her boyfriend a kiss. it was only a matter of time before they moved in together, but the housing market was harsh and it was more likely brad would be moving in to the rental house than elle moving out of it. “hi sexy.”

slinking in the back and helping james carry some boxes was lance. yn’s heart warmed at the sight of him. his goofy smile, fluffy hair contained in a backwards baseball cap. and was that a cincinnati bengals jersey?

“oh, sweetie, did they tell you this was a super bowl party?” she tried not to laugh as she kissed him gently. “this is a puppy bowl party. we aren’t sports people.”

a slow, horrified look spread across lances face as brad and james burst out laughing. faith rolled her eyes and smacked her boyfriend playfully in the chest, and yn did the same, reaching for a pillow on the couch.

“hey, it was brads idea!” he insisted “hurt him, not me!”

faith smiled apologetically. “I apologize for my boyfriend. hes a bit of a wanker.”

“come on,” yn insisted, tugging lance gently in the direction of the small staircase leading to the backsplit addition. “I’ve still got a few of your shirts in a drawer somewhere that if forgot to give back.”

she was acutely aware of the wolf whistling behind them, followed by a muffled apology from brad. she was also very aware that this was the first time that lance would be seeing her room.

she opened the door slowly, shyly ducking in and closing the door behind them. lance walked towards the bed, taking in the pale blue walls, the collection of postcards tacked above her desk, all the places she had been on the travels. the bookshelves lining one wall, filled with colourful spines. the double bed in the middle of the room, with it’s simple duvet and mountain of stuffed animals.

"don't mind brad and james. they can be a little overzealous when they've been drinking."

lance snickered. "i think james had already had a few by the time we got to costco. try and keep him away from the bud light if you can. get some water in him."

"so that's how you ended up singing wonderwall in the liquor store parking lot?"

she crouched in front of her dresser, opening the bottom drawer and extracting the shirt on top, a linen button down of lance's that hse had borrowed and never given back.

"you listen to frankie goes to hollywood?" lance asked, nodding towards the crates of vinyl records sitting by her desk. "i thought only people my dad's age liked them."

"funnily enough, that crate is all ones my dad didn't want any more." she laughed, tossing him the shirt. "what can i say, i'm an old soul. you've been in the car with me, you know what i listen to."

"i love your old soul." lance encouraged, tugging her closer by the belt loops. she rested her hands on his shoulders, leaning down to kiss his forehead.

"need help getting that jersey off?"

lance laughed, stretching up to kiss her. "you know i can never say no to you."

"so if i asked for oasis tickets you could make it happen?'

"do you even have to ask? i will carry you on my shoulders for the whole concert if it means i get to see your face light up when 'don't look back in anger' starts playing."

she smiled softly, kissing him again. "i love you. and it's okay if you can't say it back yet, i just want you to know how i feel."

lance kissed her again, smooth hands traveling over her thighs. "no need. i'm in love with you too. all of you. your old soul, your bright smile."

laughing, she kissed him again, harder this time, her fingers gripping and tugging at his bengals jersey. giggles got caught in clambering kisses as lance picked her up, flipping their bodies over so that he was caging her against the bed. somewhere in the movement, his baseball cap flew off, landing on the hardwood somewhere. he tugged the jersey over his head, mussing his hair and exposing his gorgeous, toned chest.

she ran her hands over his chest, and then over the tattoo on his ribcage, the delicate hebrew under her fingers.

"what does it mean? the tattoo?"

"fortune favours the bold." he said it again in hebrew, his voice soft as he caressed her face.

he leaned in to kiss her again when they were interrupted by a knock on the door.

"the pre show is starting!" faith shouted "you'd better not be getting naked in there! and if you are, use a condom! i'm too young and fabulous to be an auntie!"

they paused for a moment, staring at each other before they burst out laughing.

"come on, let's head back down. you won't want to miss this, especially if you've never seen a puppy bowl before." yn beamed, slipping out from underneath lance and passing him his shirt. "stay here tonight?"

she could have sworn she saw a blush take over his pale features. "you really want me to?"

"yeah. yeah, i do."

still smiling, the went back to the living room with rosy cheeks and intertwined hands. elle and faith were sitting next to each other on the l-shaped couch, their boyfriends on their other sides. the "L" of the couch was still available, and lance was all to eager to cuddle up with his sweet girl.

"hey, man. sorry about the super bowl thing." brad said apologetically. "we did it to james too, but we meant nothing by it. you're a great guy, welcome to the group."

"thanks man." lance grinned, reaching over to give brad a fist bump.

"guys, guys!" elle shouted. "it's starting!"

"that's him, the cocker spaniel is my guy!" james yelled, jabbing his finger at a cocker spaniel named sparkles that was trotting onto the green.

yn's heart melted as she saw the puppies take their places at the start. if she had the space (or the money) she'd adopt one of the puppies herself.

"we should get a dog." lance whispered behind her.

"babe, where is the dog going to stay? we don't even live together."

