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actiniumwrites · 4 months ago

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patches

synopsis: even though you’re both self-proclaimed enemies, they can’t bear to see you hurt. or in which, you show up at your enemies door all bloodied and bruised and they’re forced to take care of you

characters: xiao, gaming, alhaitham, and arlecchino x gn!reader (separately)

warnings: angst to fluff, hurt/comfort, injuries, crying, enemies to lovers, some of them are kinda mean, extremely mild misunderstandings, probably swearing idk

notes: i’m in a massive enemies to lovers kick right now omg you guys don’t understand. this was also inspired by arlecchino’s voiceline from a heavy hit or something where she says, “wanted my full attention, did you?” she’s so fine i’m sobbing 😖

Xiao:

It was a relatively quiet night before you showed up at Xiao’s room at the Wangshu Inn. For the first time in a while, he had felt a semblance of peace. That was until the indistinguishable scent of blood forced itself in his nose and a weak knock sounded at his door.

Xiao opens it immediately. He doesn’t care to know who it is, but rather what they want with him at nearly three in the morning. No one ever bothers Xiao this late. Not unless it was serious.

“What do you—“ he starts harshly but stops mid sentence when he recognizes your face. You’re doused in blood, your clothes all ripped up. And god, you look so weak it almost makes him feel bad for you. “Get inside,” he grabs your arm harshly, but still manages to avoid all your injuries.

You start to speak, but your mouth is full of blood too. He can barely understand what you’re saying aside from a bunch of nonsensical, I’m sorries. And if your injuries weren’t enough to show it, the fact that you’re apologizing to him at all tells him something is seriously wrong. Most of the time you talk to him it’s a bunch of insults thrown back and forth, some even result in physical fighting. Neither of you have been able to get along for centuries, yet here you are getting patched up in his house.

Xiao remains mostly silent as he sets you on the counter and pulls out his medical supplies. First he cleans up all the excess blood with a cloth before tossing it aside and moving to work on the actual injury itself. You can’t help but watch him, feeling nothing but shame as you do. You couldn’t help it. There was no one else you could think to go to.

“You are unbelievably weak and irresponsible. It’s idiotic to think you could ever handle anything in this world, not even a few monsters,” he grumbles between stitches, “Pathetic.”

You just stare at him as tears well up in your eyes. You aren’t one to cry. In fact, you can’t even remember the last time something so bad happened that you did. But sitting here, terrified of the monsters that had you within an inch of your life combined with Xiao’s cold words made you completely shatter inside and out.

Quietly, you sob into your other half-cleaned arm, “I know. You don’t have to say it.” You begin to get up right after, mumbling about it being a mistake coming here but he pushes your knee back down before you can fully stand up.

Xiao looks up surprised from where he sits as he does, his hands drop the thread and needle against the counter. Without word, he stands up and furrows his brows. “I should not have said what I said,” he practically whispers, a twinge of embarrassment hitting him too. A darker look shades his gentle amber irises as he stares into yours, “I don’t entirely dislike you. As stupid as your actions may have been, seeing you injured makes me…upset.”

“They weren’t normal monsters,” you breathe out between the remaining sobs that still involuntarily leave your mouth. You know you don’t owe him an explanation, but you figured you could at least make it known you weren’t taken out by some random hilichurls. “I was down in the Chasm. Those…things weren’t anything like I’ve ever seen before. I didn’t even have time to react.”

Xiao nods and places the last bandage on your face, “You shouldn’t go down there by yourself. It’s too dangerous. The last time I was there I hardly escaped.”

“What do you mean?” you raise a brow, your interest suddenly peaked. Xiao wipes the remaining tears off of your face in silence before turning to walk away.

“Call for me next time and I’ll be there.”

Gaming:

Gaming and you had gotten off on the wrong foot when you first met each other years ago. As children, you always felt like he stole your spotlight and he never seemed to care. And as you got older, it never seemed to go away. You constantly bickered and loathed having to see each other whenever one another’s name was brought up.

Yet whenever you got hurt, he was always the first person you went to. Although normally, it was for small things like paper cuts and bruised elbows. Not for your face having a cut so deep you could barely see and an arm twisted out of place like today.

“Fuck,” you mutter as you bang on his door, hoping it was the right one. There was too much blood in your eyes. Every door in the village looks the same right now, and even if it is the right one, you aren’t sure he’s even home. “Please be home,” you pace back and forth. Gaming stopped asking questions years ago when it first started.

You were forced to go with him after a group of bandits had found and beat you up, taking nearly everything you had in your bag. Gaming had found you while on delivery, and like the sweet guy he is, he stopped and helped you even though you could both barely stand each other. He didn’t want to see you dead either.

You weren’t often hurt, but it became somewhat of a cycle whenever you were. You were a nice person, well liked by most, but you also enjoyed stirring up trouble and it often landed you in some pretty hot water countless times. You knew Gaming wouldn’t say anything to anyone or turn you away like other people would. And above all, you like the kinder side of him whenever he patched you up, which he was good at too.

“Gaming!” your fist pounds on the door again. It’s almost nightfall and a few villagers have begun staring. You almost go to knock again, but your body begins to give out. You mumble a few more curse words before the door opens and you fall forward, directly onto the very person you were looking for.

“Ow ow ow, oh my god my arm!”

“Sorry! Is that blood?! What happened to you?”

“I don’t know! Ask the guys who thought my joke wasn’t funny.”

Gaming picks you up off the floor in a state of panic and rushes you to the bathroom. Luckily for you both, his dad isn’t home to see all of this.

Gaming begins to wipe the blood off your face and examine the cut that runs all the way from your forehead to your cheek, narrowly missing your eye. “This is bad,” he says and begins rummaging through his drawers for medical supplies.

You scoff, “Yeah, you think?”

“You didn’t have to come here, you know. You should’ve gone to a doctor,” he bites back nicely. Sometimes you wish he would just be a little meaner to you. It was easier to hate him that way.

You quiet down and let him take care of your face, “I’m sorry. You’re the only one who I can actually trust to take care of me.”

Gaming hides a small smile while avoiding eye contact with you. Not that you could even see, but just in case. He’d never admit it, but he actually really enjoys when you go to him for help. He’s never resented you like you’ve resented him, but he never bothered to change it either. Somehow he hoped bandaging you up would make you change your mind about him.

“It’s alright,” he says softly, pouring disinfectant onto a small cloth and wiping the cut gently. You wince and he places a hand on your upper arm to silently comfort you, “If you want some good news, you don’t need stitches on your face.”

You breathe out a sigh of relief, having always hated needles, “Thank god.”

“But you will have to see a doctor for your arm. There’s no way for me to fix that on my own,” he says bashfully, “I can maybe…take you if you’d like?”

You peer up at him, shocked at the question. Perhaps this could be a new start between the two of you, and you’re not so against it.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

Alhaitham:

It’s pouring outside when Alhaitham hears banging on his front door. At first, he ignores it thinking it was just Kaveh forgetting his keys again and he doesn’t care enough to let him in. But the banging persists and then comes the faint sound of pained sobs.

He slams his book shut and groans as he gets up and trudges angrily to the door. He swings it open only to be met with the sight of you clutching your waist, barely keeping yourself standing as the rain envelopes you.

“Please,” you whisper weakly.

Alhaitham scoffs, “Really? I’m not a doctor, go somewhere else.” He begins to shut the door, and he almost does so successfully before you collapse on the floor, blood beginning to mix with the puddle outside his door. And there’s a lot of it.

The next thing you know, you’re in your least favorite scholar’s arms as he carries you to his room. He sets you on a chair and you take the time to take in what his room looks like. It isn’t much different than you expected, yet you never thought you’d see it.

“Don’t move. I don’t want you making any more of a mess than you already have,” he sneers, walking off to the bathroom connected to his room to grab out a small bag of medical supplies. When he returns you’re blankly staring ahead of you, barely conscious as tears start running down your face. It’s like you don’t even know you’re crying. Alhaitham stares at you for a moment in utter disbelief before snapping in your face, “Take your shirt off.”

“Huh?” you snap out of your daze, confusedly wiping your tears as you do so. A few sniffles leave your nose as you do so.

“Do you want help or not?” he snaps again, losing his patience with you. He’s beginning to seriously regret not leaving you on his doorstep. You quickly follow his instructions, taking off your shirt to reveal a huge cut stemming from one side of your stomach to the other.

Alhaitham’s eyes slightly widen in shock, and he almost can’t pull them away. For a brief moment, you even catch them soften but it’s fleeting and doesn’t give you enough time to register that maybe the stoic scribe really does care for you, even just a little bit.

You both sit in complete silence as he begins working. You catch his eyes every so often, but he quickly looks back down at the injury before either of you can speak on it.

“Who was it?” Alhaitham grumbles as he finishes wrapping it up, his arms wrapped around your waist. The feeling of his hands distracts you from the question.

“What?”

“The people that did this. Who was it?” he repeats it, more anger this time around. You shake your head and look off to the side.

“I don’t know. It was too dark to get a good look at them,” you try to explain, but Alhaitham doesn’t have any of it. You’re not sure why, but he doesn’t seem like the normal him. The guy that normally finds any and every chance to torment you.

He gets up and grabs the bag, noting something down on a nearby piece of paper and shoving it in the left pocket of his pants before angrily walking out the door of his bedroom, “I’ll be back.”

“Wait! Don’t go,” Your hand reaches out and grabs his. You pull back suddenly, not realizing how impulsive your decision was until it was too late. You go to mumble a sorry, but before you can, you find your hand back in his.

You stare at him in shock, but he just squeezes your shaking hand. “Stay here,” he says somehow both coldly and warmly at once, pulling the blankets back and gesturing to his bed, “I’ll be back in an hour.”

“Where are you going?”

“To deal with the people that hurt you.”

Arlecchino:

You wince as the door swings open aggressively, not expecting Arlecchino to open the door before you could even think to knock.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, squinting her eyes so as to scale you up and down. For a moment, they linger over your bloodstained clothes and the already bruising cuts that litter your body. You don’t notice the way they widen in shock for a moment, too distracted by the adrenaline wearing off.

You still manage to crack an arrogant smile and sarcastically mutter, “Couldn’t think of anyone worth patching me up but you.”

Without waiting for a response, you push past her figure and let yourself inside already knowing where the infirmary is. Although, you don’t make it two steps before your legs give out and your body tumbles toward the hardwood floors.

The clicking of heels stops from just beside you before a strong hand grips your arm and aggressively pulls you up, “Don’t dirty my floors. The children worked hard to clean those today.”

“Yeah? Well they can clean them again tomorrow,” you grumble and weakly attempt to push her hand off of your body. Arlecchino doesn’t budge, however. She instead drags you all the way to the infirmary and sets you down on one of the beds.

“Wow these are surprisingly comfortable. Didn’t know you had it in you to be so accommodating to all the children you like to hold hostage,” you tease to keep yourself from focusing on the pain. She ignores you and instead places a firm hand on your uninjured chest and slams your back against the bed.

