#a man i routinely forget exists | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kingkatsuki · 2 months

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This is the first time in a long, long time that I’ve actually been proud of a fic so I really hope you enjoy it. I’m already formulating a second part in my mind, or maybe a third who knows.

Summary: Sanemi knew you would always be his beacon of light, the only brightness in this dark pathetic world. At night he’d stare up at the same night sky as you, wondering if this is what you were doing right now too— searching out for the North Star that would help guide him back home to you.

All you have with Sanemi Shinazugawa are fleeting moments together, while he tries so desperately not to give you his heart.

Warnings: 18+, blood!mention, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, cunnilingus, foreplay, sex with feelings, light choking, Sanemi calls us a slut once, fingering, breeding!mention, slight spoilers for the final arc but moreso to do with Sanemi’s appearance.

Pairing: Shinazugawa Sanemi x f!reader.

Word Count: 6.3k.

You always enjoyed watching the stars. Constellations swirling above granted you a cherished moment to forget about the mundane routine of life. A welcome break between the early rise of working beneath your father at the family bakehouse, slaving away until each loaf was sold before leaving you to clean up the mess. The local Izakaya called his name as he would not return home until what little profit he’d earned was squandered.

You couldn't even blame him, this wasn’t the life that either of you had wanted or planned for.

Your brother, who was training to become a demon slayer, now dead. Your mother ran away with a travelling merchant she’d met in the village after as though to numb the pain of losing him. You weren’t even sure if she was still alive, but you wondered if she’d been granted the chance of a new start. A new family— forgetting all about you in the process as you were left to this pitiful existence with your drunk of a father.

This was the only time you truly felt serene. Your back was flat against the dewy grass as the cool evening chill whipped at your ankles, toes almost numb from the chill as your eyes met where one pattern ended and another began.

The crunch of footsteps through gravel broke you from your daydream as you jolted straight, wide eyes snapping towards the source of the noise as you noticed a white-haired man hunched over.

“Sanemi?” You had to blink to ensure your eyes weren’t deceiving you, the soft candlelight from your home only enough to add a gentle glow to your surroundings as you stood.

Bare feet rushed through sodden grass as you felt the ache of small pebbles digging into your soles as you made your way towards him, trying to ignore the way the gravel seemed to indent into your skin as you reached him. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d seen him, the last time you’d felt him— you weren’t even certain he was still alive until now.

He stopped you when you were close enough, rough palms gripping your arms to keep you at bay. Sanemi’s touch was always bruising, but you knew better than to think he was trying to push you away. You’d learned a long time ago that he struggled to articulate his feelings, and something that once had your heart aching now filled you with a comforting warmth.

“I don’t want to get you dirty.” He shook his head, and it was then you noticed the blood and grime that doused him.

Wondering whether the blood was his, dried crimson caked his skin and the torn fabric of his haori. Wondering if he’d noticed, nor even cared if it was. You felt tears begin to clump in your lashes as you stared up at his lilac eyes, hands reaching out for him despite being held back as you gently prised yourself out of his grip.

“Didn’t I tell you not to stay out this late alone,” He growled, “It’s not safe.”

“I have the sword you left,” You smile up at him, anxious to reach out and hold him, “I remember how to use it.”

Sanemi feels his chest swell with pride that you do, after spending the time to teach you how to properly defend yourself from all the bad in the world. The darkness that shouldn’t sully your perfect soul, although he notices that the sword is nowhere to be seen in the grass beside you.

“I’m unsure what use it is to you when it’s lying more than a stone's throw away.”

“I’ll bring it with me next time,” You laugh, and Sanemi feels himself physically relax at the tone.

Once Sanemi was sure you weren’t going to jump him and ruin your pretty night kimono he let go, allowing you to reach up and place a palm against his cheek as he leaned into your touch. Your hands were freezing from being out in the cool evening air, but his cheek blazed with heat. It was comforting as he exhaled softly, letting his eyes flutter shut for a moment to indulge himself with the feeling of you. The saccharine scent of you invaded his senses as his calloused palms found purchase on your hips, gripping you tight as though trying to convince himself that you were real.

His chest was heaving, which made you wonder if he’d struggled to make it here, noticing a fresh gash against his pectoral that answered your question about the source of all the blood.

“Sanemi, you’re hurt.” You mumbled, noticing the blood now dripping onto the gravel beneath your toes.

“‘m fine,” He shook his head, but the state of him seemed otherwise.

“No, you’re not,” You frowned, scrunching your nose so cutely that Sanemi had to physically restrain himself from leaning forward to kiss you.

“I’m fine, woman,” He barked, but there was no bite. Not to you, “I’ve dealt with far worse.”

“Even so,” You shook your head, taking one of his hands in your own, “I’d hate for you to have made it this far just to be scuppered by a surface wound.” Sanemi’s lips curled into a genuine smile at that, teeth bared as he allowed you to lead him back towards your home, “Let me bandage it up so it doesn’t become infected.”

You knew what you were getting into when you started dating the Wind Pillar, despite his numerous attempts to push you away. Telling you it was for your own good, to keep you safe. That you deserved better. And Sanemi was certain that was true, you deserved someone far better than him. Someone that would treat you well, and not leave you wondering whether you'd ever see him again. It was selfish really, for him to expect you to wait for him each time. To settle for fleeting moments and stolen kisses— but it was your fault, you’d done this. You’d made him fall for you. And what good was living a safe life if it didn’t include him?

You lead him around your small nagaya, the bills so high you were certain it wouldn’t be yours for much longer. But you didn’t want to trudge blood through the house and have to explain it to your father when he woke up.

“Let me carry you,” Sanemi started as he noticed your bare soles stepping through the pebbled path, his grip on your hand tightening.

He didn’t even question why you weren’t wearing sandals, like most other men probably would. He knew you loved the stars. It’s as though he understood the exact reason you’d been out here without them, despite the dangers of being alone and vulnerable so late at night. Sanemi knew every part of you, probably even better than you knew yourself and yet somehow he would never quite afford you that same luxury. Always trying to keep you at arm's length, in his own selfish way of protecting you. Or so he thought—

“I’m quite alright to walk, Shinazugawa.” You teased, and you could practically feel the growl vibrate through him once you’d called him by his family name.

“When have I ever been known as Shinazugawa to you?” He sneered, but followed behind as you opened the sliding door.

“I seem to remember you demanding I call you that when my brother trained under you, Shinazugawa.” You smiled softly, ignoring the gentle pang in your heart at the loss of your sibling, “I remember you calling me rather annoying too.”

“I called you a pain in my ass, actually.” He delighted in the sweet laughter that surrounded him at that memory, as he kicked his shoes off at the door.