"we can coparent." he insisted. "come on, look at that dachshund with the tiny legs and big eyes. is she not the cutest thing you've ever seen?"

well, lance had a point there. the doxie, named peanut, was adorable, the way she trotted across the green, trying to tug the squishy football from the mouth of a labrador three times her size.

"one day. i promise you that. but let's get through the housing crisis first." she insisted, kissing lance softly. "let's be dog parents."

her phone buzzed by her thigh where she left it on the couch, the screen lighting up with messages to the roommate group chat.

ellie: he's a keeper! such a sweetie!

faith: keep him!!! you guys are so good together <3

she smiled to herself, resting her head against lance's chest. he curled an arm around her, pressing his lips to the side of her head.

"i love you." he whispered, running a hand up and down her arm.

"love you too." she smiled, sinking into him.

"james!" faith shouted in the background. "no more beers for you! get a goddamn glass of water!"

[awkward-walking-potato]

Hey I absolutely love your fics and I was wondering if you could write a fic about Erik/magneto x reader and she has powers like pitch black but can’t control them and was tortured bc of them before the x men found her

I’ve had this idea for absolutely ages and would love to see how you write it :>

Comfort in the Darkness

The halls of Xavier’s mansion were quiet at night, the usual bustle of mutant life reduced to the soft hum of the building’s systems and the occasional creak of the ancient wood. Most of the residents were asleep, lost in dreams or, in some cases, nightmares. But you were wide awake.

Sleep had become a rare commodity since you had been rescued. Every time you closed your eyes, the memories came rushing back—dark, twisted things that made your stomach churn and your chest tighten. You had tried everything: reading, listening to music, even meditating as Jean had suggested, but nothing could chase away the shadows that haunted you.

Tonight, you had given up on the idea of sleep entirely. Wrapped in your blanket, you wandered through the mansion, hoping the familiar surroundings might bring some comfort. Eventually, you found yourself in the kitchen, your safe haven during sleepless nights.

The soft glow of the refrigerator light was oddly reassuring as you searched for something to take your mind off things. Your eyes landed on a tub of ice cream tucked away in the freezer. Ice cream had always been your guilty pleasure, a small comfort in a world that often seemed overwhelming.

You grabbed a spoon from the drawer and settled down at the counter, hoping the cool, sweet treat might soothe the anxiety gnawing at your insides. But even as you ate, the shadows within you stirred, the darkness that was part of you, yet something you couldn’t control.

You didn’t hear the door open, too lost in your thoughts to notice the figure that had quietly entered the kitchen.

“You should be asleep,” came a deep, familiar voice, the sound of it low and gentle in the stillness.

Startled, you looked up to see Erik Lehnsherr—Magneto—standing in the doorway. His expression was unreadable, but there was a softness in his eyes that you had come to associate with moments like this, when the world was quiet and it was just the two of you.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Erik didn’t say anything at first. Instead, he walked over to where you were sitting, his presence a calming force in the oppressive darkness of your thoughts. He glanced at the ice cream and the spoon in your hand, a faint smile playing on his lips.

“You’re not alone in that,” he murmured, pulling out a chair and sitting down beside you. “Many of us here have trouble finding peace at night.”

You nodded, knowing he was right. You had seen the signs in others—the haunted looks, the way some of them carried themselves as if they were constantly waiting for the next fight. The mansion was a sanctuary, but it couldn’t erase the past.

Erik’s gaze fell to the spoon in your hand, and with a small, almost imperceptible motion, he used his powers. The metal of the spoon shifted, reshaping itself with a quiet creak. When you looked down, the spoon was no longer a simple utensil—it had transformed into a delicate metal flower, its petals smooth and cool to the touch.

You stared at the flower, surprised by the gesture. “For me?” you asked, looking up at him.

Erik’s expression softened, his eyes meeting yours. “Yes,” he said simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “A small gift, to remind you that there is beauty in your power, even when it feels uncontrollable.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, but you blinked them back, focusing on the flower instead. It was a reminder that even the most chaotic forces could be shaped into something beautiful, something meaningful. And Erik, more than anyone, understood that struggle.

“Thank you,” you whispered, clutching the flower to your chest as if it were a lifeline.

Erik reached out, his hand gently covering yours. The touch was warm, grounding you in the present. “You’ve been through more than anyone should have to endure,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with sadness. “But you are not alone anymore. You have people here who care about you, who will help you find control.”

His words wrapped around you like a blanket, soothing the frayed edges of your nerves. You hadn’t realized how much you needed to hear that, to be reminded that you were safe now, that you weren’t fighting this battle by yourself anymore.

As you sat there, the ice cream forgotten, Erik began to speak in his native language—German. His voice was low and melodic, the unfamiliar words flowing like a lullaby. You didn’t understand what he was saying, but it didn’t matter. The sound of his voice was enough, comforting and steady, a beacon in the dark.

The tension in your body slowly began to ease, the weight of exhaustion finally catching up with you. You leaned against Erik, your eyes growing heavy as the soothing rhythm of his voice lulled you closer to sleep.

Before long, you couldn’t fight it anymore. You drifted off, your head resting on Erik’s shoulder, the metal flower still clutched in your hand.