Immediately, she begins working on all the little cuts and gently wipes all the blood away, saving your bigger injuries to be dealt with in a moment. For now, she didn’t mind if you suffered for a little longer.

“So,” Arlecchino starts after a few minutes of silence, finally deeming it worthy to have a real conversation with you, “was this your way of getting my full attention? If you wanted me to notice you, you should have just said something.”

“What? No! I got attacked, I wasn’t trying to ‘get your attention’ or whatever.”

“You don’t sound so sure.”

“I really wasn’t,” you cross your arms and turn your head away from her, “I was scared, you know? I didn’t know who else to go to. Make fun of me all you want, but it’s the truth.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

She doesn’t say anything more after the conversation takes its turn. You’re glad she doesn’t, not wanting to engage in the horrible embarrassment you already felt from having to show up here anyway. She was the last person you’d want to have see your weakness, yet here you are covered in the House of the Hearth’s bandages.

When Arlecchino is done with stitching up your leg, she moves to your face and gently brushes away the blood. And cut by cut, she heals each one and leaves you feeling brand new again. You stare up at her for a brief moment, unable to look anywhere else when the red X’s in her eyes are so focused on you.

“So who did it?” She asks suddenly, her tone a little more caring than before. It almost shocks you, but then again, deep down you knew she cared more than she let on. No matter how much either of you didn’t get along, you always had her back. Even if she didn’t know it. You always liked the think that she had yours too.

You sigh and scribble down a few names on a nearby clipboard left by the bed, “That’s only a few of them…the ones I was able to get talking before everything happened. I’m sure you’ll have no problem finding their leader though.”

Her eyes scan over the paper before she glances back at you and nods. She begins to walk away but stops at the doorway and calls out over her shoulder, “I’ll be back in the morning. My room is on the second floor, last door at the end of the hall. I expect to find you resting there when I return.”

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gladiatorcunt · 8 months ago

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Would modern!coryo like being called daddy? Like reader is all dumb from him overstimulating them and it just slips out.. how would he react?

This is so me, like i’m scared of this happening. no one has made me cum tho so i’m probably safe

╰ • ✫ - ❛LILY OF THE VALLEY!❜ ✎ᝰ.

cw: daddy kink, typical coryo warnings, reader is so baby in this and he’s so bf like 😖, school stress, cunnilingus like he EATS you out to the bone fr, pain play, mentions of blood kink and piss kink, pet play coded, unedited porn for the soul, afab reader, THIS ONE GOES TO OUT TO ALL MY FREAK MODERN!CORYO TRUTHERS, reader and coryo at their most real, pretentious use of latin pet names, hinted breeding kink

You’ve been keeping it to yourself for so long, still wallowing in the idea that you should be shy about your kinks. You’ve never had a partner like Coryo before, you haven’t had a partner, period. Normally you just muffled it into a pillow while you fingered yourself to an unsatisfying orgsm and called it a day. But now you had an insatiable boyfriend with a sizable sadistic streak… among other things.

Are Daddy kinks the worst thing someone could be into? No, and you know that perfectly well. You also know that there’s enough stigma around it for you to keep it yourself. You didn’t need conversations about “daddy issues” or creepy men who assumed that that information gave the green light to do whatever they wanted to your body.

You had never admitted this to Coryo, but one of the reasons you were so nervous about your first time was because you knew it was only a matter of time before it slipped out. All the rumors and spilled stories from his past flings and hookups (things you prefer to not let get to you too much) made it even more clear that if anyone could drag that out of you, it was him.

It’s a miracle you didn’t blurt it out during your first time, you were so fucked out he could’ve told you that you said anything and you would’ve believed him. No, despite Coryo’s casual dominance that is apparent in how he pecks your lips after every bite you take from the fancy finger food held in his hands, your secret is kept safe.

That is… until the stress of assignments piling up builds up to a boiling point, and you’re left sobbing into your boyfriend’s chest.

“Shh, petal, get it all out.” He hums, slowly dragging his fingertips up and down your shaking back. “You’ll make yourself sick if you don’t calm down, baby. Let’s take some deep breaths, okay?”

“Okay..” You heave.

Coryo gently pulls your hair and directs your forehead to knock against his. It startles you out of your teary state for a moment, you blink in confusion and he chuckles. His eyes are so warm, they could set you on fire right there on his lap. His hold on your head doesn’t let up, and you sniffle as you place your hands on his chest.

He directs you to breathe with him, “One… two… three… four… hold it… now breathe out through your mouth, do that a few times with me, alright, dove?”

“One… two… three… four…” You repeat his words, which helps you center your focus on the pure love in Coryo’s stunning eyes.

After every set Coryo makes a childish ‘woosh’ sound, purposefully blowing hot air into your face. It has the intended result and he grins triumphantly at your watery giggles. Once he’s calmed you down enough, he’s leaping into action and raining down an army of kisses all over your cute face.

You’re too sensitive for it, but he wants to tease you for being “Daddy’s little crybaby” so fucking bad. This isn’t the moment though, perhaps when it’s something different, like tears of joy because of how much your engagement ring sparkles in the sunlight.

Yeah, he knew before you came right out and said it, have you forgotten who exactly you’ve promised your soul to? Don’t be silly.

After a certain point the sticky kisses become more and more heated, and by the time he reaches your lips he’s pressing your mouths together. Coryo slowly tilts your head to the side, opening up your mouth and lazily sucking your tongue. Like you always do, you start bucking your hips against his crotch in short and subconscious movements. He smirks into the kiss, pulling away to speak.

“I bet I know just the thing to get you all fixed up, huh petal?” He coos, nodding your head for you. “Come on then, up you go. Don’t trip on your way to the bedroom.”

That’s just the start of his well intentioned meanness, that and the spank he gives your ass as you obediently hop up from the couch and speed walk to the bedroom. You’ve gotten so thirsty for him in the months you’ve been together, he’s almost proud.

Whatever you were expecting, it wasn’t to feel your brain leaking out of your ears and Coryo’s pink tongue deep in your puffy pussy.

Your hips are kept pinned to the bed by his nails clawing into your flesh, you’re honestly surprised you haven’t started bleeding but you wouldn’t mind if you did. He jabs his tongue again and you squirm, attempting to kick your legs out on instinct. Coryo tightens his grip on your hips, smacking your inner thighs and digging his nails in your hips even further.

It’s his mission to tear you apart in any way possible, in every way. A small hidden part of you is soothed at the reminder that there are some things you never have to ask for. He already knows, he’s the best like that.

Coryo stops tongue fucking you to spit on your clit, staring all wide eyed and whorish up at you as he gives it little licks. You whine when he doesn’t adjust his slow pace, wishing you were in love with someone who didn’t like teasing you as much as he adored spoiling you rotten.

You ruffle his blonde curls, pouting and having a fit. He smacks your thighs harder and scratches lines down your legs as he purses his lips around your clit. He honest to god somehow laughs as he latches on the swollen bud and firmly sucks. In between sucks, his tongue roughly plays with your now throbbing clit, viciously slapping it around like it wants to beat it up.

“Fuck-fuck-uhhhhhhhhh-you’re gonna make me cum-Daddy-shit, yes-just like that, Daddy, just like that just like that-oh my god, Daddy!”

Your squealing makes him laugh again, and when he registers your slip up, he clutches onto you so hard his nails break skin and blood starts trickling down your body.

He pats the area where your womb is a couple times, a silent ‘Good dove’ that goes straight to your core. You’re lucky you aren’t ovulating right now, or the sheets would be even more soaked than they already are. His eyes narrow at the little pouch on your tummy and there’s the slightest hint of teeth in his sucking, but he backs off to spit on your dripping pussy again.

“Mmm-that’s all sweet pets need to do right? Lie back and drool from every hole for their Daddies?” He asks, nuzzling the patch of pubic hair at the top of your mound and taking a deep whiff.

And you’re so good for him, you don’t even need a warning glare or a fierce hit upside the ass.

“Yes-yes, Daddy-um-um- ‘m your bunny-all for you, Daddy.” You pant as you try to catch your breath.

“Glad you’re smart enough to know that, baby.” Coryo bites the skin over your womb, caressing the indents of his teeth. “Never have to doubt my intelligent little flower, do i?”

“Nuh uh, Daddy.” You shake your head in agreement so fast you get dizzy, and he smiles before bringing his attention back to your warm pussy.

He flattens his tongue and licks fat stripes over your folds like a wild animal giving his mate a tongue bath. Simultaneously meant to induce arousal and bring comfort to his partner. He winks at you several times and regularly darts up to french kiss your aching clit, burrowing his nose so deep in your slutty pussy.

The sensual nature of it has your eyes rolling back, and this time you’re the one being savage, your bedazzled extra long acrylics make a mess of his shoulders. He lets your trembling legs go, keeping you in place by his raw determination to literally eat your heart out. His curls bound and fly as he shakes his head vigorously, pushing your clit and hood back with his thumb so he can focus on slurping your slick from your hole like it’s his job.

“No no no-stop, please-fuck- ‘m gonna make a mess-feels like i have to pee, Daddy- shit shit-no, Daddy wait ‘M GONNA!-”

Your orgasm rudely cuts you off, and you gush on Coryo’s mouth. You always say shit like that when you squirt, but you never know when your boyfriend wants your words to be true. You squirt until you can’t hold yourself up anymore, and you collapse against the bed in a huff. Coryo laps up your release with his signature pleased grin, he’s so glad to put you in your place and give you what you deserve. Trust him, petal, he’ll never fail you when it comes to that.

You don’t speak, you’re still twitching and coming down from your euphoric high. Coryo lays his hands on either side of your head and cages you in, hovering above you and cooing loads of praises and sweet nothings into your sweaty hairline.

“How about it? Feeling any better, dove?” He gingerly delivers the question with a loose hand around your throat and a quick squeeze to your tit.

You lean into the barely there pressure on your throat, too out of it to be embarrassed, “Uh huh, thank you, Daddy. ‘Love you.”

“Oh you are so very welcome, mellilla (little honey). Daddy loves you too, more than your bunny brain could ever imagine, don’t you ever forget that.”

It's 2 am by the time you’ve come back to earth. Coryo makes you pancakes with your favorite strawberry syrup after you eagerly show him your appreciation in the shower. He wipes your mouth clean when you’re done with the star shaped pieces. You fall asleep during an elimination on MasterChef, but he’ll rewind it for you tomorrow.

if you liked this, consider leaving a tip or commissioning me !

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sideeve · 1 year ago

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⋆୨୧ ; find your way back to my bed , again

→ ⋆୨୧ ;; your captain finds solidarity in your cunt you .

→ 🩰 ;; daddy price😍 (he’s a warning himself) , doggy style , smut , big d*ck energy , john and reader have a “ secret ” relationship , unprotected s*x ( make sure he wears a raincoat ) , i don’t know how to write foreplay 😖 NOR SMUT😭 , the reader’s race . skin tone . hair color/type is not specified

“that all you got gaz?” you wipe the blood running from your nose, smirking at him. “bring it.” you rush him, making him fall. he now lays on his stomach, his arms on his back which are held by you. “you gotta try harder next time, buddy.” you bend over, whispering in his ear.