Sanemi was silent as you sat him down on the wooden floor in the room where you slept as you began to grab the items you would need to patch him up, closing the sliding door behind you as you returned to find him dozing against your futon.

“Oi,” You teased, a habit you’d picked up from him, “Don’t fall asleep yet, you might have a concussion.”

“You think I’m foolish enough to let a demon near my head, woman?”

“No,” You smiled, kneeling beside him as you pulled back the open front of his demon slayer uniform, “But you are foolish enough to hit your head.”

Sanemi’s glare had you breaking out into a soft giggle as you tried to quieten yourself so as not to wake any of the sleeping occupants nearby, shaking your head as he allowed you to work at the wound that marked his skin. Teeth clenched as you pressed gauze against it before bandaging it to prevent dirt from entering the wound. You were glad it didn’t appear to be deep, and would certainly not leave a scar as impressive as the ones that already littered his skin. But as it was still bleeding when he’d arrived, you wondered how long it had been since his battle.

“Why did you come here?” You mumbled as you finished up your haphazard attempt at bandaging his wound. Something you’d learned to do the first time your father had returned home drunk and knocked his head falling over the entry step whilst removing his sandals. A skill you’d tried to hone over the years, but to this day it still seemed to be a work in progress.

But of course, Sanemi still came to you, even though he’d certainly receive better care from the Butterfly Mansion. Or at the very least a better dose of medication to relieve the pain— but time and time again he’d always leave you with the same response.

“I always find my way back to you.”

Which is why he navigated towards you like a compass searching for the North Star. And even after all this time, you still continued to ask the same question. Because you liked the sound of the answer that left his lips.

“You’re foolish to think I take better care of you than the Kakushi there,” You smiled down at him as he grumbled beneath you.

“And yet I’m still alive.”

“I’m unsure whether that’s by luck or chance, but it’s certainly not because of me.” You snort, shaking your head as you reach for the warm water you’d prepared to help clean his dirty skin. Soaking a soft cloth before you began to run it against his forehead and cheeks.

“There’s no need for that,” He scoffs, his large palm wraps around your wrist to pull you away from him as you frown.

“You’re filthy, Sanemi.” You scrunch your nose, “And you stink.”

You were ashamed to admit to him that you loved the way he smelt. His musky sweat was laced with the scent of grass and the rice bran he’d used to wash days earlier. You always found yourself basking in it, allowing it to intoxicate you as you fell even deeper.

“You’ve never had a problem with me being filthy before.” Sanemi ponders, his hand reaching up to smooth over the soft curve of your hip, “In fact, I’m certain I remember you saying you liked it.”

Your cheeks burned from his implication, feeling the neglected space between your thighs throb with desire as you subtly shifted thigh to thigh. A movement that didn’t go unnoticed by the hashira below you, a cocky smirk on his face as he flattened his palm on your lower back. Pushing down to bring you closer to him, your face hovering mere inches from his own as his warm breath fanned your face.

“I missed you,” You hum softly, admiring the way the flickering burn of your lantern illuminated his chiselled face. Your lips brushed over his own in the faintest kiss, his fingers tightening in the fabric of your nightdress as he tried to pull you back to repeat the motion.

“Not as much as me,” He husked, reaching his other hand up to hold the back of your neck. Two fingers dug into the curve while his calloused thumb stroked your jaw, reconnecting your lips in a deeper kiss. His nose bumped against yours before tilting his head to the side to push his tongue into your eager mouth, finding your own as he swallowed the desperate whine that threatened to spill.

You’d missed this, missed him. Your hands threaded through his messy white hair as your nails dragged against his scalp, causing Sanemi to grunt as he pulled you down to the futon beside him. Curving his frame over you as he groaned deep and low in his throat from the intense pain that shot through his side from the sudden movement.

“Sanemi, you shouldn’t move,” You stared up at him in worry as you broke the kiss, a snarl of irritation appearing on his face as he tried to bring you back to him, “You’re hurt.”

“Shut up,” He snarled, but there was no real malice behind it.

He was far rougher this time as if trying to prove to you that he was fit to do this— to take care of you. Settling himself between your parted thighs as you felt him lean himself on you, a comforting weight as you reconnected your lips. His kiss was far more ferocious, a mess of tongue and teeth as hands disappeared beneath the silken fabric of your night dress. Bunching the material around your hips as he lurched forward, pressing his desire against your clothed core as he swallowed your whines.

You could tell he was exercising restraint. Wanting nothing more than to rip the fabric from your quivering body and reveal your skin to him, but it would be left as evidence of your exploits. And since your father still thought his daughter was pure, it would be a foolish move. Instead, he pushed it higher, letting it settle above the swell of your naked breasts as he bit back a sigh. Teeth gnawing at his lower lip as he broke the kiss to indulge in the sight of you, thumbing the underside of your soft mounds as he watched your nipples stiffen to round peaks in the cool evening air.

How had he been so lucky to find you? To convince someone as perfect as you to lie with him? He had no clue, but he was certain it was evidence of the existence of ame. Not that he would ever make it there, and if this was the closest he’d ever get he would die content.

“Sanemi,” You cooed, breaking him away from his thoughts as you stroked your fingers along his neck. Following the curve of his collarbones as Sanemi dipped his head lower, lips circling one of your taut nipples as he sucked hard. Glaring up at you with purple eyes when you moaned loud, immediately biting down hard on your lip you were certain you’d drawn blood.

“If you can’t be quiet when I touch you here—” He reached a palm up to grope your other breast for emphasis, moulding the skin between his fingers as he massaged gently, “Then how will I be able to feast on your cunt?”

You were noisy. So much so that Sanemi had to press his palm to your mouth to quieten you, a crude smirk on his lips as he nuzzled the junction between your breasts. Kissing a path down your stomach as he followed every line and curve, removing his hand from your mouth when he was more certain you’d be quiet as he reached down to curl his fingers into your panties. Pulling them down your thighs to bare you to him completely.

“Beautiful.” He hummed beneath his breath as his thumbs spread you open, cherishing the way your slick broke off into silvery strings against your folds, “Is this all for me?”

“Yes,” You felt hot beneath his sweltering gaze, heart pounding against your ribcage as he settled on his stomach. Pressing the softest kiss to the top of your mound before curling his forearms beneath your parted thighs, shamelessly inhaling the scent of you as he pressed another kiss against you, this time to your sensitive clit.

“Fuck,” The motion had your hips bucking wildly, his palm splayed flat against your pelvis as he tightened his grip around your thighs.

“Still so sensitive,” He murmured, granting you another lingering kiss as he tasted you on his lips, “Is this how much she missed me?”