Erik noticed the moment your breathing evened out, your body going limp against his. He fell silent, his gaze softening as he looked down at you. For a long moment, he just sat there, letting you sleep against him, the rise and fall of your chest a small sign of peace after so much turmoil.

Carefully, so as not to wake you, Erik slipped one arm under your legs and the other around your back. With ease, he lifted you into his arms, cradling you against his chest. You stirred slightly, but didn’t wake, your face buried against his shoulder.

Erik carried you through the quiet halls of the mansion, his footsteps soft against the polished floors. When he reached your room, he nudged the door open with a gentle push of his power, stepping inside and making his way to your bed.

He laid you down gently, tucking the blankets around you with surprising tenderness. For a moment, he just stood there, watching you sleep, a faint smile on his lips. You looked so peaceful, so much younger when you weren’t burdened by the weight of your powers and your past.

He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his touch as light as a feather. “Schlaf gut,” he murmured in German, the words a soft wish for a peaceful night’s rest.

With one last look at you, Erik turned and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him. He would stay close tonight, just in case you needed him. You were safe now, and he intended to keep it that way.

[straylightdream]

what am i missing | 3racha

act three: “Let’s get you naked.”

↳ in your mid to late twenties you’re left wondering if you missed your sexual awakening. With a the help of friends you start to really find yourself.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: for the story as a whole angst, a little fluff, body image issues, and self doubt, cussing all smut warnings listed below for what is in this story.

series masterlist

𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬.

𝐚𝐧: these will be shorter Drabble style chapters. 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰. Please fill out this form.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: for the story as a whole, oral (fem & male receiving), piv, unprotected sex, groping, threesome, use or traffic light system, choking, and spanking, more warning to come.

Changbin hasn’t always been as confident as he is now. He spent his teen years struggling with being shy. When he got to college he really became more confident.

From the moment Changbin lost his virginity he learned his favorite thing about having sex was pleasing his partner. As soon as he discovered you didn’t know what it’s like to be with someone whose only goal was to bring you pleasure, he knew he wanted to be that person for you.

Since he met you, you were always close but he always felt a need to protect you and wanted to make sure you were happy.

Kissing Changbin felt completely different then any boy you had kissed before. One hand held your face while resting his other hand on your soft side. He slowly walked you backwards until your back hit the door with a thud.

“I’m going to worship you,” he groans with his lips against yours.

Pulling away from your lips he gives you a lust filled look. “Can we go to my room?” You say finally speaking. The thought of having sex in the middle of your living made you feel self conscious for some reason.

Without a word he leads you to your bedroom. He shuts the door and smiles. “Let’s get you naked.”

It took very little effort for him to have you completely naked.

Laying on your back with your legs spread. He pressed wet kisses across your thigh. The moment his lips touched your clit you couldn’t help but moan. Your fingers tangle in his soft curls while his mouth pushes you closer and closer to the edge. With every guy you've ever been with, none of them ever seemed eager to eat you out, while Changbin wanted to and was enthusiastic about it.

Your first orgasm you have with Changbin has you arching your back off bed while your fingers tug on his hair. Your voice doesn’t even sound like your own as you moan his name loudly. Thank god you live alone and nobody can hear the noise coming out of you. Your grip loosens on his hair and you throw your hair back gasping for air.

Pushing himself up, Changbin is wearing a satisfied grin before licking his lips. “That was fucking hot.”

“I’ve never come that hard,” you pant, still trying to catch your breath.

“We haven’t even gotten to the best part. Do you have any condoms?” He asks, pushing down his boxers.

“Top draw of my nightstand.”

Hoping off your bed he opens the drawer and pulls out two things. Your cheeks instantly flush at the sight of him holding up your pink vibrator.

“One time we’ll have to play with this together,” he smirks before setting it on top of your nightstand.

Tearing the foil packet open he slowly slides it down his length. Changbin is thick so you know it’s what’s about to happen and is gonna feel good. Getting onto the bed he sits on his knees between your spread legs.

He slides this thick length between your folds. His head brushes your sensitive clit earning a gasp. He reaches down maneuvering your leg so it rests on his shoulder.

“Are you sure you want me to fuck you?” He asked, tapping his dick against your already wet pussy.

“Please.”

The moment he slowly pushed into you a soft moan passed your lips. One of his hands gripped your thigh while the other rubbed your hip. His eyes were locked on yours while a smile played across his lips. “Are you going to be a good girl and take all of me?”

His words lit a fire inside you. You couldn’t even think of words to form you just mindlessly nodded your head.

Once you were filled completely he stills gave you a moment. You look at him and can’t help but notice how incredibly good looking he is. “God you’re hot,” you groan.

He laughs lightly. “You’re beautiful,” he says before kissing your knee.

“Can you move?”

His thrust are slow but firm at first. He’s making sure he’s hitting a deep spot inside of you that makes your toes curl. Having sex is different than anything you have experienced before. Your stomach feels like a coil is tightening with each and every thrust. He still sitting on his knees between your legs. His hand kneads your thigh and the other hand rest on top to your core. His thumb is dragging slow circles across your sensitive clit.