“ [ name ]! get off him!” your captain shouted. the ends of your shorts rose up, your ass on full display for him. but price knew you did this on purpose. he’s been depriving you of attention so he knew you went through all of this for him to notice.

“my office, now.” price stomps out the training room, steaming practically coming from his ears. “ooo~ sounds like you’re in trouble.” gaz teases as you get off of him. “oh shut up, kyle.”

“so what’d you call me for, captain?” you cross your legs. he hates when you called him captain. “it’s john.” “but you’re my captain.” you tease. “don’t play dumb, sweetheart.” he stalks close to you. his frame towers over you, making you look small. his fingers slide in your belt loops, slowly pulling them off of you. “you didn’t have to go through all of that, doll. i was here the whole time.”

“but you said you were busy.” you playfully pout. “never too busy for you.” he take your lips on his, shimmying your shorts and panties off. your thighs were pried open. his calloused finger rubs up your slit, collecting your slick. “so wet, baby.” he takes his finger to his mouth. “so sweet.” he take his finger out his mouth, plunging it inside of you.

“god, you’re so tight.” your walls tighten around his digit, making him groan. his presses lip’s against yours, this time his tongue slipping past yours. “no teasing. i just want you, johnny.” you bite his lip. “then bend over.” he pats your thigh, pulling you off the desk.

you hold yourself by your elbows, arching your back. his tip kisses your cervix. “johnny.” his hand reaches your, intertwining with your fingers. “it’s like you’re made for me.” his eyes focus on your ass. the way it recoils with every thrust.

his hand strikes your bottom, making you whine. “sorry, honey. i couldn’t help it.” he rubs the sore spot. “i don’t think i can last long.” his hips begin to stutter. “m-me neither.” you both came in unison, him painting your inside white. your body withers under him.

then the thought comes into your mind. he didn’t wear a condom. “did you just—” he puts a hand over your mouth, “i’ll get you a pill.”

#ˑ༄ؘ ۪۪۫۫ ▹ price . 🏷️◃ ۪۪۫۫ ༄ؘ #john price x reader #john price smut #john price #captain price #captain price x reader #captain price smut #mwii x reader #call of duty mw2 #cod mw2 #cod mwii #dividers by @v6gue

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aritsukemo · 1 month ago

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HELLOOOOOO IT’S MEEEEEEEE

GENSHIN REQ FOR KAZUHA WITH A READER WHO’S SICK & THEY’RE CHILDHOOD BESTIES <33

THANKUTHANKUTHANKU IF U DO THIS I JS FNSKDNNDKSKSNDKSKSKDKSKX

LOVE UR WORKS BTW <333333‼️🥰💕💞

Sickly Hallucinations | Kaedehara Kazuha

Kazuha Kaedehara x Sick reader ( @nursedflowers / @kazusys )

Summary: After being bedridden for days, it seems that you have started to hallucinate the worse thing possible; your dead best friend.

Warnings: Reader is sick, and because of that, snot is mentioned in a sorta detailed way. Abstract descriptions ahead ( I don't know why I describe the simplest things the way I did.. ) Reader is also avid on believing they're hallucinating seeing and hearing Kazuha. ( Spoiler Alert, they're not ) A lot of crying and reader breakdown more than once, but there's a happy ending I swear! With all that said, you have been warned! <3

A/N: HERE IT IS NURSED, AFTER WAY TOO LONG OF MAKING YOU WAIT!! 😖 I'm sorry if this is not up to par. I had an idea going into this but completely lost it by the end so I'm sorry if it doesn't make sense or the ending seems suddenly or anything! I truly didn't mean for it to end up that way!

"This is so stupid!" A frustrated cry sounded throughout the bare room, bouncing off the walls—the metal swords on the wall in particular—and resonating throughout the ear canal's of a certain platinum blonde who was, partially, the reason for such anger.

"You almost had me there at the end. You truly are skilled with the blade, Y/n," He complimented politely. If anyone else was in the situation with the future leader of the prestigious Kaedehara Clan helping them up and blowing sweet words in their ear, they'd probably swoon, even with the rumors of their deteriorating fortune making one believe that his flowery words were for mere show. Even if it was true, none of that mattered to you. In fact, in the face of such petal-soft kindness, your blood boil over like a raging inferno.

But despite that, all you could muster to do to that soft face dressed in a gentle smile was a gruff at it and mumble, "Shush," to which your kind friend spared you the courtesy of giggling in your face and instead silently complied to your wish...only to immediately go against that wish seconds later.

"I mean it, truly. If it were a situation where you and I were fighting for real as enemies, for example, and stood forth one another wielding our blades for the sake of our own ideals, you surely would've bested me."

You found yourself frowning at his statement. Enemies? The thought immediately stained it's ink on your heart and made it clench from the poison. If something so obscene were to occur in some hell-filled alternate reality, you doubt you'd be able to lift your sword in his direction or even stare him in the eyes with hues darkened by hate. Not Kazuha. Not your dear friend who seemed to be the only one willing to befriend someone such as yourself—who's family was feared all across Inazuma due to built up rumors and fabrications people have thought up over the millennia.

..But you couldn't say that to him. Especially not after a defeat so embarrassing that your parents surely would turn their noses away from disappointment at your meek swordsmanship.

And so, you decided to play nonchalance and roll your eyes, mumbling out an uncaring, "Whatever.. As if that'd seriously happen."

"And what if it did?" He egged on as innocently as a little kid asking their parents how they were created. You found your mouth moving before your mind could process and filter your words, causing this aggressive affirmation to leave your throat.

"It wouldn't. I'd never let that happen."

"You can't control fate, Y/n. If me and you parted to walk different paths—" And you cut him off—something you've never once done to him before.

"It wouldn't happen! I'd strike down the Shogun myself before I'd even think of raising my sword to you for anything other than a friendly display of our swordwork!" And you pause, your face growing wide at the surprise of your own words. Kazuha's face seems to mirror yours, albeit he still managed to keep his expression civil and appropriate even when it started turning into a cherry blossom tree.

"..I feel the same way," He confesses sheepishly before his smile returns and he brings his finger to his lips and spoke in a lowered tone, "But, lets keep that amongst ourselves. 'Wouldn't want our parents carrying our words away, now would we?"

And to spare the little dignity you had remaining, you turn your face away—which was burning to the point of tingling—and nod your head.

"Ye- Yeah..whatever."

A gruff, nasally hack resonates from the depth of your chest, shooting itself up your congested throat and forcing itself outwards which caused a bit of that congestion to splatter into the tissue you had curled into your hands. As you came up for air, you glanced down only to immediately revert your gaze away from the snotty liquid—which was definitely not the color it was suppose to be—that had now coated the once clean tissue out of fear of throwing up the little bit of lunch the Traveler insisted you eat.

It had happened yet again. This counts the..what? Seventh, maybe ninth time you've daydreamed about the dead since you fell bedridden? It raises the question of why? Why is it that you're thinking about him now of all times? Why were these memories only now flooding your mind years after his death? Deep down, you knew the answers but chose—no, refused to acknowledge them. You've done that a lot since the day you found out he died. Maybe that's why this is happening at a random time such as this. Maybe it's simply because your mind and body has been weakened by this devilish illness.

Whatever it was, you hated it, and even more so you utterly despised your mind for bring him up after so many years just to make you suffer even more than you already are. You despised it for making you remember his face in such vivid detail. His laugh, his smile, his gorgeous rubies for eyes—all of it.

But, unfortunately, hating something doesn't make it go away. No matter how upset you get, your mind still makes it's way back to the cool touch of his hand caressing yours as he'd direct you on hard-to-master sword maneuvers. It went back to the peaceful warmth his hugs would bless you with whenever you snuck into his room during one of your sleepovers to cuddle after a nightmare you had.

It was all so stupid, you thought. More so now that it seems that your daydreams have turned into full blown hallucinations.

"You look worse for wear, my dear friend," His soothing voice, deepened from maturity, echoed in your ears. You closed your eyes and laid back down. If you didn't amuse it, the illusion would surely grow bored and go away.

Even with the plan in mind, it was difficult to follow through with your words. Upon hearing the familiar tune of his warm chuckle, you find yourself biting your lip. Even after so many years, it still sounds the same. It still holds that sense of tranquility that has brought you peace many times in your childhood.

..But you suppose the reason as to why makes sense. After all, many hallucinations are stemmed from the hallucinator's memories. Of course it'd sound the same as you'd remember it'd be.

"I'm sorry, did that upset you? Please believe me when I say I had no ill will behind my comment, dear. You still look as radiant as you did when we were kids."

Your lip is starting to bleed from how hard your digging your teeth into the supple skin. It stings, but the pain doesn't stop you from doing it. You can't stop. You need to distract yourself and not think about anything pertaining to him. That's the only way this delusion will—

You suck in a breath. One sharp, airy, and shaky and caused by the startling feeling of snowflakes falling upon your exposed skin. Though you pretended to not notice it, you found yourself shocked by the feeling of his fingertips freezing your once burning skin over just as it did when you were younger.

..But how was it possible? Hallucinations shouldn't feel so real, right?

"Y/n, can you look at me? I wish to cherish the sight of your face after being stripped of it for so long," The request came as a tender plea and you found your body conflicted upon hearing it. Part of you wanted so desperately to indulge in your delusions—to let it sweep you away and never bring you back—and yet the more reasonable part of you was screaming at you to do everything and anything but but listen. Your mind was at a bloody, cold war with itself and it thrashed your body every which way until it reacted by setting everything ablaze.

The heat shot up your body and in a desperate attempt to quell the uncomfortable feeling, you curled into yourself—curled away from the cooling touch—until your knees hit your chest. Your effort was quickly proven to be futile as the flames continued it's assault on your organs—your skin—where it went about scorching away every last drop of air in your lungs before finally reaching your face. It heated the already warm blood in your veins, causing them to singe your poor flesh. It soon became an unbearable wildfire that your mind couldn't put out no matter how much it drowned the flames in watered down thoughts—not cooling no matter how many tears were shed.

"Don't cry.." You felt it again. Against your will, you felt those snowy fingertips cool the firestorm that was running wild under your skin for just a moment as they wiped at your now wet face. Even worse when it's accompanied by warm words in your ear that told you, "You don't have to cry. Not anymore. I'm here.."

And in a moment of vulnerability, you unconsciously indulged in your delusions and began to scream, "No you're not!"

You suck in a sharp breath—and thick snot in the process—as you shakily repeat in a quieter tone, "No you're not.. You're dead. ..Kazuha is dead!"

"Kazuha is..what?"

Your dumbstruck utterance echoed through the ears of everyone at the table—that of which included your father, who's face only further sullened upon hearing it.

"Kazuha is..dead," He repeated, although it sounded as if he was forcing himself to. As if he couldn't believe the words coming out of his own mouth.

"He was trailed all throughout the city by samurai after his confrontation with the shogunate. When they finally cornered him, he drew his blade. I heard the battle was a hard one fought..but he..—"

"You're lying," You muttered.