“Don’t talk like that, Sanemi.” And it wasn’t because he was talking to your cunt and not to you, it was the crude words that seemed to flow from his lips so effortlessly that left your stomach swirling in knots and a delicious ache between your thighs.

“Oh?” He hummed, dragging his tongue through the mess you’d— he’d made between your thighs, “Are you saying she didn’t miss me? Was there another keeping you satisfied while I was gone?”

You could hear the jealousy behind his words, the cruel lilt to his voice that had him digging his fingertips into your skin just that much harder. Sanemi was no fool, he knew you’d make the perfect wife for many respectable men. And he was certain that none would refuse— it wasn’t peculiar to think that you had offers while he was gone, or at the very least the promise of your father selling you to pay off his debts.

But you couldn’t tell him the truth right now. That your father had been searching for a suitor for you, finally settling on one that he deemed fit (and it certainly wasn’t because he was the highest bidder). A man from the next village over who would look after you, you were assured. A man that you could happily live out the rest of your days with, and give up the long hours spent in your father's bakery.

You were certain if Sanemi knew he would see red, even if there was no chance of him asking for your hand instead. A Demon Slayer, a Hashira no less, would make the perfect prize for any young woman. Easily setting you up for life, even if they didn’t make it out alive, nor make it past their twenty-fifth birthday. It was why so many were reluctant to take on wives, content with aiding their needs with the local courtesans whenever they’d rest for the night.

Your father still thought of you as pure, a virgin. If he found out he’d surely sell you to the local brothel to pay off his debts instead, a life far worse than a loveless marriage you supposed. But it wouldn’t make a difference when none of those paths led you to Sanemi.

“It’s only ever been you,” You spoke softly and sincerely as you stared down at your lover, an answer that seemed to appease him as he nuzzled your soft cunt. Unabashedly licking a long stripe from the tight rim of your asshole all the way through your slick, causing you to whine beneath him as his tongue delved deeper, pushing inside your fluttering hole.

“Good.” He spoke against your sex, your fingers winding through his messy hair as you rolled your hips against his face. The flat of his tongue lapped at you as though tasting the sweetest ambrosia, nose nudging your clit as he ate you out with urgency. Moaning into your cunt as he pushed his tongue as deep as it would go, lashing against your inner walls as you writhed against tousled sheets.

You gasped as he added his two right fingers, curling them inside you as he pressed them against the spongy spot inside you that he knew like the back of his hand. His lips wrapped around your puffy clit as he sucked hard, eyes staring up at you from his position as he watched you come apart for him. Your walls trembling in the throws of your climax that surged through you in harsh waves. You’d expected him to stop, to allow you a moment's respite, but he didn’t. Devouring you like a man starved as he continued to feast on your cunt. You were trying desperately to keep quiet, your own hand clamping over your mouth in a feeble attempt to silence yourself as your debauched moans still broke through.

Not that Sanemi was much quieter, the lewd smack of his lips against your sopping folds filled the room as he slurped at your slick. Collecting it in his mouth before crudely spitting it back down on your clit, letting it dribble towards your greedy hole where his fingers were fucking into you with vigour. Feeling your walls clamp down around his ring and pinky finger as he worked you through your climax, intent on giving you another before he even thought about pulling away.

He made it difficult to think as blown eyes stared up at the ceiling, your thighs clamping down around his head as you tried to push him off your overstimulated heat.

“Stop squirmin’,” He snarled against your clit, showcasing his sheer display of strength as he tugged your thighs open for him again, “I know you can take it, and you will.”

Your hole throbbed around his fingers at his crude tone, the pleasure swirling in your pelvis as he worked to draw another orgasm from your pliant body. Watching the way you were trying to blink back tears as he sucked your clit hard, thrashing beneath him as he felt it surge through you in harsh waves.

“Sanemi,” You choked back a sob as you felt the pleasure consume you, thighs trembling as your cunt gushed and throbbed around his digits. Smirking against your slit in satisfaction as he worked you through it, lapping at your clit as you mewled pathetically.

“So beautiful.” He hummed, smacking his lips in satisfaction as he finally pulled away to give you a moment to calm your racing heart. Shamelessly suckling at his fingers as he cleaned your release from them, before pressing open-mouthed kisses against the apex of your thighs.

You gasped as a sudden pain surged through you, feeling Sanemi’s teeth bite down onto the supple skin of your inner thigh as he began to suck a deep bruise into your flesh. Causing your body to convulse as he left his mark on you. He was never foolish enough to leave anything in plain sight, evidence of your debauchery and certain to sign your courtesan sentence. This was his way of leaving his lingering presence on your body, to claim you as his. The subtle ebb of it whenever you walked evidence that you belonged to him— because no matter what, you would always be his.

He pressed a final, soothing kiss to the wound as he moved up your body, settling your thighs over his own as he busied himself with undoing his belt. Letting the top of his uniform settle around his waist as he bared his top half. Slapping your greedy hands away as you reached between your thighs to grab at his thick, heavy cock. The weight of it had it drooping down towards the floor, forking veins following the length of it as they lead towards a blushing uncut tip leaking with pre.

“Don’t you dare,” He chastised as you gave him a needy pout, licking your lips at the thought of how long it had really been, “You know I won’t last.”

You boldly ogled him, watching as he wrapped himself in a strong fist to give himself some relief. Pulling the foreskin back as he smoothed the leaking tip between your dripping folds, covering himself in your slick. Gasping as the bulging head nudged your clit, before it caught against your fluttering hole. Your desperate cunt tried to coax him in as you started to roll your hips towards him invitingly.

“I’m sure you’ve become a greedy succubus since we met,” He goads, grinning down at you whilst pressing the fat tip of his cock against your tight entrance, “So damn needy.”

“It’s your fault,” You bite back, “You’ve turned me into this.”

“Oh, yeah?” He hums pensively, pushing his hips forward as he feels your hole begin to swallow him, “I’ve turned you into a desperate little slut?”

“Only for you.” You cry out when he cants his hips forward at your response, burying his cock inside you with one rough thrust.

“F-uck,” Sanemi’s eyes roll as he feels your cunt consume him whole. His balls pressed snugly against the curve of your ass as the messy hairs sat at the base tickle your clit.

Sanemi had always felt big, the sensation always caught in your throat whenever he’d fill you to the brim. Your exploits are few and far between when he lived the life of a Hashira, never knowing when would be the next time— or if this would be your last. But he always granted you a moment to adjust to his size and a chance for him to admire the way your throat bobbed and your eyes rolled as you felt him fill you whole.