“I’m close,” you whimper.

“Are you going to come again?”

“Please.” Your body craves the feeling of falling apart again. You want the sweet release that Changbin is going to give you. The coil snaps and your walls flutter around his thick length. Having sex with Changbin is like nothing you have ever experienced before.

As you ride out your high he finds his own release. He stays in you for a long moment gently rubbing your thigh as his chest rises and falls.

He pulls out you removing the condom and tossing it in the bin. He lays down next to you and gently presses his lips to yours for a gentle kiss. Without even thinking you curl up next to him resting your head on his chest.

[twentyfourducks]

Know him in a biblical sense: Sunday x Reader w/ implied Gallagher x Reader

When Sunday finds a different brand of cigarettes in your nightstand, he begins to grow paranoid.

check it out on ao3? or find it under the read more

3378 words

Sunday’s heart is still racing from prior activities; the post-sex flush still present under a sheen of sweat. The desire that he was overflowing with moments ago was starting to drain from his system. Like how he typically does when he’s at your place, he reaches over to the nightstand (that you’ve dedicated as his own), and opens the drawer, rummaging through the items within. 

His nimble fingers quickly find and wrap around the little cardboard box. Immediately he notices that it doesn’t fit in his hand comfortably like usual: it’s slightly wider, a tad shorter, and peculiar to hold.

When he withdraws his hand, he sees the reason for the change in proportions; it's a different brand. There’s no cellophane around it, signifying that it’s already been opened. 

His eyebrows raise once he sees this, and he glances at you, already preoccupied with something on your phone. He combs through the drawer once more; this is the only box. 

Frowning, Sunday opens the lid and picks one out. The smell is an acrid stench compared to what he's used to, but he takes one anyway. There’s an empty space where two cigarettes would have been amongst the rest. When he lights it, the warm glow sharply contrasts the blue light of your screen, each of you separated to different sides of the bed.

He exhales and watches your face illuminated by your phone. He’s too tired to think about the implications of a foreign cigarette box.

For a while, his mind is blissfully empty; no concerns about Family work, no anything, just the comfortable burn in his throat and the fire in his heart. 

Laying your phone face down, you shift closer to him. Your nude body presses to his, and you press a kiss to his neck followed by a soft bite and gentle sucks. He can’t help the filthy sound he makes, as you've never done something like that before; he would be lying if he said he didn't like it.

You softly giggle at his reaction. He feels the hot breath of your whisper against his ear, and it asks for a drag. He gingerly hands the lit cigarette to you; as you take it, the red warmth of the tip illuminates your fingers that Sunday wishes oh-so-badly were somewhere else.

He hears a slow inhale and exhale before you climb to straddle him. His mind races as he thinks about how close you are to him, your thighs around his torso. A few inches lower, and he wouldn’t know how to react…

In a daze, he follows the glow in your fingertips all the way to the ashtray, where you put it out. He longs to be the one bearing that smoldering heat instead, but his thoughts are quickly swept away as you lean in to close the distance once more.

___

It’s hard to get work done when you’re distracted. Sunday knows this from experience, but he’s never had it worse than today. 

His thoughts flash to last night with you, lingering on your touch, your voice, your words…

…the foreign cigarette box…

He must set these thoughts aside. 

…the foreign box…

He has a meeting with the other Family heads shortly regarding the proposal in his hands. 

…the box…

Creases in the paper form where Sunday holds it. He shuts his eyes in frustration and forces out a sigh. So what if there was a suspicious box of cigarettes in your nightstand? 

Maybe you had wanted to try a different brand. 

Maybe that was all they had at the store. 

Maybe someone else bought them for you. 

Maybe someone else left them there. 

Maybe…maybe…

His trembling hands tell him that he can’t bear to finish that thought. 

Proposal be damned, he thinks as he sets the packet down. It’ll get passed anyway. The Alfalfa Family always gets their way.  

He fumbles for a small, metal key: the one that unlocks the top drawer of his desk. When he finds it, he struggles to align it with the keyhole, but succeeds after a few agitated tries. Sitting right where he left it, on top of other various things he would utilize if you were to pay him a visit to his office, is a box of cigarettes; the familiar brand, with its correctly shaped box and its comforting smell. 

Sunday takes the box and a lighter, shoving them into the depths of his pocket before pushing away from his desk. An unintentional screech resulting from the chair against the wood floor grates against his ears. He winces at this, the sound stuck in his mind as he walks out the door, across the hall, down the stairs, down the main hall, past the receptionist, and to the exterior of Dewlight Pavilion. 

Near the far grounds of the landscaped courtyard is where a bench sits obscured by topiaries; the spot where you would typically sit with him and chat on days you drop by. 

You haven’t been by to visit him at the Pavilion in ages…but maybe that’s his own fault for insisting that he needs to focus on his work all the time. He’s since come to learn that his body aches in your absence. It took him too long to realize how crucial you are to him.