"I'm not," Your father retorts before pausing and sucking in a breath, "Look, Y/n. I know that this is hard for you to accept deeming how close you two were, but—"

"You're lying," You repeat, this time much louder. As if your words had been turned up by a speaker, "..You're lying," You repeat. Shaking your head roughly to the point where your hair slips from behind your ears and falls messily down and around your face as a result. It was a silly thought, but it was as if your hair were trying to spare your pride, your dignity, by shielding your face from the onlookers that so happy to be your close family.

"Y/n, please.." Your mother stands to her feet, perfectly poised even at times like this, as she strides across the room and up to you. The haori and tail end of her kimono flows elegantly in her wake, making her look like some goddess walking along the sun—not that you cared to bear witness to any of that.

Her soft, smooth fingers—never once laid hands to a sword—slide along one shoulder to the edge of the other where she then pulls you close to her chest. She was even kind enough to rub circles into your back for a moment before whispering, "Don't do this.. Not here."

Her words were paper thin which quickly tore soon after she began speaking, proof that she was desperately trying to keep her own emotions in check herself..

But her shaky composure didn't register to you nor did her sincere words or genuine sadness. Your ear took in what she had said and your brain tore it apart and gave it an entirely new tone and overall meaning. One that was rather insincere in the face of your obviously grieving state. One that made it seem as if she didn't care for the news. Or rather, she cared more about saving face than anything else and that angered—no, infuriated you. Like a furnace with too much wood inside of it, a fire roared inside you and soon made your body unbearable hot.

Before you knew what you were doing, you had pushed your mother away with all your strength.

"Shut up! You don't get to tell me how to act in a time like this!" Your father and uncle immediately shot up. Racing over from where they once sat to your mother on the ground and helping her up like the damsel she was. Your father then turned to you, his eyes filling with his own fiery fury.

"Y/n! Control yourself! How you're acting right now is unfit of our name!" He commanded, and his words hit you like a ton of bricks to the face.

You just couldn't wrap your head around any of it. How your family stared on at you in shock as if you had just committed some heinous crime. How none of them had so much as a frown or a tear rolling down their cheek. How they're fussing at you as if your entire world didn't just fall apart over a few simple words.

You couldn't grasp how they managed to stay so composed when the world was beginning to turn grey before your eyes. You didn't understand it and that's what overwhelmed you more than anything else. It was all too much to handle. You felt like you had just been letting go to be swept away by a sea of flames. You couldn't decide whether you wanted to scream or sob. You couldn't decide on anything in that moment, in fact.

And so, you acted on the first thing your body could muster to accomplish and that was to run. Shooting up from your seat, you turned and bolted out of the room, ignoring your father screaming for you to come back..

Silence seeps into the room once again, chasing after the ghost of your echo until it took over the entire room once again. You waited, listening as best you can with your own thundering snivels drowning your ears like a river that was once blocked by a dam...but you heard nothing. You found yourself letting out a shaking sigh of relief as you realize that it was finally over. It seemed that the hallucination was finally gone.

Or so you thought.

"..Is that what you've been believing all this time?" That sigh of relief is immediately sucked back in through your stuffed nose. Along with the warm breaths against your ear, his icy touch returns, and this time, it had been lowered down to your waist.

You feel icicles dig into your flesh just hard enough that you're unable to remove them—which you suppose that, to the typical person, his grip would be near bone-crushing.

But again, it makes sense. It makes sense that he knows that you've gotten stronger over the years. It makes sense how he knows exactly how tightly to grab you without going to far and causing his touch to hurt. It makes sense because he isn't actually here. This is all in your head. Just your imagination..

It's just your imagination. It's just your imagination. It's just your imagination. It's just—

"I was trying to avoid this, but since I now know what taints your thoughts and prevents you from welcoming me into your arms with stride, I have no other choice.. Please, forgive my roughness this once."

Another gasp leaves you—a painful one that sliced through the depths of your achy, red, irritated throat in order to get out—as you're suddenly flipped on your back and pinned before you can fight back. Not knowing what else to do, your nails come up to desperately dig into the icebergs that envelope and cool your fiery cheeks.

"Y/n," He sings your name just as he did when you two were kids. It only makes the fire grow inside you, and ultimately, cause the dam inside you to burn over and allow water to seep through the gap made all over again.

The flurry of sadness is overwhelming, almost as overwhelming as how you felt when you first heard the news of his sudden and untimely death. That said, you were completely overwhelmed and found yourself begging, pleading with your hallucination, saying, "Stop.. Please go away.. He's gone. I've accepted that a long, long time ago so please—!"

"Y/n," Despite feeling as though you were falling, spinning, tumbling in the air, his voice easily made your landing feel soft and relieving, like pushing out a much needed breath you didn't know you were holding in, "Open your eyes and all will be made clear. You'll be at peace that way."

"No! I'm not going to! You can't make me!"

You refuse to let your mind trick you. You're not letting all that effort—all that work you put into building that dam over and over again—be for nothing!

You aren't opening your eyes. You can't..because if you do and he's not there, this fire inside you will turn into something untamable and the dam will crumble and never be able to be built again. Your mind would be a complete disaster that you wouldn't be able to reconstruct for at least a century or two.

After a while, you hear him sigh but you quickly force it out through one ear. Unfortunately as soon as you do that, his voice is shoved into your other ear once again.

"So stubborn.." His voice was vibrated by the chuckle that was weaved into it. It sounded so inviting, so addictive, but—against your subconscious will—you threw it out of your head as more of his florid words soon came to replace the ones lost, "It seems you truly haven't changed..mentally anyways."

The icebergs on your skin were, at last, removed from your face, but you were given little time to relish in your relief before you felt a weight lift off your body, your bedside dip, and those icy fingers make contact with your sensitive scalp.

"Having you in my arms like this brings me back," He said softly, "I remember...it would almost always rain whenever I visited your home and despite how often it happen, you'd always be petrified of the sounds the rain produced," You feel his fingers glide through your hair, separating the strands with his fingers with ease as he continued.

"After everyone went to sleep, you would always sneak into the guest room where I resided and I'd end up holding you just like this until you fell asleep," He then chuckles, and in doing so, puffs his breath against the shell of your ear, "Your parents would always get so upset about it, but that never stopped you from doing it. Nothing ever stopped you from doing as you pleased..so why allow your own fear to do so now?"

"Shut up—!" "You were the bravest person to me when we were kids, Y/n," He confessed, cutting you off, "You were just like your swordsmanship; no matter what you were taught otherwise, your blade always followed the same technique you created for yourself. It never changed, no matter the opponent or obstacle it faced."

"Shut up!" You yelled, yet it came out more of loud croak due to how hoarse your throat was at that point. You were like a scared little kid under the covers all over again. The only difference now was that it was harder to hide, at least in this moment with the ghost of your dead friend cuddling your backside and whispering nostalgia into your ears.

"You were strong. And you still are, I can tell even after all these years apart from you," He said, "So please, show me that bravery once again. Take the last step and look at me. Please.."

You don't know what happened. You had been so hellbent on doing the opposite of what he asked for this entire time only to obey at the last moment because of a slight tremor in his tone. You had been persuaded into obedience by a slight crack in his voice. A mere whimper. You had threw caution to the wind—at the risk of your mental and physical health—simply because of a past urge to comfort your best friend in his rare moment of weakness.

Your eyes twitched before your mind could process what you were doing. Eyes once sealed tightly by your tears—which were serving as your last line of defense at this point and your last chance to rethink this, flip back over, and continue to ignore the voice in your ear until sunrise—crack open, allowing the light of your to seep into your vision of who know how long of not being able to.

And when it finally happened, when you finally opened your eyes and were able to see the light again, you were reduced to hysteric sobs. It wasn't because you had been proven right though. It was even worse, you had been proven wrong. Kazuha laid right beside you alive and in the flesh. He looked just as he did all those years ago and you just couldn't bear the sight without breaking down.

At least now you can properly relish in the feeling of his touch—in the feeling of his arms caging around you—without feeling as though you were deluding yourself.

"You..dumb idiot.." You sniffled out as his grip on you tightened, "You big..dumb moron.. You had me thinking for so long.. I grieved over you..for so, so long.. I-"

"Shh, shh.." He shushed, his lips now tickling your forehead with his cool breath and fluttery words as he mumbles into your skin, "I'm sorry, my dear. I never meant to cause you such pain. Never. If I had the choice, I would've found you a long time ago.."

He mumbled other things as well, but you honestly could care less what he had to say at this point. Not even if he professed a hidden motive to end your life. You couldn't bring yourself to care about anything, not when you've finally been able to prove that dreadful thought you pushed in the very depths of your mind wrong. Not when such a heavy weight had been lifted off your shoulders. Not when the warmth that surrounds you has finally been confirmed to be from the one you had longed to see, feel, and reminisce with for literal ages.

The only thing you were listening to, at this point, was the thoughts telling you to stay like this in his arms and let his voice serenade you for an eternity.

Dividers were made by me, pictures used are from Pinterest, post formatting is inspired by @xxsabitoxx

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holybibly · 9 months ago

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Heyy Mistress, I hope you're doing well and you're taking good care of yourself because I don't want you to be burnt out.

If Unholy Hours are open again, can you do a fic where San is your step brother and you have the most sexual tension with him etc (I am gross and disgusting for this, I'm so sorry.😖😖😖)

Oh, bunny, your Mistress has a great idea for your request. San looks like real candy, do you want to lick it?

This is something that should never happen. Never ever. You and San were family, relatively speaking, of course, and all that bound you together was your parents' promise to love each other to the end, and your lips were now sliding over his hard, thick cock, smearing a blood red shade of lipstick over his sensitive, velvety flesh.

It was only meant to be a quick kiss when you were both as drunk as you were. You bite down on his plump lower lip, turn away, and whisper softly, "Forget it.".

The preposition was that it would never happen again, as you aggressively lick each other's lips and tongues, rolling a strawberry-flavored candy between them. San thinks it's the most delicious thing he's ever tasted, and he sincerely regrets not having tried it sooner. Panting, strands of saliva, and sticky lip gloss are pulled between your lips as the kiss ends and you separate. San sticks out his tongue with a triumphant look on his face and shows you the now tiny piece of candy he has stolen from your mouth.

It was supposed to be a disposable item when your legs are spread over his broad shoulders as you sit on the kitchen table and he sucks hard on your clit, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. He runs his tongue over your pussy, tasting and opening you, making you whimper and writhe in response as he looks up at you from below with his feline dark eyes.

This should never be part of the plan.

You and San are in his bedroom now, your parents having a lovely evening meal completely unaware of what is going on behind closed doors between the two of you; he's biting the hem of his T-shirt, holding back loud moans and gasps, his jeans and underwear lying in a useless heap on the floor as you kneel between his spread legs. In the darkness of the room, your ruby red lipstick glistens ominously. You look far too seductive, far too sinful for him to deny himself the pleasure of this. Your hands run down San's strong, muscular thighs and you lean down to kiss the flushed, wet head of his cock, your eyes flickering as you see San's gorgeous, sculpted abs tense and his cock twitch with excitement.