Sanemi settled himself on his forearms on either side of you, his chest pressed skin to skin, so close you could feel each other's heartbeats. His hands held your head as he began to push his hips forward, starting a steady pace as he ground into you.

“I’ve missed you,” He rasped, resting his forehead against yours as his gaze bore into your own. Your arms wound around his body to cling to his muscular back, nails leaving crescent-shaped moons in their wake as the blunt head of his cock carved you into the shape of him.

“I missed you too,” You whine, trying to choke back a moan as you pressed your lips to his, “Missed you so much.”

Your thighs clung to his muscular waist, holding him tight as he ground into you. Sending delicious friction directly to your clit as you tried to pull him impossibly closer, wanting to feel every part of him. The curve of his heavy cock was perfectly positioned to drag against the spot inside you that he knew better than the back of his hand, focusing his attention on it with each roll of his hips.

“Taking me so well,” He groaned, already feeling the telltale signs of your impending climax, “Good girl.”

You were Sanemi’s proof that there was still good in the world, that there were still some things worth saving, worth cherishing. His nose brushed against yours as he brought you into another sensual kiss, swallowing the desperate cries that wracked through your body as you tried desperately to keep quiet. Your nails dragged crimson red lines down the expanse of his back as you felt yourself teetering on the edge of another climax, leaving marks he was proud to wear as your toes began to curl.

The coil inside you snapped roughly as you were propelled into your climax. Your entire body convulsing as you came undone, harsh waves of pleasure crashed through you as Sanemi swallowed his name from your throat.

He pulled back to watch you, tilting his head to the side as he fucked you through your release. His mouth was no longer able to conceal the desperate pants that escaped and mixed with the sound of skin against skin as he continued his rough pace.

You turned your head to the side on your soft pillow, shy at the way he was looking at you as he loomed over you. The feeling had your stomach swirling in knots as he brought his hand to your jaw to pull your attention back to focus on him.

“You were so concerned about being loud,” He goaded, leaning forward to wrap his fingers around the column of your throat, “But here you are trying to wake the entire village.”

Your cunt clenched at that, hard. Causing Sanemi to smirk in satisfaction as he started to press down on your windpipe, feeling the way your cunt tightened in response as his hulking form curved over you. Using your body for his own pleasure as he felt the intense heat blazing from between your thighs. Tits bouncing from the ferocity of his thrusts, as you proceeded to wonder if he might actually want you both to be caught like this. So he could finally tell your father that he was taking you away from this and making you, his.

“Oi,” Sanemi’s fingers pulsed against your neck, trying to bring your focus back to him, “Are you still with me? Or have I fucked all sense from you?”

Sanemi’s grin was maniacal as your cunt clenched around him in response, your head lolling back against the pillow as he kept his bruising pace. Unable to do much from this position but lay back and take it as he used your body for his own pleasure.

You felt delirious, the pleasure all-consuming as Sanemi drove his hips forward. Thrusting into you with the stamina and precision only a Hashira could have, his perception telling him exactly how to move in order to have you writhing beneath him as he focused his attention on that same spongy spot inside you. Focusing his thrusts as the tip of his cock kissed your cervix with each forward motion, dragging his length against your g-spot each time he pulled back.

“Such a greedy little thing,” He provokes, each word annunicated with a rut of his hips. Certain he won’t be able to last much longer, your hips buck up against him and he can feel your slick drooling down his length and coating his balls.

Your hands are fisting the thin sheet covering your futon now, groaning when you realise that he’s trying to hold back. Waiting for you to climax once more before he affords himself the same relief. And it’s hard to hold back, especially when you look so innocent and malleable beneath him. You really were far too good for the likes of him.

Sanemi wonders what he would be like if he did cum inside you, coating your pliant walls with his sticky spend. Imagining how pretty and ethereal you’d look all plump and round as you carry his child, giving him an heir to the Shinazugawa name and carrying his family on through generations. Thinking of the docile life he could spend with you, living the rest of your days peacefully and away from all the trials and tribulations that come with being a Hashira.

But a life like that would never be possible, not when there is still a single demon out there wandering the streets and waiting to destroy every unblemished part of his life. The image of losing you is too much for him to bear, the mere thought of it has an immeasurable pain shooting through him and striking him straight through the heart. Sanemi would do anything to keep you safe, and if it meant being alone for the rest of his days or sacrificing himself for you— he’d do it.

And what’s worse is Sanemi knew you’d let him cum inside you, your mind already fucked stupid and completely intoxicated with arousal. He bets he could get you to agree to anything when you’re like this, so desperate and compliant beneath him. You’d let him bury his cock inside you to the hilt and shoot rope after rope of his hot spend inside your fertile womb.

He’s sweating now. Letting go of your neck in favour of gripping onto your soft hips, the perfect child-bearing hips as he has to bite back a moan. Breaking skin as he gnaws at his bottom lip hard, nose scrunched as he feels the tip of his cock presses snugly against your cervix with each forward motion.

“Sanemi,” You practically sing his name as a warning as he feels the way your walls convulse around his heavy cock, desperately trying to milk him of his release, “I’m cumming, oh god, I’m cumming.”

He doesn’t bother silencing you this time, indulging in the whiny lilt of your voice as he feels you gush around him. Almost forgetting that he’s supposed to be pulling out as he curses beneath his breath, the coil inside his pelvis snaps abruptly as he manages to pull out, just barely— thick, hot ropes of his potent seed spurt against your quivering cunt as they coat your folds. His rough hand wraps around himself to jerk it roughly as more land against your pelvis and stomach, some making it as far as the underside of your breasts as his chest heaves.

You’re a mess, he thinks as he stares down at the remnants of his spend. His cock still leaking with a final few trickles of his release as he smears it against your inner thigh before sitting back on his haunches to admire the scene. Silvery white coats your clit, drooling all the way down to the curve of your ass as it disappears between your cheeks, settled on top of your mound as it leaves streaky lines along your tummy and then spots around your breasts. But still part of him regrets not finishing inside you, emptying his balls inside your warm, wet cunt to claim you as his.

It’s a bad idea, terribly really— but he can’t help himself, as Sanemi leans down to collect some of his spend on your clit against his thumb, revelling in the way you keen against him from the sensitivity as he dips it lower and pushes it inside your creamy, abused hole. Watching with curious, lilac eyes at how easily and eagerly your body sucks it in. The mess disappears inside your trembling walls as he fucks it deeper, pulling out to smear the rest into your clit as your body shivers and pushes it out with the aftershocks of your climax.

“It’s too much, Sanemi.” You mumble tiredly, trying to cling to his forearms as he leans down to press a gentle kiss to your lips.