The cold stone of the bench is nothing less than uncomfortable when he sits on it, but he's learned to tolerate it in exchange for seclusion. Sunday takes off his gloves and pries open the box, nearly tearing the lid; sitting within are two cigarettes. He had been saving them for your next visit: one for him, one for you. But alas, he’s alone today. 

He flicks the lighter —one that you gifted him— a few times until a small, tremoring flame is visible. With quivering hands, he struggles to light the cigarette…but succeeds eventually. 

When Sunday brings it to his lips, he satiates a hunger he didn’t know he starved from. He savors the taste and fixates his eyes to the ground while an induced calmness permeates his brain. 

You couldn’t actually be cheating on him, right?

He curses himself for being foolish. The least he could have done was ask about the foreign box in the moment. Then these thoughts wouldn’t haunt him.

He goes to adjust his shirt. In the wake of your actions last night, he had to wear a shirt he doesn’t typically wear in order to obscure the multiple dark spots on his collarbone and neck. His fingers linger on the first one you left him, pressing against it absentmindedly, invoking a dull pain. Where you kissed him so tenderly and then nipped at him. 

Where did you learn to do that, anyway…?

Possibilities flash through his mind, and the ones that draw a connection to the foreign box of cigarettes are the ones he refuses to consider further. Yet he can’t push them out of his mind. 

Already, the cigarette is nearly spent. And the meeting draws near. 

Sunday lets it fall to the ground, watching it spill its ashen innards onto the brick path. He gazes at it on the ground before stamping it out with his shoe. It almost hurts him to do so, as he imagines the cigarette as an extension of you; your brand, your gift, his addiction.

After all, you’re the reason he picked up the habit. 

He picks up whatever remains he can and tosses it into the trash before returning to the hell that awaits him. (He’ll have to remember to clean off the bottom of his shoe later.) 

“Mister Sunday,” the receptionist greets as he walks back in. “The other Family heads are waiting for you in the first conference room.”

Of course they demonstrate their punctuality today of all days, Sunday thinks to himself as he musters the most pleasant smile possible for his current mood. He thanks the receptionist, and hurriedly walks not towards the conference room, but to the restroom, to check his appearance and rinse out his mouth.

When he pushes open the door and walks into what he figures to be divine punishment for his sins, four faces turn to regard him with varying looks. They all know that it would be unbecoming to comment on his lack of timeliness, even if he is only four minutes and thirty seven seconds late. But who's counting?

Sunday takes his usual seat at the head of the table, where a portfolio filled with meaningless documents waits for him. The meeting commences, the beginning of an hour and a half of meaningless banter that could’ve been condensed into a simple memo.

In the midst of the meeting, while Oti Alfalfa goes on and on about the profit trend of The Reverie (it hasn't changed since the last meeting) and the increased smuggling in the Golden Hour (typical Bloodhound negligence), Sunday comes to a startling realization that has nothing to do with the aforementioned topics. 

His face doesn’t betray his emotions as he processes the fact that he remembers where he’s smelled the stench of those foreign cigarettes before. 

___

Dreamjolt Hostelry is sparsely populated, like usual. A mechanical dog looking to be a member of the Sweet Dreams Troupe growls at him as he enters, and Sunday immediately feels the instinct to turn back and leave. He wills himself to ignore this feeling; after all, he’s here for a reason.

The front bartender, Siobhan, is familiar; he’s seen her around Maeven during Family gatherings. Her wary, contemptuous gaze directed towards Sunday doesn't go unnoticed, but he’s not offended; instead, he’s surprised that someone with such a high standing in the Iris Family allows such feelings to surface openly.

“May I help you?” She picks up a perfectly clean glass and begins to polish it with a rag that has certainly seen better days.

“Is Gallagher around?” 

“Yes, but he’s not working right now. I can make you whatever drink you’d like,” she responds, focusing on wiping a particular spot along the rim.

“I’m afraid I need to speak with Gallagher about…” Sunday adjusts the sleeve of his coat. “…particular matters.” 

Siobhan quirks an eyebrow, but doesn't press further. “I’ll go fetch him.” She sets the glass down with the rag and disappears behind two swinging doors. 

After a few moments, Gallagher returns in her place. He crosses his arms at the sight of the Oak Family head. “Well, birdie. If it isn’t you. What brings you here?”

“Is a visit not reason enough?” 

“Maybe if we were somewhere else. And maybe if you had no ulterior motives. But this is a bar. If you’re not here to order a drink, then there’s no need for me to provide you with any service.” He makes a show of turning his back to Sunday and leaning against the counter, pretending to ignore him as he reaches his hand into his back pocket to pull out a lighter and a box of cigarettes (of a particular brand that Sunday’s had the displeasure of becoming familiar with recently.)

“Wait. Fine.” Sunday grits his teeth. “Give me a drink.”

The box and lighter disappear back into the pocket. Gallagher cracks his knuckles one at a time before turning to face him. “I knew you’d come around. What is it you want?”

“A water.”

“You can do better than that, birdie.”