San throws his head back, clutching his t-shirt tighter with his teeth as he feels the vibration of your soft laughter on his cock. Your small hand circles the length of it, squeezing and stroking gently a few times before your lips touch the head of his cock again, this time tracing it with your tongue. San rolls his eyes and clutches the sheets with his fingers. He's always been sensitive, and just because you're so good with his body doesn't make it any easier. Sure, he's going to return the favor later on by fucking you in the shower or licking that sweet, plump cunt of yours and making you sob and whimper with pleasure, but right now you're just going to drive him crazy.

San is trying to stay as calm as possible. Your parents are still at home and could come into his room at any moment, and he hates this. Why the fuck should he be your brother when all he can think about is your moaning and begging, your lovely bouncing tits, and your arse screaming to be beaten and fucked? As you slowly suck him into your hot and deliciously wet mouth, his eyes are fixed on your glistening ruby-red lips.

Maybe it was the lipstick, or maybe it was just you, but the way you tipped your head and relaxed your jaw, allowing San's thick cock to slide deeper into your throat, drawing its length along the trembling walls of your throat, made his balls tense up, and he crumpled the sheet in his hands with such force that his knuckles turned white. He swallows hard, his Adam's apple jiggling to get your attention, and you unconsciously repeat the movement, swallowing as you let his cock slide deeper and deeper, taking it almost to the base of his dick.

San whimpers into the fabric of your t-shirt and watches as you slowly pull away, sliding your lips around the thick girth of it, leaving a trail of wet red lipstick on the velvety skin. As you release the head of his cock from your mouth with a slight 'pop', strands of saliva and pre-ejaculate dangle from your bottom lip, and you raise your wide-eyed 'innocent' gaze to him as you slowly run your tongue over your lips.

"Like that, Sannie? This lipstick shade is called 'Orgasm'." Your hand wraps around his cock again, wet and slippery with saliva, pre-cum, and lipstick. Sun begins to thrust his hips, hoping to achieve that coveted orgasm. "Come on, baby. Fuck my mouth..." San moans in a guttural, the fabric of his t-shirt uncomfortably wet, but it muffles his loud moans, and he is grateful for it when your lips are back on the wet head of his dick and you take it into your mouth.

He's about to come as you pull your cheeks together and run your tongue tip along his slit, your hand still stroking, squeezing, and rubbing the thick throbbing vein. You are milking his cock so well.

You open your mouth and stick out your tongue, tapping the swollen, red head of cock against the flat surface. With a soft humming sound, you pull yourself away from him and quickly run your hand over San's cock, flashing an enraptured smile at him. A beautiful shade of red lipstick is smeared all over your face.

"I would have done it a long time ago if I had known this would turn you on so much, baby." You say this before taking the whole cock back into your mouth. Sliding it down gently and easily, the thick, wiry girth slides right down in your throat. You hold it there for longer than you should be able to, your throat muscles quivering as San begins to tremble, gasping as his quadriceps clench, and he squeezes the sheets with his fingers once more until you can hear them crack.

You pull away from the thick cock again, just enough to let out a soft moan before you move down again, not so deep this time, take San's cock in your mouth. Your hand slides over the part not in your mouth; the sound of your heavy breathing, your smoothly sliding hand over wet flesh, and San's soft, muffled whimper fill the room.

San comes within seconds, whimpering and jerking his hips, his thick cum filling your mouth, and you swallow every drop greedily, only pulling away when San's teeth loosen the fabric of his t-shirt and he leans back onto the soft mattress of the bed.

Red stains of lipstick are smeared across your cheeks and down your chin, and your neck is wet with your own saliva and San's cum. You continue to jerk him off slowly, lazily squeezing every last drop of cum out of him and making his orgasm last longer.

"Damn, that felt so good." San says this and stands up sharply to wrap his palm around your wet neck, pulling you against him. He finally feels the ruby-red color of your lipstick on his lips with his own tongue, savoring the musky, thick taste of his own cum as he kisses you greedily and passionately.

Your teeth clash, lipstick smearing across your skin, and you stand up, still not breaking the kiss, only to push San back onto the bed and crawl on top of him. His grip on your neck tightens, his teeth biting painfully into your lower lip, and you pull away to let yourself breathe.

"Now I can finally fuck you, can't I?" San asks, and you swallow as you hear the low, sultry tone in his voice.

"You're going to have to work hard to keep me quiet, babe."

San grins and gives you a sweet peck on the lips.

"Oh, baby, believe me, I know so many ways to shut you up."

#ateez smut #kpop smut #atz smut #ateez hard hours #ateez unholy hours #smut #ateez scenarios #ateez au #ateez x reader #san x reader #ateez imagines #ateez fanfic #san smut #choi san smut #choi san x reader

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babyjakes · 2 years ago

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〈 disclaimer: this blog posts content not suitable for individuals under the age of 18. minors are strictly prohibited from viewing, sharing, or interacting with this blog. for more information on this blog's commitment to protecting minors, read our full statement here. 〉

event | april '23 ddlg-themed blurb night

requested by @brandycranby | ahhh bb eu 🥺 was just thinking of ari and his thick beard aaaa 💕✨️🩷🍒 for ur blurb night if u have room, soft!daddy!ari + crying?

warnings | ddlg. ari is soft and little dark, pushing baby way past her limits (dub/noncon). oral (f receiving). clit play, real puff puff behavior. overstimualtion. mocking/degredation, praise, dumbification. forced orgasms. squirting.

word count | 531

as punishing as the trash stache is, i’m of the controversial belief that ari is probably the oral king when it comes to facial hair. like there’s just so much of it, and he totally knows how to weaponize it against you and your poor little pussy.

maybe he’s got you spread out on the couch, arms resting over your knees and big hands holding your thighs right in place. you’re not going anywhere, no matter how much you beg and cry😌

he takes his time with you like always, teasing you with his lips and fingers, enjoying your soft moans and hums of initial approval. the first orgasm is of course a fine and grand ordeal, though it’s not the main event.

that would come after, as he’s overworking your poor, puffy folds. after cumming so hard, you’re a drippy, drooly mess, your little clit now fully exposed and engorged with blood. ari knows, he knows it’s so sensitive now. throbbing. hot. achy. needy, as your daddy puts it. which justifies what comes next: the torment of your overstimulated pussy, especially your precious little button that ari loves oh so much.

“c’mon baby, just look at it. so swollen n’ angry lookin’, needs daddy to take care of it.” using a hand to pull back the skin around it, bringing his tongue down to dip into your sore cunt as his nose and mustache scratch against the aching bead of nerves. dragging the wetness of your last orgasm up to roll over it, earning soft sobs from you as you cry into your hands.

“please daddy, t-too much, please don’t—”

he pulls back to look at you with false concern. “honey, daddy’s just taking care of you. know your little baby pussy gets so sensitive after you cum, doesn’t it?” he brings a single finger up to rub over your poor nub as he speaks, worsening your tears to his delight. “see? can feel it throbbing against me. think you need to cum again for me, sweetheart. your body’s begging for it”

you struggle against his hold but it’s no use 😖 he coos at your pathetic attempt, soothing, “shhh baby, don’t cry. daddy’ll be real gentle, promise” but he’s not fooling either of you, you both know he’s loving this. the tears, the resistance, the abuse of your poor cunt

his mouth returns to its spot between your trembling legs, his tongue licking a fat stripe up from your dripping hole to your clit as he circles in on it with skillful precision, eventually easing the bud back into his mouth as he presses two fingers against your opening

“that’s it, baby. i know, i know sweet girl,” his voice comes out so patronizing through his sucking and kissing. he doesn’t fail to notice the way your whole body’s tensing up in preparation for your next climax. “almost there, angel,” he breathes against your burning button, nursing lovingly on it as you tumble over the edge. he groans and moans against you as you cum, the vibrations of his deep voice sending pleasure and pain shooting up through you as you squirt into his awaiting mouth—

yuh huh!! yum!!😌🫶

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spookwyrdie · 7 months ago

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I love love love the subby Seungmin fic🤤, like you're literally too good at making your writing so compelling?🥰 Like idk the correct for for it but it's like crack to me😖🥴 Can i please bring to your attention Minnie's pouty lips? Like literally every time he speaks his lips just pucker up in the cutest way and I lowkey am curious to see how mean Dom reader would tease him about how slutty he's being, acting as if he wants everyone to kiss his pretty pretty lips and just kissing and biting them until they are red and swollen and marked as readers'. And Seungmin loving the feeling of being owned and just melting at the degradation repeating drunkenly over and over about how he doesn't want anyone to kiss him but you cuz he's your little slut. And later reader reassuring him that they didn't mean it and that they love Minnie's lips and cute mannerisms just as it is. 🥰

Hey Anonnie🥰 I love the sub Seungmin requests, they're always so fun to write.

Because You're My...?

genre: smut, fluff if you squint // word count: 1.1k // warnings: adult dialogue, sexual themes, noona kink, subby idol!seungmin, biting, degradation, a dash of puppy play //a/n: This isn't explicit in the sense that they're just kissing, but there's Stuff. Things. Enjoy!

Seungmin is really hamming it up on this variety show. When he talks, his lips pucker up naturally, the tint of his lips pink and shiny. When he smiles, his whole face lights up, his teeth straight and white, even when he tends to cover it. When he speaks though, even when he tries to keep his face neutral, he’s pushing his lips out.

Sometimes when he’s annoyed, he even runs his tongue over his bottom lip, just showing off how wet and plump it is. Is he really simpering for the audience right now, playing innocent? Standing off stage, watching behind the camera with the rest of the team, you feel your blood boil. Who’s he showing off for? Those lips are for you and you alone.

Once they call for a break, he jogs over to the team, making a beeline to you with a big grin on his face. He cocks his head to the side, giving you confused puppy eyes when he notices your irritated expression. You grab onto his wrist and drag him behind you, making excuses about fixing something on his jacket. Instead, you find an empty green room. Pushing him inside, closing the door with your foot.

“Y/n, wh-”

“Shh, I don’t want to hear any excuses,” you snap, squeezing his cheeks with your hand so his lips purse.

“Excutheth for wha-” he tries to say with his face in your hand.

“Excuses for being such a pouty little whore on camera.”

He wiggles out of your grasp, rolling his eyes. “I wasn’t pouting on camera.”

“Yes, you were,” you poke him in the chest, walking him backwards until his back finds the wall. “Who are you trying to get to kiss you?”

“No one!” he starts to blush as you press your body up against his.

“That’s not what it looked like,” you sneer. “You’re just acting like a slut.”

“I’m not a sl-” he starts to whine, but you clap a hand over his mouth.

“Shh! You have to keep your voice down,” you whisper. “The door is unlocked, do you want someone to find us?”

He shakes his head and you release him, trailing your fingers down his cheek. He’s already panting when he whispers, “Noona, I only want you to kiss me.”

You lean in, “The way you were licking your lips, puckering up while you were talking? I think you want anyone to use this pretty little mouth.”