He reaches over to the bowl of water you’d brought in for him, wincing at how tepid it is now as he submerges the cloth, wringing it out between rough fingers as he begins to clean you up. Starting with the drying cum that coats your body as goosebumps begin to prickle your skin from how gentle he is, taking his time to clean the cloth and repeat the process as he nears the junction of your legs. Cleaning his spend from your inner thighs before running the cloth through your sticky folds, pressing a kiss to your knee as you whine about how sensitive you are as he tries to clean you with as much care as he can— As though he’s frightened you might break. He’s gentle as he pulls your nightgown back down your body, smoothing the fabric as he smiles down at you softly.

Sanemi doesn’t bother cleaning himself and refuses your help when you offer it. Perfectly content to leave your drying slick coating his skin as he pulls his pants back up, preparing to tighten his belt before he looks down at the dejected expression on your face.

“Are you not staying for a while, Sanemi?” You mumble softly. Acutely aware that it’s a risk to ask something so bold of him, especially when your father could walk in at any time and catch you with the Wind Hashira.

His gaze softens in a way reserved just for you as he cups your cheek, rough fingers catching against your soft skin as he leans down to connect your lips in a sensual kiss. Wordlessly dropping to the futon beside you as he pulls you into his arms, burying your face in his chest as you listen to the rhythm of his heart beating hard and fast. His fingers stroke absentminded patterns against your back as he buries his nose into the top of your head, greedily surrounding himself with your scent as he cherishes the moment. Trying to commit everything to memory so he can remember this on those dark days when he’s without you.

This should’ve been the moment you told him about the possibility of your father marrying you off, but you couldn’t. He didn’t need to know, and it was better this way. You could tell him in the morning, he was already tired from his travels and you wanted this happiness to last just that little longer.

But you didn’t realise that he’d be gone by morning, the only sign he was ever here was the dirty water, and drops of blood that soaked into the hardwood, and stuck to the fabric of your nightdress. Each time he left you like this, it had you wondering whether that would be the last time you’d see him.

Sanemi knew you would always be his beacon of light, the only brightness in this dark pathetic world. At night he’d stare up at the same night sky as you, wondering if this is what you were doing right now too— searching out for the North Star that would help guide him back home to you.

#sanemi x reader #sanemi shinazugawa x reader #sanemi smut #sanemi shinazugawa smut #sanemi x you #sanemi shinazugawa x you #demon slayer x you #demon slayer x reader #demon slayer smut #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #kny x reader #kny smut #kimetsu no yaiba smut

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biohazard-inevitable · 2 years

Text

Ugh I started sleeping on my back recently to try to help my back pain and it made my LOWER back pain a little worse but my shoulders dont hurt anymore soooo i guess i just need a leg pillow or something. Blegh

#minor vent post #small vent #i ache like an old man #i’ve been doing daily stretches and some yoga exercises too when i remember #a big issue in general for routine changes like this are reminders #i forget often #thanks to adhd i go blind to stickynotes and other reminders #they stop existing if they exist long enough #which is like about a week #pain helps me remember though #which is why the back issue is even getting worked on #also cause being sick with bronchitis kinda forced me into it #body said: nope! we’re gonna make you change positions every 4 hours #and dehydrate you #i’ve easily drinken 4 gallons or somethin these past 3 days #ugh i feel like shit #but my nose is congested now so #means its getting better #i just gotta let it run its course

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guacamoleroll · 3 days

Text

ꜱᴡᴇᴇᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ʀɪɢʜᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴇʀᴄɪꜰᴜʟ, ɪ’ᴍ ᴀʟʟ ʙᴜᴛ ᴡᴀꜱʜᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛɪᴅᴇ ᴏꜰ ʜᴇʀ ʙʀᴇᴀᴛʜɪɴɢ · ꜰʏᴏᴅᴏʀ ᴅᴏꜱᴛᴏᴇᴠꜱᴋʏ

content. f!reader. discussions of existentialism, small themes of bodily harm, minor suggestive themes, protectiveness, pre-relationship, jealousy, fyodor is bad at feelings. nikolai has a crush on the reader. huge manga spoilers (bsd 114.5). 4k+ words.

author's note. guess who's back .ᐟ can you believe it's been almost two months since i've written a oneshot? crazy. i have multiple updates, but i'll be quick. am i working on my 1k+ event drabbles? yes! am i making a discord server? also yes (but only open to mutuals for the moment). am i working on my fyodor-fic? yes, yes, yes!

would you like to see more? join the taglist or comment under this post!

˚.⁺⊹ ꒱ 𝐚 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰. what happens when an immortal man is met with unwavering, unconditional human compassion and doesn't know what to do.

OR fyodor has never been treated as a human until he met her.

Fyodor rarely lingered on thoughts of the past. He never permitted himself to bide beyond the threshold of a mere glimpse, to observe under the guise of such mortal qualities as attachment and resentment. In truth, he did not remember his first death, the incident only an imperceivable splinter in the mind he had perfected. But the pain, a bittersweet edge as the mind scattered and the body ceased to function—he would be a fool to forget it. Death was not as merciful as the poets described. They comforted themselves with ideas of fulfillment and eternal rest, but they would not know. Poetry is written by the living, and the dead do not remember.

The sensation of foreign flesh encasing his metamorphizing body like a malleable cocoon became ritual. His complex existence became an easier pill to swallow with each death, and with it, his consternation towards the mangled reflection staring emptily back at him drifted away. Crumbled with stabs, pinned with nails, hung with ropes—humanity relished the thrill of the kill.

Sinful and foolish. Those painful betrayals of yesteryear evolved into the occasional reminder, lost of sentiment as he released his bond with mortal toils like companionship and love. He had taken his life, and subsequently his death, into his own hands. It made each treachery predictable and left his stilled heart impenetrable.

His most human aspect lay in his most monstrous one—his ability. Abilities were a two-edged sword, both a burden and a blessing. He was no different. Forced to remain outside the binds of mortality, as his existence remained a constant reminder of the cycle of life and death. Within and without in every sense of the phrase. A paradox.

He could not deny the isolation, but he would bear it for the sake of a sinless world. His brushes with enemies and allies alike became his only source of company. Yokohama had been his favorite; he craved each new day, testing their limits as his mortal mind yearned to find someone like him, someone on the brink of true existence—but he did not find it in his battles, nor did he expect to.

No matter the desperation of his centuries-long searches, he knew he would not find his match—they likely did not exist or would not for centuries to come. He observed the lives of hundreds over the years, yet, through generations, they did not stray from routine. No amount of transformation in the world could shake innate human composition, selfish and starved from birth. From dust they were formed, and like all before them, to dust they became. The monotony dullened his spirit—some said he believed himself to be God, but who wouldn't think of themself better if they were in his shoes? But he allowed the criticism, for he could not expect a mortal soul to understand immortality.