Sunday rubs his temple in vexation. He must have forgotten what a headache it was to deal with this man. “Just give me whatever you recommend.”

“I was waiting for you to say that.” Gallagher chuckles, reaching for a fancy glass. “I’ll whip up something special just for you, birdie.”

The nickname gets on Sunday’s nerves but he persists through it anyway. He watches the man at work selecting various spirit bottles to formulate a drink base with, while also observing him in great detail: eyeing the wrinkles in his clothing; how one sleeve is rolled up higher than the other; his shaggy, unkempt hair that gets in his eyes…not to mention the fact that his vest barely even fits him, his unevenly buttoned shirt that exposes his chest when he bends over to scoop ice…

Gallagher looks up, catching Sunday’s stare and holding it for a moment. “You haven’t changed, have you?” The latter looks away with an irritated scoff, and the former returns to his drink mixing with a smirk. 

The finished drink slides along the counter and stops perfectly in front of Sunday, who welcomes it with a glare. 

“Well now, aren’t you going to give my hard work a try?”

Sunday regards the drink with disdain; the colors are unnaturally vibrant, glimmery, and somehow separated into layers. He grabs it, ignoring the unpleasant sensation of the accruing condensation, and takes a sip. The strength of the alcohol overwhelms his senses as he forces himself to swallow it.

“Now,” Gallagher props a hand on his hip. “What really brings you here? And I know it’s not because you miss me.”

Beneath the counter, Sunday digs a gloved nail into his palm. “I’m curious about the brand of cigarettes you smoke.” 

Gallagher regards him with a skeptical look before taking the box out from his pocket and brandishing it with a smug gesture. “What, these? I’m rather picky about what I smoke. Don't worry, they're perfectly legal, but I bet you won’t see many others with this brand.”

“Why is that?”

“I have them imported.” He takes one from the box before offering one to the sitting Halovian. “Want a sample? It’s on me…this time.” 

The memory of a bitter taste resurfaces in Sunday’s mind. “No thanks.”

“Suit yourself,” Gallagher shrugs, proceeding to cup the flame as he lights the end. 

“Where are they imported from?”

“Somewhere way, way past the reaches of the Asdana system. If everyone knew, then they’d be a hot commodity, and the price would leap up. Not everyone has Family money around here.” Tendrils of smoke escape his breath and curl around his face. “Seems like you’re rather fixated on them. Sure you don’t want one?”

Sunday’s nose burns as the smell reaches him. “I’m very sure.”

“I did hear through the grapevine that you’ve taken up the habit.” Hooded amber eyes meet wide golden ones. “You a shy one?”

Those words give Sunday reason to freeze, as he either smokes with you or in solitude; he takes great care to ensure that. “Just who did you hear that from?”

“I have my ways.”

Vexation leaks into Sunday’s words as he clenches his jaw. “Tell me. Who?”

Gallagher laughs. A hearty one. Sunday almost wants to grab the rumpled tie around the man’s neck and yank it to force an answer out of him. But such a move would be inappropriate. Has he been…?

“You’re too paranoid. Has anyone ever told you that?” Honeyed words talk over a slow drag and an even slower exhale. “Maybe you should take a step back and examine what’s real and what’s not in that pretty little head of yours.” 

Sunday huffs before turning to leave the bar.   

“Drinking on business days isn’t a good look for you, birdie.” Gallagher calls to the receding man. “Better stick to the Pavilion during work hours. I’ve got my eye on you.” 

When the bar is far behind hallway twists and turns, Sunday finds himself standing alone in The Reverie’s dreamscape lobby. His fingers twitch as he stares up into the seemingly infinite floors. How he would love you to be here. How he would love to have something between his fingers right now. 

___

Sunday rests his head against your bare chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of your breaths as your fingers gently run through his hair.

“I’ve been worried about you,” you hum. He buries himself deeper into you. A multitude of questions swirl in his mind, each one heavier than the last. But the fear of your answers paralyzes him, trapping the words in his throat.

“Why have you been so distant recently?” you ask.

His face burns with a mix of shame and fear, and he hopes you can’t feel the heat radiating from his cheeks. “The Alfalfa Family is being a pain as usual.” That in itself isn’t a lie. But he knows you can see right through him and tell that’s not the root of the cause. 

That’s why he loves you so much, because you understand him like no other.

Call me out on my words, he beseeches you internally. Set me free from this agony…Tell me that I’ve been concerned over nothing at all.

“If you say so,” you murmur, and move on to stroking his wings. It’s a feeling that excites him, how your hands brush against his feathers and massage the sensitive area where the wings stem from behind his ears. However, any feelings evoked mix themselves with the swirling void of negative emotions inside him. But he can’t help how his body reacts, and shifts so you don’t notice anything. 

“You know there’s no reason to hide anything from me, right, Sunday?” 

Are you hiding something from me? He wants to respond. Please tell me…

Moisture accumulates in his eyes. It was a habit he could never break even as a kid, crying when things become too much…he hates it. It makes him feel weak. 

Weak…maybe that’s why he’s not enough for you. 

“Sunday? Sunday!” 