“I don’t do it on purpose! I used to have braces, it’s just -”

“Excuses are slut behavior. You’ll let anyone have a little taste?”

“N-no,” he whimpers. “Only you.”

With your thumb, you smear the lip tint he has on. “Only me?”

“Yes, Noona, only you.”

You surge into him, your mouth finding his as he groans into your sudden, harsh kiss. His mouth opens to whine, giving you the opportunity and permission to deepen the kiss, lashing your tongue against his. He melts into your touch, his hands grasping at your back, fingers digging into your skin. He scratches his short nails into you as he moans, losing his mind as he presses further into you. You slip your hand into his hair and pull, tilting his head back suddenly.

His mouth disconnects from yours briefly, trying to catch his breath. But that’s not what you have in mind for him, pulling him back down to meet your lips again, sucking his bottom lip into your mouth and nipping hard. He squeaks at the sudden deluge of pain and pleasure as you soothe the sharp pain with your tongue. You capture his lip again between your teeth lightly as you pull back, his eyes fluttering as you tug his lip towards you.

“I don’t know,” you say as you release his lip. Seungmin has a hazed out look in his eyes as he follows trails after you, chasing your lips. “I think only little sluts kiss like that.”

“No!” he cries, wild emotions erupting in his chest. Calling him names like this makes him feel bad…but also good? You’re giving him so much attention, lavishing him with contact, controlling him. He feels his knees weaken when you call him a whore. He starts to grow hard in his jeans, a fizzing sensation pulsing through him as you lay your claim to his mouth. He wants to be so good for you, but he can’t deny the adrenaline rushing through his body at your insults.

“Who do these lips belong to?” you whisper, pressing feather light kisses along his jaw.

“YOU!” he cries, rutting his hips into you. The way you control his every move, teasing him with your mouth alone, drives him mad. “Please!”

“Please what, puppy?” you say as you pull back to look at him. His eyes widen at the use of the pet name, unlocking a new kind of desire. He’s your puppy, he wants you to own him.

“Please…” he starts, nervous about what he’s about to say. “Let me be yours.”

The feeling in your chest is overwhelming, like your heart could burst. A smile blooms on your face, a faint flush darkens your cheeks.

“You want to be mine?” you say, tracing the shape of his top lip with your finger, mesmerized by how red and swollen they look.

Seungmin nods, eyes not leaving your face. You snake your hand down to his jaw, holding it in place, adoration on your face. His whole mouth is covered in the lip tint he had on for the cameras. It’ll look terrible when he returns, but you want the world to know that you own this mouth.

“And you’re not going to be a dumb little whore anymore in front of other people?”

“No, never. Only for you, Noona,” he pants, leaning into your touch.

“Because…?”

He looks at you, confusion in his eyes as he tries to break through some of the arousal pumping through his veins to understand your question.

“Because?” he repeats.

“Is my dumb little slut already gone, just from a few kisses?” you chuckle at him. “Because you’re my…”

“Because I’m… your… puppy?”

You grin as you lean down to kiss him, capturing his lips gently this time. He hisses at the soreness of his lip, but it turns to a moan as you use your tongue to dull the pain. The languid pace has him melting in your grasp for other reasons, his heart beating erratically in his chest.

“Then you better learn how to stop pouting when you talk,” you murmur against his lips. “These lips are for me.”

#skz smut #stray kids smut #stray kids fanfic #stray kids x reader #seungmin x reader #seungmin smut #anonnymouse #he's not even my main bias but i love he 🥺

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be3per · 9 months ago

Text

fingers grazing my skin.

sukuna x gn!reader BEST FRIENDS AU.

(comfort/fluff 🌸)

summary: you and sukuna are close and he’s grown accustomed to your company. you’d often hold hands with him or poke his cheek, oblivious to how your touch effects him. one day, you were curious and asked if you could touch his scars. surprisingly, he didn’t protest and possibly a small confession came out of his lips.

includes: scars (not from sh, but from battling), a bit descriptive with the scars (if you’re sensitive, please stop reading! <3), sukuna cracking a bit, little tsundere cutie 😖

NOT PROOFREAD! ⚠️

(sorry if it’s a bit short :// hope you still like it 🙏)

enjoy! ☺️

You entered his domain through Yuji. At first, he was threatening. Those eyes that pierced through you as he stared down at you as if you were nothing.

And to him, you were nothing.

Until you began to warm up to him, making jokes and enjoying the slightest hint of amusement that he gave you.

You couldn’t help but see him every day, apologizing when you couldn’t.

Sukuna would force Yuji to you, teasing you from his mouth appearing on Yuji’s cheek. It was fun, going back and forth. He enjoyed your company, but wouldn’t admit it.

One day, you walked up to him in his domain, curious. You grabbed a nearby animal skull, sitting on it as you contentedly stared at him.

“What do you want, human.” He spoke, voice rasp. You fluttered your eyelashes at him, Sukuna finding it hard to stare back.

Was he having feelings for a mortal? He couldn’t. He said he wouldn’t. Yet here he was, head over heels as soon as he saw you in his vision.

He looked at you, raising an eyebrow.

“I asked you a question, human.” You just hummed, a small smile on your face. You rested your elbow on your knee, the side of your face resting on your palm. Your free hand trailed up his throne, remnants of the people he killed engraved into it. Each told its own story, as well as the scars that was all over his back. Endless fights, centuries of adventures from just one scratch.

“Has anyone ever touched your scars?” You mumbled, hand reaching his wrist and gently rubbing his skin. He doesn’t pull away, not anymore. He’s grown accustomed to your touch and finds himself wanting more.

He sighed, turning his back to you. He was already shirtless, his rough back having scars littered everywhere from big to small. Deep to shallow. Some dried blood still remained, some new but most centuries old.

“You can be the first, human. Do anything wrong, and you’re gonna have more than scars.” He said, his voice softer than usual. It’s not like it already was with you, but he wanted to be gentle. He found you special in his eyes, an emotion he hadn’t felt in years, decades to resurface on his skin. He felt goosebumps when he felt your hand hover over his back.

You lifted your head from your palm, a smile on your face.

“I’m happy you trust me so much.” You say, finger gently touching his scars and tracing them. You focused, seeing how they were all different. You wondered how he got them. How he had to endure so much. How he was alive again but in a vessel, and yet the pain remained. The memories.

You felt him let out a shaky sigh from your touch, his back arching slightly. You fixed your posture, leaning down and pressing kisses on his back. A small gasp came from the male, face blooming red.

“What..?! What do you think you’re doing?” He says, but doesn’t get up. In fact, he leans into your touch. You smiled against his skin, standing up and wrapping your arms around his neck. You hugged him, face squished into his neck. You had him wrapped around your finger.

“You’re strong, y’know?” You mumbled into his neck.

He was silent for a moment, letting you hug him. The need for your touch grew stronger as his head leaned back against your chest. You removed your face from his chest, looking down at him with a smile as he returned your gaze.

“I know. But I’m weak when you’re near.”

And his eyes closed as he melted against you.

#sukuna x you #sukuna ryomen #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen ryomen #ryomen sukuna #jjk ryomen #jjk fluff #jjk x reader

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screampied · 3 months ago

Note

Omg I just had a geto thought that I would like to be sharing

Imagine geto with a reader who doesn't like smoking or vaping but had some what a experience😚. And is rather hard working and LIKE only want to focus on work 😣. and SOOOO geto just like to tease or gives taunt about trying it out 🙄. Just basically just bother her about it. till she had enough and grabbed his vape or cigarette out of his mouth and blow the toxic out of her mouth and into his face 😏. And for geto he think that was the sexy thing ever😖. To see your eyes to be a blood shot red and watery, the way your lips become some what wet but also dried and the way your face look kinda fucked but also serious look. Made him fucked.😭😭 literally! and to geto that was something that turn him on so bad. I just feel like he think about how you look at him while your smoking and while you fucked him.😵 LIKE😖 my men was flabbergasted when the moment struck 😔🙏.

I feel this actually would happen😚 ( I just wanted to change the font of the name hope you don't mind 😣)

-JJK thirst generator

OHU COOKED. shotgunning is so sexy ✋ imagine high sex with suguru, i feel like he’d be more into weed. he’d def get hard at reader blowing smoke in his face or in his mouth. he’s a kinky bastard 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️. RIDING SUGURU WHILE YOURE BOTH HIGH >>>>> i feel like he’d whine a bit too, holding onto ur hips and groaning. ugh he’d look so pretty while you’re on top.

literally i think he’d fall in love at that moment 🧍‍♂️

#✰ミ݁ ׅ ࣪ 𝒔𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒆.#🪪 jjk thirst generator anon #also NO WORRIESSSS ✋ i love ur brain pls keep feeding us <3

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soapels · 2 years ago

Text

flash

john “soap” mactavish x female reader

your good friend soap’s been actin’ a lil weird lately… but as long as you keep pretending otherwise, it’ll be okay. right…?

tw: nsfw/smut, reader has this thing where she playfully calls him soapy, friends to lovers sort of, comrades to lovers, alcohol use, emotional?? mentions of and allusions to mental illness

notes: yall this one took a while to cook up, ngl. but soap doesnt get as much love as he should!! so please accept this tender lil fic and enjoy 😖 and tell me if u enjoyed lol i’d be over the moon ♡ once again, readmore is bugging so…. Sorry 🥲

all hearts, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated!

There’s not much in this world that can ease the trauma that war leaves behind.

You’ve been a part of the team for a while, long enough to walk in on things you shouldn’t have- conversations meant for the higher-ups, things your ears weren’t supposed to hear. And you’ve shut your mouth, zipped it up tight and threw the key to the bottom of the sea by silently walking away from it all.

Sometimes you stumble upon things that aren’t inherently wrong, either- like Ghost winding down one night to a bottle of whiskey, a glimpse of his brown, doleful eyes- but it somehow feels out of place, too.

Nothing ever feels right, around here.

But you don’t want to leave, exactly, truthfully you think a big part of you will always be stuck here with the military and blood and gunpowder, like some dirty stain you can never quite scrub away completely.

And even stranger- you don’t think you’d have it any other way.

You dropped the hypothetical shit a while ago, no more dreams of living at the edge of a city in New York or owning a cozy little cafe like that one Simon particularly liked. Stopped wishing over shooting stars and leaning on pipe dreams of your life after the war’s done.

Because the war’s never really done, and that’s why you can’t go. To suddenly walk away from it all, emerge from a cloud of orange smoke to the suburbs- that’d feel worse than suicide, because you never finished shit, you let it finish you.

You’re not gonna leave first, you decided on your fourth mission, at least not on your own volition. Either you go down with the chaos, or you’re lucky enough and don’t.

And… You walk in on things you’re not always supposed to.

Like Soap hunched over by his bunk one quiet evening, the horizon a burning mess of red and deep tangerine outside the small window, curtains billowing ever so softly in the breeze.

…Doin’ something you still can’t find it in you to say.