But he found a fissure in his journey.

Your first encounter had not been one of coincidence—the seeds had been intricately planted for months—and you were identical to everyone else, down on your luck with nowhere to turn. A talented individual primed for the picking, with no choice but to take the hand of a demon, who soothed your worries with sweet lies and a benevolent smile. Each of his subordinates had their own aspirations, easy to interweave into his own intricate plans, with them none the wiser. It was simple.

You were supposed to be that simple.

No one knew his true ability, whether he considered them an ally or an enemy. It made the truth pliable to his words and actions, leading others down one assumption or another without shining light on the truth. And he had drafted his subsequent death without a hitch, shot by a rash officer in the midst of a violent standoff, which would allow access to documents the man had been in the middle of delivering. But no draft of his death predicted a witness.

Your eyes were wide, frozen as your mind frazzled, but he did not think much of your initial reaction. It was not the first time he had an audience, but he loathed to end the show so soon—a performance without an encore was lackluster, but he couldn't spoil the surprise for the rest of the world. However, before he reached for the holstered gun on his belt, you scrambled towards him. It wouldn't have taken but a second to shoot you, but the contorted expression on your face, the tilt of your brow, and the contemplative purse of your lips had him pause. You had halted before him, your hands hovering over his shoulders, scanning his body.

"Are you okay?"

Those three measly words, such a straightforward question, drew out an unfathomable amount of irritation from the depths of his soul. Was it possible for a person to be so naïve? Anyone who had witnessed his ability had at least the insight to cower or run and be terrified for their life. It had always happened—people were predictable. His eyes bore into your own with more scrutiny than you had ever possibly received, but as if dissecting his most prevalent thoughts, you adjusted the wrinkled collar of his new uniform and spoke with a troubled frown.

"He killed you. You killed him. An eye-for-an-eye. A crime served with its equal punishment." Your eyes scanned over his clothes before lingering on his features, tracing across them with such, dare he think, care. As if ensuring this was the same man you had made a deal with many weeks before.

When was the last time you had spoken directly to him—he realizes never. He was unfamiliar with your hushed tone, one that was scolding yet tepid. Others shook his hand in conjunction with cheap words and boisterous gestures as if to intimidate a predator, but you had mustered the courage to do one thing they couldn't. You looked him in the eye.

"Our world rarely follows that equilibrium," you said in the silence, inching from him to allow space. "I find it refreshing."

He raised a brow, words leaving him. "...You have quite a fascinating mind, Ms. (Surname)."

Your smile made the warmth return to his fingertips. "I would hope so. Wouldn't want to bore you."

For the following weeks, he found himself enveloped in ideas of coincidence. It had been eons since he left a variable to pure chance, though he supposed his modified routine had not allowed fate to prosper—but it wasn't like he was constructing moments to seek your presence on purpose. To have one measly interaction, an opening to prod at the folds of your delicate mind. No, of course not.

In fact, a trace of your familiar hairstyle or the flutter of your narrow array of outfits imbued with him the impulse to squash you like an insect, to erase your existence from the world's canvas and return to his monotony. You wouldn't see his approach, or perhaps you would, but you wouldn't stop him. Instead, you'd look upon him again with those same eyes, all-knowing yet completely clueless—but it was the thought of that expression that quieted those thoughts, a breeched sensation of carnal impulses gripping his heart like a vice. However, he remained curious, and you remained fascinating.

You met each interaction with hospitality like an ever-burning hearth that sparked a foreign warmth upon his skin, but not out of dread or devotion—those were the extremes in his subordinates, and no one strayed from them. They either bowed or cowered at his feet, but you did not falter to your knees, at least not in the way he expected.

You remained at a respectable distance, especially in comparison to your almost intimate touch prior. Still, it was not out of wariness at his ability's capabilities but rather out of knowledge of your own expendability. You understood your role as a subordinate but had no issue meeting his gaze, speaking level to him whenever permitted, yet respecting his authority in observation.

His first judgment of your character, a naive and thoughtless woman, had been unfounded. You spoke with an intellect not found in many underneath him but did not utilize it as a weapon against others. Your awareness of the dangerous circumstances of your agreement seemed to contradict your actions, with no will to take out frustration towards your dealer. You seemed to, in fact, respect his artifice for its purpose and reap the perks of your deal rather than focus on the consequences—unlike most, you knew you weren't an exception to repercussions and accepted them as they were.

Your deal had not been one of much thought—he barely remembered it himself. You would work under him for an undecided amount of time and, in turn, receive shelter from the crimes of the outside world. It allowed for a menagerie of loopholes and interpretations, but it was of mutual understanding that he would not prevent your demise at the hands of enemy fire. Instead, you would only be allowed to live for as long as you were useful. Despite that knowledge, you met each moment with gratitude, relieved without the burden of death on your shoulders.

But your demise, supposedly so near, seemed to dwindle into the distance. He found alternate methods, better ones, to fulfill missions, other paths to follow, and subordinates to sacrifice in the name of salvation. Before long, you had worked for him for an entire year.

It was a week before your anniversary when you dared to surpass the threshold of his office's doorway, if you could call it that, and leaned against the frame to observe from behind, quiet as a mouse. He was surprised you hadn't been in here sooner.

"Do you need something?" he mused, a lilt of strange enjoyment in his tone. He didn't bother to pause in his motions, the strokes of his fingers against the keyboard only intensifying with every passing moment. He had been stripped of his normal coat, and ushanka sat on the side, which allowed for an almost softer appearance.

"I wanted to ask you a question."

He caught the unmistakable reluctance in your tone, a quiver in your voice, and he sighed. It was not the first time someone reconsidered their deal—it was quite common. He would appease their worries with those same sweet lies from before, before twisting them into a scheme so they would no longer become a problem. There was no use keeping around a subordinate who was bound to waver—but for the endless intrigue you provided, he would be merciful in his answer. Truthful, even.

"I'm afraid there's no budging on your deal, Ms. (Surname)." The air of the office had staled, and he was sure you had stiffened from horror, primed to turn tail and scutter to your room to wallow in self-pity and despair.

"Uh, I actually just wanted to know if you had any book recommendations."

He paused in his typing, staring down at his hands. "Book recommendations."

"Forgive me," you muttered, tone loosened of its typical confidence as it brimmed with embarrassment. "It's just…you don't hire the most well-read company, and I'd assumed you'd have a more expansive catalog than any of us would."