He resists you trying to pull him closer and curls into a ball facing away from you. He doesn’t want you to see him like this. What is wrong with him?

“Why are you crying, Sunday?” 

“Why are you crying, Sunday?” He was posed this same question many times as a child. He didn’t know then. He doesn’t know now. 

The swirling concoction of emotions choke him. Lamentation threatens to rear its head but he forces it back down.

“Sunday, you know you can tell me anything. Please,” you beg. “What’s wrong?”

Blinking away the tears that cloud his vision, he forces his words out as evenly as he can: “That box of…cigarettes in your nightstand.”

“Huh? What about the box?”

“Where did you get it?”

“I got that box from a friend when I ran out of my main ones.”

This time when you try to roll him over, he acquiesces, vulnerable as he stares blankly at the ceiling. A friend, huh?

A warm sensation graces his cheek and he reaches a hand up to meet it; it’s you delicately kissing away his tears. 

“Just a friend?”

“Just a friend,” you assure him, but the words fall on deaf ears as he imagines all the ways this “friend” would treat you. Do his calloused hands roam your body, exploring areas that you promised Sunday were his only? Instead of tender embraces, does he pin you down and have his way with you? Does he desecrate the wonderful altar that is your body with his slovenly movements? That altar that Sunday has spent many times worshiping himself? Is it his secondhand smoke you breathe in once when the two of you lie in the aftermath of passion? 

He begrudgingly realizes that these thoughts are not helping him feel any less sad or aroused.

“Sunday,” you hum, coaxing him out of his trance as if you were a siren. Your hands guide him, and the two of you are face to face. “Don’t overthink it.” You kiss him on the lips, and he tastes your sweetness. “You know I love you.”

“Do you promise?” He asks through a shaky breath. 

You wrap your arms around him, his face nuzzling the crook of your shoulder. “Always and forever.” 

Sunday closes his eyes, and it takes him a moment before he allows himself to at last find solace in your arms. “I love you more than anything,” he professes. 

For tonight at least, his doubt will be kept at bay, replaced by the gentle assurance of your love. He’ll pretend that he doesn’t see the unreadable expression on your face and he’ll refuse to perceive your hesitation as you whisper sweet endearments in his ear. 

All he’ll do is savor your scent and remain lulled by your touch.

[theblueeyedfirebender]

There is movement to his left. Swift and sudden and close, too close. Loid jolts, a burning hit of adrenaline crashing into his system. He tugs Anya behind him, his senses crackling ablaze. 

Yor has emerged from the kitchen, silent in that jarring, episodic way of hers. She wears the peculiar expression he’s seen from her a handful of times - flat, dark, penetrating - as if someone has snuffed the flickering warmth from behind her eyes, leaving her hollowed. Her movements are stiff, yet fluid, graceful and ghoulish. Long, pale fingers are wound tight around the hilt of a sinister-looking chef’s knife.

Loid swallows, reigning himself in. A prickle climbs the column of his spine, fine hairs rising along its path at the base of his neck. He hadn’t sensed her approach, not until she was within arm’s reach. Killing distance, a weapon in hand.

Soft, Twilight. You’re losing your edge.

He draws up to his full height. Keeps his sight trained on Yor out of pure instinct, even as she finds him in the shadows, and those ominous features shift back into the woman he married.

Even in near total darkness, her eyes are the color of cherry wine.

This woman is going to be the death of you. 

The thought doesn’t unnerve him in the way that it should. 

“What happened, Loid?” 

“Not sure,” he answers, pressing a palm to the back of his neck, willing the gooseflesh to recede. “There’s a flashlight in the drawer by the kitchen sink. I’m just going to step out and see what’s going on.”

Yor nods in response, taking hold of Anya’s hand. 

Trust is a foreign concept to a spy. A human compulsion trained out of them at the earliest opportunity. And yet it is surprisingly easy for him to step away, to turn his back and cross to the pair of double glass doors that separate their living space from the outside world. 

He is well aware of the kitchen knife still within the grasp of Yor’s free hand. He knows her curious strength, has witnessed her unusual talent with a blade. Still, he turns away, and his wife has every opportunity to sink the cold steel into his back, his neck, the base of his skull. She could end him - clean and effortless - and the greatest spy in Westalis wouldn’t even have time to react. 

Trust is a foolish, fatal mistake. One he makes consciously, deliberately, and without second thought.

Perhaps you would be happy to die at her hands, Agent Twilight. 

Loid pauses, studying the rain-flecked world beyond the glass. The bite of sharpened steel never comes.

- this WIP is taking too damn long, have a second teaser (first teaser can be read here)

[ltash]

Scream

Ghostxfemalereader

The opulence of your office was a stark contradiction to the chaos unravelling beyond its walls. The mahogany desk, polished to a mirror-like gleam, stood as a testament to power and wealth, its surface immaculate save for the glowing monitors streaming live footage from the CCTV system. The images on the screens told a grim story: Task Force 141 was storming the building with relentless precision. The faint echoes of gunfire filtered through the fortified walls, each sharp crack a harbinger of impending doom.