And you wanted to do something, upon the door creaking open- pull a lighthearted scare on him like he does you sometimes, but more importantly, tell him that your Lieutenant told you to tell him that he’s on cleaning duty tonight. (He never likes cleaning much, Johnny, but he’s damn good at it- fast, too, probably under the incentive of a good night’s sleep.)

But there’s something in the air- must be- because your knees lock up and you gape at the back of his head, one large hand bracing against the bar of the bed, the other… wrapped around his front, jerking jerking jerking.

Confusion kicks in, for a solid moment as you piece it all together- the lack of a lamp light in the sunset-bathed room, the odd quietness and the precaution stitched in the stiff muscles of his back, shirtless and slightly sweating- and then comes the slow realization.

Common sense strikes you next.

You shut your mouth, turn on your heel, eyes bulging and all, nearly trip over your laces-

“Ah-“

And as the door quietly closes, your petrified gaze meeting Soap’s hazy blue one through the diminishing slit, you know you’ve fucked up.

You hear him call your name just before you go, his voice thick and heady, his Scottish accent just a rasping breath as you blink away the mad blush and counter it back with a frail call over your shoulder.

“Uhm- sorry! Ghost- um- h-he said you’re on cleaning duty!!”

Fuck.

♡♡♡

“All water under the bridge, Soapy.”

You tell him confidently after a whole week of awkwardly skirting around him, pretending he was nonexistent sitting across of you in the truck or plane. Truthfully, you were too embarrassed of your mishap to do much otherwise.

But none of that has to be known, so if he spots the nerves in your eyes, he doesn’t comment on it, and you’d like to think your little grin is convincing enough.

“Y’sure, lass?” He says uncertainly, rubbing the back of his neck as his oceanic hues flit between you and the wall behind you. You nod, sparing a cautionary glance over his shoulder to your comrades swaying around with every bump of the gravel road, bodies knocking together, shoulders brushing and—

“Lass…?”

“Oh,” you blink owlishly, mentally returning back to the male before you, “sorry, guess my mind wasn’t all there.”

“All on good things, I hope?” He offers a half-embarrassed little chuckle there, and when the sentiment clicks, you huff fondly and look away.

“Good things,” you confirm, ever bashful.

And there’s a stretch of peaceful silence; the muted crunch of gravel beneath the big tires, some mild chatter and exchanged banter between your Captain and Gaz (albeit, it comes mostly from Price), and the light rustle of bodies brushing together.

Your mind wanders away in that wordless reprieve, and though you vaguely register Soap’s presence still there- those blue, inquisitive eyes hovering over you- he’s no more than an afterthought as you slowly zone out.

Far. Away.

The glint of the steely rafters overhead. The ripped fabric of the seats. Camo and black and bleakness, everywhere, all the time, no color. You can’t feel your body.

Gunfire. Chaos. Your ears ring, a perpetual bell of terror in your head as adrenaline courses through your veins, fear making its daily rounds within you.

No escape, no red exits or arrows to an end- just you and the field of sand, endless and dry, swarmed with enemies that you can’t find it in you to leave behind for another.

It’s over, something weak and brittle-boned screams inside you, wailing, in the high-pitched voice of a child hiding under the bed. It’s over It’s over It’s over.

It’s over again.

…But he’s there, in all your trembling, concerned sapphire and a boyish sort of gentleness, a gloved hand reaching for you.

(Gunfire, gunfire, gunfire. Something’s nicked your leg, maybe.)

“…You good?”

You gasp inaudibly. Wide, deer-in-headlights gaze meeting a vaguely worried one.

His hand, idly sliding over the length of his gun, almost jitters as he quietly searches you for a sign of response, for a familiar smile or a pleasant little laugh that serves as a salve to his soul.

And for a fleeting, terrifying moment, Soap looks earnestly for life in those e/c hues, and finds grains of sand in his boots.

Your lips curl, ever so slightly, and that curse is broken.

“Yes,” you breathe, lashes fluttering down to the gun in your own arms— much too big for you, heavy, full of bullets named home (because you can’t feel safe without them)— and then your eyes fall to your legs, the camo hiding the healing mass of bandages there.

Soap wrapped most of them.

“Thanks, Johnny.”

When his cheeks dust over an unsuspecting red, you realize you’ve fucked up for the second time this week.

Because nobody calls him Johnny. Nobody but your headstrong Lieutenant.

…Jerking your chin away, wordless and tense in the direction of the vehicle’s driver, Soap can tell you’re sorry.

And he sighs then, exasperated- just as you- yet soft, too. His eyes follow yours, equipment jostling quietly in the droning lull of the long trip ahead.

“…No harm done there, lass.”

There’s a trace of a smile on his lips. Exhausted. True.

♡♡♡

Bruises, cuts, heavy fists and evil intent— literal bullets to the skin- you’ve taken it all, yet none of that seems to matter now, every bad memory bleeding into the swirl of your glass, ice tinkling together as you slowly relax into Soap’s sofa.

It smells of him, you think. Something woodsy and unexplainably Johnny- perhaps a trace of minty aftershave…

You feel nice, slumped back into the cushions in a haze- happy, even. Or perhaps not happy, exactly, but dazed and dumb and good. The sweet-tanged concoction too dizzying to think.

You can’t think; good, it must be.

Soap’s sat next to you, clad in faded denim jeans and a white top that clings loosely to his built muscles. His legs are spread somewhat, long made himself comfortable, thighs thick and strong through the rugged-blue material.

His condition’s not far off from yours, sporting a glass of his own, approaching his fifth of the night, though you suspect he holds his alcohol much better, because you hardly ever drink, and you’re already feeling tipsy after the second shot. Meanwhile, he’s still managing to articulate a sentence, a dopey grin occasionally showing on his face.

Sat at the armchair across the coffee table, Ghost is a stoic wreck of fatigue and relief, steadily nursing a bourbon as Soap babbles on about some old highschool story of his.

It’s probably something funny, something the sober you wouldn’t want to miss, something you’d tuck away in your brain for later to poke harmless fun at your pal with. But you’re so tired and lost and intoxicatedly stupid right now, and for the life of you, you can’t convince yourself to turn over and hear him out.

Later, the hopeful part of you whispers, when you’re less fucked up and leaden. (Later never comes.)

Ghost’s brown eyes are glossy beneath his balaclava, a sort of look kin to post-nut clarity glinting in them as he witnesses the two of you slowly. Processing, processing, processing. As if he’s looking through a pane of glass, not really there, but he feels every crippling sensation all the same and his mouth feels awkward, he’s drunk and his tongue is heavy.

He shouldn’t take another sip. He does anyway.

Maybe he’s not listening to Johnny half-coherently list off fables from his youth, maybe he’s simply existing and basking in the otherwise quiet moment-the temporary peace. And maybe Soap knows his Lieutenant zoned off a while ago, that now no ears in the whole entire world are listening to him spill the humorous side of his heart.

Maybe it doesn’t matter. None of it.

…There comes a point, though, where Soap looks over to you.

Those eyes, a murky, inscrutable sapphire, drag over you. Slowly. There’s something on his mind, something heavy and wild and that he can’t control, yet he doesn’t tell a word of it, and for the life of you, you can’t figure out why.

(You’re drunk anyway, you’re done and over with for the night. So what’s it matter anyway?)

(But it’s Soap, so you want to know.)

Finally, those hazy blues settle on your empty glass, clasped loosely in your fingers.

“…Pour y’another?”

You snort halfheartedly, mustering up a joke. (‘Cept, it’s not really funny, and your words are slurring. You sound stupid, you can’t feel your body. Pop pop pop, gunfire in the distance, playing like a broken vinyl cd in the crook of your head…)

“Soap… I don’t think I can take another…”

His chest rumbles low at that.

“S’pose yer right.”

He’s reaching forward, leaning into the coffee table, snatching a bottle and gesturing to your mug anyway.

You’re smiling like a plastered, exhausted bimbo when you obediently proffer it out to him and watch him fill it up. Slowly, but his strong arm’s a little uncoordinated as he pours it, and he almost spills some.

It’s more than you can ever hope to drink right now, you realize as he sets the whiskey back down, pressing the glass back to you. You think with enough ambition and torturous silence, though, you’ll be able to find way to swallow it all.

(The lot of you are good at that.)

It’s when you take your second sip that Ghost rises from the couch.

“I’m done-in for the night.”

He’s fucked up too, bad, you can tell. But he hides it well, always has, hardly a stumble to his step as he spares you a tired, mutual nod and turns in the direction of the hall.

“Sure, Lt,” Soap calls after him, the two of you watching Simon disappear into the dim glow of the hallway. “There’s blankets in the hall closet if y’get too cold.”

And it’s when you hear the soft click of a door, a bed promptly groaning under a foreign weight, that an unprecedented sense of drunken boldness takes over and you rise.

“Lass-?”

(He’s already poised to reach for you, prepared to follow right behind you should you say the word, if something’s wrong.)

Pop pop pop.

You tip your head back, gulping down the liquid- an evident bit of spice that sears your throat, a complimentary vanilla, too- ‘til you’re staring at an empty bottom.

Turnin’ back to Soap.

Jaw slack, eyes a glossy mess of intoxication and confusion- maybe even worry- Soap looks up at you with knitted brows. Ready to sit you back down, perhaps noticing the quiet war behind your dopey blinks- eager to convince you there’s nothing to be afraid of- he shouldn’t have poured you another, it’s time to hit the hay, maybe—

“Johnny,” you say, and it knocks the very breath out of him, “More.”

…More it is.

He belatedly takes your emptied mug in his hands, almost trembling as he snuffs out all of his internal turmoil and brims your glass with more of that addictive substance.

Pours himself another, too. (Figures he’ll need it to sleep tonight. Though, it’ll hurt like hell in the morning- that’s when he’ll truly pay for it.)

Settling back into the sofa (admittedly not in best shape, leather worn-in, a few scratches), he watches you tap in and out of your beverage, and when your hips start to sway- thin fabric of your nightgown shifting along your thighs- a good piece of him (the last of his rationality) burns with the whiskey at the back of his throat.

Oh, you want to butcher him tonight, don’t you?

There’s no sound, just the pleasant backdrop of rain dripping off the apartment’s roof and the occasional car whistling down the city streets, yet you move like it’s your favorite song.

Lazy, loosely-controlled, like every sentiment flows through you like a conduit.

Brokenness there, Johnny finds snapped twigs and bullet shells and the screams that catch deep in your lungs after another close call. But he discovers hope there too, a courageous peace and a beam of your forgiving moon…

Wants to swim in your waters.

(But you don’t bleed the same chaos he’s realized he can. You reek of immovable innocence; he’s beheaded men and liked it- he’s imagined you outside of your hellish job and shimmied out of those thick fatigues- pictured you naked and happy on his cock. And that lovely gown you’re in now makes you so fuckin’ precious in his eyes…)

(It frames you like an angel. You are, Soap knows. You are. And he deserves no part of it.)

Your body ebbs like a tide.