It was quiet for an instant until an almost unheard chuckle relinquished from his tightened lips after the comprehension of such a unique request. You had subverted his expectation once more, such a strange little thing, and he twisted around to devour the view of your expression, which remained sheepish in the aftermath of your meek inquiry, softened moreso as the luminescent light of screens wavered to draw decadent lines across your features.

"I'm certain I have something you'd enjoy."

You had not expected him to rise from his chair, standing like a deer in headlights as he approached the doorway. Only an amused lift of his brow and a smirk led you to realize that you blocked his path, and you scampered to the side. He led you through a narrowed path, one that turned unrecognizable after only a minute. The entire hall was dedicated to rooms you had never seen, isolated from everything else.

His hand settled against a rusted knob, the metal door groaning with a boisterous shriek that undoubtedly led to your doom—that was until you stepped inside, mouth gaping in awe at the treasure of reading material. It was enormous, at least with the finite amount of space. His lips twisted into something uncharacteristically fond as your eyes lingered from book to book, practically sparkling at the array of texts, some of which only he could provide.

He selected a couple of volumes from varied genres, and you were about to thank him, but the following words that came from his mouth surprised you both. "Feel free to come here whenever you see fit." The books he handed over were old but well-cherished if the creased spines were of any evidence. "I'm curious to hear your thoughts."

Most wouldn't have dared to make their presence known after a chance interaction with him, but he knew it would be foolish to assume that you were like most or even to predict your next move. Even though he would never admit it, he was anticipating your presence in his office, and you arrived like a saving grace, primed with thoughts and annotations.

"He may be extreme, but he embodies the pinnacle of the human condition," you started, locked in on the main protagonist. "He's a paradox, morally virtuous yet rotten."

He held the returned book in his hand, refusing to acknowledge the subtle thump of his heart as his touch brushed over the impressions in the leather cover made by your fingers. Those imprints seemed to ground him, and he only allowed himself to embrace the sensation rather than consider why he felt so calm.

"I see you enjoyed the story."

"I wouldn't put it like that," you argued, and he found himself only further encompassed in your discourse. "Enjoyment is easy to come by, but for a book to fulfill its purpose, it's supposed to make you think beyond its pages."

He leaned forward on his hand, humming as he yearned for more, homing in on every word and notation, for a chance to catch another delicious conviction spurned from your lips, hypnotized as you unpacked layers of moral conflict and human turmoil with ease. Your deconstruction was breathtaking, especially once you adjusted to your space, circling around his office and inching closer and closer. But then, you stopped.

"Hm."

He almost melted at the glimpse of that familiar expression—those furrowed brows and pursed lips. In further analysis, you resembled a bunny more than a human, and he almost expected a twitch in the tip of your nose as you became lost in thought. But the next look you struck him with, to his utter disdain, made him cave on instinct, like a predator about to sink his teeth in.

"A thought?"

You shook your head, clearing the air. "I forgot it as quick as it came."

But, like the sly prey you were, you slipped out of his queries with wit and once more avoided satisfying his curiosity, leaving him stranded in a position with no illusive way to question you for more. If it were anyone else, truly, he would have no desire for answers—they would be evident before they opened their mouths. Yet, every time he felt close to unraveling your secrets, you shrunk back. Almost as if you were teasing him.

Two could play at that.

Months passed, and your discussions became daily occurrences, the topic shifting from philosophical debates to the beautiful world outside. Your presence was like sweet manna to the starved, and he found himself pacified but not fulfilled. But he did not consider one aspect of the alteration of his routine—that it would place a target on your back—not by his enemies but by other subordinates.

A few of them had cornered you on a mission, planning to report back to him that you had died in the enemy crossfire—foolish that they didn't realize every death was always explicitly planned. Their insubordination would be met with fatal consequences, and while he wished in his heart to torment them for their witlessness, he knew that they would only cause further issues if they were allowed to remain alive.

Luck had accompanied you on your errands, a watchful, frosted-haired jester performing a fantastical rescue in your final moments. It was not without injuries, as you lay in a bed with several sprains and bruises, but your rest was accompanied by the same man who had saved you, for curiosity was one of his main traits. He had been curious about you for a while, much like everyone else, and stated to Fyodor that he could not help but personally prod at his newfound "tether," whatever that meant.

But Fyodor knew, from the moment you exchanged your first few words, that Nikolai would become enamored with your inquisitiveness and warmth. Your approach to thought had been spell-binding to anyone who would listen, not only himself. You had an analytical approach similar to his, but it did not hold the same intent or technique. It sung with empathy, your personal philosophies shining through while allowing others to shape your opinions into a far more informed one. You reveled in a change—a most inhuman and most alluring feature.

No one found more joy in that feature than Nikolai himself, who deemed you a dearest companion he must have lost and forgotten in the past—because where had you possibly been his entire life? His jokes made you laugh without restraint, but you didn't look at him as if he were a fool.

"That pitiful clown didn't stand a chance," Fyodor noted to himself, though not without resentment towards the strain in his chest as Nikolai braced a hand on your shoulder.

But the moment you leant your ear to the man and listened with an open mind to his ideals and demonstrated a drop of compassion towards his need to be free, Fyodor could recognize the familiar thoughts racing in Nikolai's mind. The same shock of finding someone who understood him and his purpose without repulsing his approach and the same impulse to sever the connection it created.

He knew it all too well. And he hated it, despised that he knew the sensation intimately, such a mortal affliction that it was reflected in another. He knew these emotions, at least some of them, but he did not think of them until another soul dared to encroach upon them. Upon you.

Oh, how he despised you.

He did not fathom why Nikolai had not done away with you—at least, he refused to. His stomach emptied with an insatiable hunger as the jester rushed away in a turn of his overcoat, with Fyodor not able to disregard the one visible eye of the man that looked upon him with an understanding far too founded.

He entered the room, your room, with an unease unlike him. You glanced from your reading material, another book from his collection, your expression of contentment shifting from content, to confusion, to land on concern, thinly veiled by a polite nod and 'hello.' He had never checked on any of his subordinates before and was almost willed to leave as quickly as he came.

"The antagonist is certainly intriguing, wouldn't you say?"

But you did not acknowledge his behavior. He never thought of himself witless enough to be in a position in which he could be called out for making such instinctual, carnal decisions—only for the subject of those to dismiss his intentions entirely. To not take advantage of his obvious vulnerabilities. You must have noticed it, but he realized it was never fear nor respect that made you avoid questioning him.