You adjusted the Prada spectacles perched delicately on your nose, the gold frames catching the soft glow of the chandelier above. Rising with deliberate grace, you smoothed the rich, velvety fabric of your brown jersey dress, its figure-hugging cut sculpting your petite, hourglass silhouette Gold bangles chimed softly as you opened the drawer and retrieved the sleek, matte pistol resting inside. Its cold, familiar weight steadied your trembling hands.

For a moment, you allowed yourself a single deep breath. Control. Poise. Resolve. The words repeated like a mantra, a fragile bulwark against the growing panic clawing at your chest.

The corridor stretched before you, bathed in the dim, foreboding glow of emergency lights. Shadows danced on the walls, twisting and shifting as if alive, feeding the unease you tried desperately to suppress. Each step you took, the click of your heels on the marble floor echoed louder in your ears, amplifying the stark emptiness around you.

Then the lights went out.

Darkness enveloped you with suffocating immediacy. Your breath hitched, coming in shallow, uneven gasps. You gripped the pistol tighter, the weapon feeling small and insignificant against the mounting dread. Somewhere ahead, gunfire crackled faintly, punctuated by muffled screams. Each sound hammered at your composure.

Turning a corner, your pulse skittered into chaos as a figure emerged from the shadows. He was a phantom in the dark, broad shoulders, towering frame, and an aura of menace that seemed to fill the space like a tangible force. The skull mask obscuring his face glinted faintly, its hollow eyes fixing on you with an intensity that froze you in place.

Before you could react, he closed the distance, a blade flashing in the faint light.

The steel kissed your abdomen with cold precision before sinking in. Pain erupted, hot and blinding, pulling a sharp gasp from your lips as your knees buckled. The rich fabric of your dress darkened as blood seeped through, warm and sticky against your skin.

His grip on your wrist was unyielding, pinning you effortlessly against the wall. The sheer strength in his hand was enough to force a choked cry from your throat. Shadows framed his masked face, but his eyes, deep, piercing pools of brown, locked onto yours with a cruel, magnetic pull.

"You don't look scared enough," he murmured, his voice low and edged with menace.

The knife twisted, a calculated motion that drew another strangled cry from you. Agony bloomed, spreading in sharp, unbearable waves, but it was his presence that overwhelmed you, the heat radiating from him, the dominance in his every movement. His breath was warm against your cheek, steady and deliberate, a contrast to the chaos inside you.

"P-please," you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Please, what?" His tone mocked your desperation, lips brushing so close to your ear that the words felt like a physical caress. "Begging won't save you."

Your body arched involuntarily as the blade shifted again, the pain electric and all-consuming. You clawed weakly at his forearm, your strength insignificant against his iron grip.

"Such a fragile little thing," he mused, his voice almost amused. "And yet, you're still fighting. Adorable."

The humiliation burned hotter than the pain, yet you couldn't ignore the way his words sent an unwelcome thrill skittering down your spine. His masked face loomed closer, the hollow eyes seeming to drink in your every reaction.

"Why..." Why are you doing this?" you choked out, trembling under his hold.

His reply was cold, absolute. "Because I can."

The simplicity of his answer was more terrifying than the knife. It carried no malice, no justification, only a detached certainty that rendered your defiance meaningless. He tilted his head, studying you as if you were a curiosity.

"You're trembling," he said, his voice soft but edged with dark amusement. His gloved hand gripped your jaw, forcing your face to tilt up toward his. "Your fear is... intoxicating."

Your breath hitched as his hand travelled lower, a possessive touch that burned even through the barrier of his glove. "So small," he murmured, the words a cruel taunt. "So delicate. I could break you so easily."

Tears slipped down your cheeks, but his hand wiped them away, the leather rough against your skin. "Don't cry," he whispered, his tone darkly seductive. "Not yet. I want to see how far you can fall."

The knife twisted again, and the sound that escaped you was different this time, soft, breathless, a sound that betrayed far more than pain. His eyes narrowed behind the mask, the cruelty in his gaze sharpening with satisfaction.

"Do you like this?" he asked, his voice a dangerous purr. "Does the pain excite you?"

"N-no," you whispered, but the tremor in your voice betrayed the lie.

His chuckle was low, vibrating through the narrow space between you. "Liar," he said simply. "Your body doesn't lie."

Shame and fury warred within you, but his dominance was absolute. The weight of his presence, the heat of his body, and the unrelenting intensity of his gaze, it consumed you.

"You'll scream for me," he said, his voice soft but menacing, a promise etched in stone. "And when you do, it will be the sweetest sound I've ever heard."

You clung desperately to the shreds of your composure, but in your heart, you already knew the truth. You were his, trapped in a web of fear, pain, and something darker, something you couldn't name but couldn't deny.

His fingers tightened around your jaw, forcing your gaze back to his. The touch was demanding, almost domineering. His eyes were deep pools of brown, the colour of rich earth.

He whispered, his voice low and cold. The blade twisting agonisingly inside you...

"Scream."

Gif credits: @yumethefrostypanda