A gentle, hypnotic lullaby that Soap thinks is awfully inviting, jaw stiff at the way your perky ass tempts him beneath the pale silk, jeans growing a touch tighter as the seconds tick by. (Has he been watching you for forever? Have you been swaying for only a moment? He doesn’t know, but—)

It’s enough.

He rises too, then, large hands meeting the curve of your hips, settling there like he’s belonged for some time, eyes hooded as they sweep over the expanse of your neck and collarbones, point of his nose scraping against the column of your throat.

“Want t’kill me tonight, d’you, lass?”

You almost pause for a moment at his touch, he can feel it in the way you stiffen, the faint shiver of your spine. But you don’t let his presence stop you, and for that he’s ever thankful.

“No,” you breathe, and it’s just as soft as it is drunk.

Slurred, and falling apart, still you’re a sight for sore eyes, the callous pads of his fingers slowly riding down the plush of your thigh… “Never, Soapy.”

Soapy. What a fucking nickname. Probably one of the stranger things he’s gotten hard at- not that he’s complaining, because though for anyone else it wouldn’t slide, it sounds so sweet leaving your lips.. makes warmth furl out in his chest…

Hands roaming, roaming, and roaming some more.

Stopping midway, where the frilly hem of that tantalizing gown lies…

Testing your waters, though he wants nothing more than to pull the fabric off you and dive right in.

“Gorgeous thing,” he murmurs back, this time into the side of your jaw, his lips smushing into your cheek as he insinuates himself behind you. Wonderin’ if you fully realize the persistent bulge at your rear-side and if you do, whether or not you like it.

(D’you want him, too? Oh, fuck, he hopes you want him, too. Don’t know what he’ll do otherwise…)

When his thumb grazes against the smooth skin of your belly and you offer no rebuttal, he relaxes some behind you, blood roaring through his ears (down south, too). Hoping you’ll be impossibly generous with him, even if just for tonight, even if you’ll both forget it all by the morning and this little daydream of his will be swept under the rug ‘til he stumbles again and needs to revisit it.

“Fuckin’ hell, lass…” he sort of groans. “Sway those hips s’more for me, yeah…?”

You’re too good, he thinks as you lean back into him and give him just what he asked for, you’re too good and now he’s hot and needy for you. Only you. (Why’s it only ever you?)

The alcohol’s getting to his head, his mouth feels fuzzy and his throat is cotton but he likes it- the embers licking at the pit of his belly doing no favors for his intoxication.

M’ drunk off you, lass. He wants to say, or at least something of the sort. But his lips are sealed, and the patters of rain stay steady outside. And not a word comes out.

Not until his hips start grinding against yours, hands hungrily groping up to the mounds of your tits, and you mewl. You fucking mewl. A soft whine, hardly a breath, really- but it’s somehow satisfied and greedy all at once and Soap knows right then that you need him just as he needs you.

(You need him.)

“Fuck, Y/n,” he grunts, voice thick with arousal, low with remnants of exhaustion. “Let me take ya to m’ room… Please?”

And you do, obedient as he flips you around, carefully hoisting you up, palms cupping the unders of your thighs as he heads off in the direction of the hallway.

He wants to kiss you, to twirl his tongue with yours and taste the sweeter option of liquor you let him pour you tonight, he wants to do everything he’s ever wanted to with you- but he doesn’t.

Sex is one thing- to fuck you is already worse enough but at least he could chalk it up to just blowing off some steam. But kissing... That crossed a whole different line and leapt over into something far more personal.

You two will be in big trouble should Ghost suddenly emerge from the guest room and find you- you’re certain this isn’t allowed, but Soap’s arms are setting you down on his bed and his mouth is suckling at your neck and you like it.

But—

“Johnny,” you whine breathlessly. He somehow, amidst the inebriation and the heady poke of your breasts against his chest- the sin of his name on your tongue- recognizes the hesitance there and finds it in him to pause.

“What?” Voice all raspy and fucked-up. Impatient, slightly harsh.

(But his heart is running so fast it echoes in his brain.)

“This is-…” you swallow. “This is wrong.”

Johnny sighs. “Lass,” the backs of his knuckles brush over your cheek, up along your jaw ‘til his fingers are stroking back your hair, and his eyes are a tsunami, roaring waves folding over a gentle tide as he peers at you.

(Fuck, he sees you. He totally, fully sees you.)

Pupils a blown-out mess of adoration and tenderness and something deeper you can’t quite place.

“M’fraid it all is.”

His lips ghost over yours- for a moment he almost sinks his teeth into the softness there, but at the last second they shift gears and descend upon you, placing a flurry of pecks on your tummy. Down down down, ‘til he’s rucking up your gown and the tip of his nose is burrowing into the dip of your panties- the wetness there exacerbating his raging hard-on.

You shiver violently at his touch, lazily propped up on your elbows as you gape down at him. Your fingers find his head, tangling into his mohawk, grazing against the shaved hair. His eyes glow like a beast, large palms dragging your hips in, bracing into your thighs.

His eyes roll back some at your touch. The gentleness you regard him with in those shimmery eyes of yours- you’ve had him on a tight leash for a while now. He hopes you know, and wonders if you’d loosen his chains a little, just to free him some. (Does he even want to be free?)

“Johnny, I…” (The intensity in his gaze so heady and endless you can’t muster up a proper sentence.)

“…Can make y’happy,” he huffs out, then, his hot breath melding against your clothed pussy- needy and aching for your usually-cheery comrade. “Can make ya cum on my tongue, if that’s what y’want.”

The moon slivers in through the still curtains. His words are slurred. Johnny is so drunk. You are, too. You’ll regret this tomorrow morning if you remember. And you will, of course you will, because you remember everything. (Least, all the things you shouldn’t…)

Johnny, though- cheeks a ruddy mess of infatuation and tender, overwhelming arousal- is worth all of it.

“I jus’ want you,” you breathe incoherently after a belated beat of silence.

There’s a split second of nothingness- where Soap has to piece together your sloppy (yet no less sincere) whisper-

And then there’s a broken little whimper on his end. His fingers hooking into the hem of your panties and tugging ‘em down- vicious, almost. No more waiting. You asked too nicely for him to turn you down anyway.

“You’ll get me.” He whispers coarsely. He hikes your legs up over his shoulders, fumbling flat onto his tummy- still, somehow careful of the bandages around your knee- and doesn’t waste any time.

Diving in, placing a preparatory kiss to to your clit before nuzzling into your folds—

Your head immediately thrashes into his pillows, jaw gaping as you stifle a desperate moan, eyes pinned to the ceiling.

“Oh, Johnny,” you whine, and your voice is so thin- skin so glassy in the flicker of the moon- that he’s sure one wrong touch will break you entirely.

(And he wants to break you, maybe. If only to put your pieces back together, bring you to beautiful ruin on his cock and tongue and fingers and soul, just so he can recombine you after all is said and done. Be the one to kiss away your tears, pocket them like souvenirs- whenever he feels particularly awful he can pull them out and remember how they made your eyes shine like magic 8balls. And for a moment, all the wrong will fade.)

“That’s it, pretty gal,” his palms hold your quivering thighs apart, keeping you mostly steady beneath him. But when he shifts, teases his index finger at the core of you and sinks it in- so deep- so much longer than yours- you let out a shivering moan that the back of your hand can’t hold.

He hushes you, briefly pulling away from your pussy, and you think you hear something close to love there. “Hush, lass,” he whispers. “Much as I want t’hear ya, word gets out to Shepherd and we’re done for.”

Soap gets a shaky, long exhale in return, and from where he lies between your legs, he watches your tummy stutter with every breath, breasts torturing him with every jostle.

“I don’t think I can take it.” You confess.

(Fuck, he has to ruin you.)

He sighs deeply. “You will…”

You beg him a lot; small fingers fisted in his stripe of hair, unwittingly tugging and whining as quiet as you could, that he’d save you the hell and give his cock to you already. But it’s only after you’ve come undone on his tongue that he finally indulges you- though he’s more than willing, fumbling for his slacks as he settles you back down, nose brushing against yours as he lines himself up.

“Tell me you still want it…”

“I want you,” you breathe.

He’s kissing you, cock pushing in with a feral little growl that rocks the both of you, muffled in the swirl of your tongue as his hips meet the underside of your thighs. He pushes ‘em to your chest.

“Fuck, lass, wanted to do this for a while,” he confesses in a breathy sort of whine, and when you whimper confusedly back he pulls away some, gives you a shaky nod. His balls are tight already, belly flipping with arousal and lust and the pure need to fill you up.

“Mhm,” he hums, all reassurance, gentle, uncoordinated fingers smoothing back your hair as he drinks in the sight of you. Perfect beneath him, eyes hardly meeting his, lashes dewy with pleasure- all given by him- breasts jostling like a treat as he drives himself into your warmth.

As tender as he can make it, as good as he can hold back.

“Thought about this for too long. Was so afraid that evening you walked in on me— ah— but… suppose you wanted it too, yeah?”

He’s kissing you again. Why’s he kissing you again-?

“I want ye,” he murmurs against you, and you’re trying so hard not to make a peep, gnawing on your love-swollen lips when Soap finally pulls away for oxygen- but perhaps something inside him snaps, looking down at you, ruined by his hand, because the next thing he says—

“Fuckin’ hell- don’t hold back, lass, don’t care who hears anymore,” he near begs, low voice rubbed raw with alcohol and, well, the sight of you, raising a pitch.

“Y’sound so pretty, so fuckin’ good, just let me hear you…”

And the pathetic part is- he’s already getting close, already feels that niggling, simmering sensation clutching in the pit of his belly as he rams his length in and out of you, watching your pretty face contort with pleasure— all given by him— and—

And when you finally unhook your bottom lip from your teeth and loose a whimpering, wanton moan for him, he comes on the spot.

Witnessing the twisted, cloying expression he makes as he lets out a long, feral groan, you think you come, too.

(Sure felt like it anyway- on Soap’s end, too. Fuck.)

But he just collapses over you, letting your sweaty skin fold against his as he burrows into the crook of your neck, suckles little red and pink marks that’ll linger tomorrow, and the next day, and the next…

“Yr’gorgeous,” he murmurs, leaning away some to look you in the eyes.

His glitter with warmth- you suspect he might’ve hidden a tear in the juncture of your neck- and they harbor this unmistakeable, eddying flash of love.

“You know that, yeah? …How gorgeous y’are?”

His pupils are blown wide, swallowing up a ring of baby blue. His calloused palms hold you close. So close. You can’t leave, you think, can’t squirm away even if you wanted to— not in Johnny’s grasp.

You muster up the sweetest, most fatigued little smile, and send it his way. “I-I know, Johnny.”

He shifts one final time, grinning tiredly (still, he’s won a medal, tonight, the best he could’ve ever aspired for) as he makes himself comfortable behind you- still tucked inside you- and wraps his strong arms ‘round your torso.

The bed creaks once more- loud, may you add, because Johnny stopped—

“Bloody hell! Go to sleep, will ya?!”

#call of duty #cod x reader #soap x reader #john soap mactavish #soap mactavish #soap smut #soap mw2 #soap cod #ghost #simon riley

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