He had never noted it prior, but you did not back out of conversations because you displayed discomfort. You were rather easy to read, and you knew that, but it had seemed you were concealing some further. It was not a part of yourself that you had hidden, but instead, you had allowed him to hide his own susceptibilities under the guise of them being yours, not prodding him from your own observations out of respect for his boundaries. He was not an open book to many, but he had become another novel to you. Another character to dissect. But you didn't.

He left with more questions than any answers he had ever received, having found the answer to his first question, but only at a cost that left him to spiral in his own contemplations. What would cause you to be so considerate? He was left distracted by your presence more than ever before, even when you were not in the room. You were a nuisance, yet so refreshing. A paradox, as you would've cleverly pointed out—and he loathed that he had become so intimately familiar with you that he knew that.

He ceased to note your mannerisms as an alley to exploit you, but it seemed he hadn't in months. Instead, he had found them a constance he looked forward to. The soul that he had been seeking—was it indeed you?

And to his immortal horror and human content, he knew that your roles had been reversed. That if you had approached with a blade and asked him for his heart, he would carve it out himself without another thought. It would only take a smile and the brush of your hand, and he would be your puppet.

It had been another month, and you were permitted to walk the harbor docks without accompaniment; not that many were allowed to accompany you in the first place. You were satisfied with watching the water from a distance, stilled by the winter wind that whipped around with a bite. In deep thought, as you considered the past few months, almost two years of the same routine, and you smiled. Life had not been monotonous since becoming a member of the Rats, and your strange companionship with your boss left you relishing each new interaction. There was a bittersweetness to that man, and it had not taken much to reach it—it wasn't like you had done that on purpose.

But there was no need to ponder over that—it was cold. Your clothes were far too thin, but it wasn't like you were paid a normal salary like most people. You stuck with the clothes you had been able to take, always either too thin or too thick before the seasons, but you would make do like you always did.

That was until you felt the pressure of heavy fabric swallow you whole. You didn't even think to look up, too overwhelmed by the scent of old ink and the warmth of roughened fabric, marred with imperfections that could only be seen close up, and you brushed your fingers over them and simply relished in the sensation that the impressions grounded you. The puffed collar tickled your neck, and you couldn't restrain your laughter as you tried to wipe the water away from your eyes. But it was warm, so warm despite its exterior, and that was all that mattered to you.

You finally looked up.

"Fyodor?" you whispered, your voice almost lost in the wind.

He knew the questions in your gaze and the familiar contemplation as you debated whether to say anything more. You knew, in the depths of your kindred soul, that he would not answer your questions, nor did he have the answers himself, despite his longevity. Some things were best left unsaid. He was determined to uncover everything about you and this illness, an affliction that you had marred him with, to quell the rapid beat of his heart, a heart that finally belonged to him again.

"It's cold," he replied, sat beside you.

Neither of you looked at each other as you gazed out into the harbor, but for the first time, neither of you were bothered by the cold anymore.

ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ: @aureatchi @betweensinners @imhandicapableofmath @lovedazai @osameowdazai @ruru-kiss @ishqani @zyilas @lovesick-fairy @fedyascoffin @squigglewigglewoo @kelperspelt @miloofc @s1eepybunny @dazaisms @deepseafragments @crayonssz @himikoslove @little-miss-chaoss @justcallmesakira @number1morihater @fyorina

#muse's anthology ‧₊˚ ⋅#starring: fyodor .ೃ࿐#f!reader #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #bsd #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #bsd x reader #fyodor bsd #fyodor dostoevsky #fyodor x reader #fyodor dostoevsky x reader #bsd 114.5 #bsd spoilers

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zeroeightzeroone · 5 months

Text

lover of mine - bang chan

genre: angst, hurt eventual comfort

pairings: idol!bang chan x female reader

warnings: none

notes: if this looks familiar, it was originally posted to my secondary blog @zerothreetwentyfive so i'm republishing everything here on my main blog.

wc ~3k|moodboard

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ｡｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:

"i'll never give you away, 'cause i've already made that mistake,

if my name never fell off your lips again, i know it'd be such a shame.

when i take a look at my life, and all of my crimes, you're the only thing that I think I got right."

lover of mine - 5 seconds of summer

you always thought that the next time chan would be making you cry would be at your wedding ceremony.

initially, you would try to hold in your tears, just enough so that you weren't full-on sobbing and ruining your makeup. eventually failing as the tears flow freely listening to the man tell you the moment he fell in love with you, the moment he knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you and the promises he vows to keep forever. chan's eyes would never leave yours as you exchanged vows; in that moment, only you and chan existed, the proclamation and celebration of your love were the only things that mattered.

instead, here you are crying over chan. sitting in the driver's seat of your car, sobbing over the man who once said he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you, now not wanting to fight for that future anymore.

…

"you're doing it again."

the sound of your best friend's voice snaps you out of your thoughts, attention now on the girl sitting across from you, "huh?"

she reaches over and places her hand on yours with a sympathetic smile on her face. no words are needed from her to make you realize what you were doing whilst zoning out; fiddling around with your ring finger. a habit you picked up after chan proposed, and a habit that hadn't changed even without the band on your finger; your fingers instinctively moving to spin and twist a non-existent ring.

"right," you clear your throat awkwardly.

your hands slipping out from under hers, sliding them under your thighs hoping that maybe sitting on your hands would work against the habit.

"how are you?"

the word 'lost' feels like an understatement. the word couldn't encapsulate even a quarter of your feelings.

you felt directionless, overwhelmed by the constant switch between emotions: anger, frustration, sadness, and denial, it left you exhausted. day by day, you only grew more emotionally drained, the desire to feel nothing only intensifying.

the mere thought of the dimpled man gave you whiplash, your heart and your head conflicting with each other and your feelings pulling you from one end to the other. you couldn't pinpoint exactly how you felt about him.

god, you wished that you didn't even think about him.

you wished that you weren't plagued by the thought of him at every waking moment. everything reminded you of him, everything brought you back to the memory of how easy it was for him to let you, the person he proclaimed to want to spend the rest of his life with, to watch them walk out the door, to just give up without a fight.

why couldn't it have been easy for you too? why couldn't you just let him go the way he did you? forget him like he meant absolutely nothing?

as much as you wished it was, you knew it wouldn't be easy to move on from chan.

your early adulthood started with chan, moving in with him almost a year and a half after you started dating. he became a part of your routine and you became part of his; there was a time when your day didn't feel complete without hearing a goodnight from him or getting that goodnight kiss. your lives were intertwined, and your future plans were intertwined.

you believed chan was your future. he made you believe that you would write the next chapters of your lives together, that you two would be side by side on the road to forever. you envisioned your future with chan, without him you've hit a crossroads, struggling to navigate where to go from here. you were scared.

scared to learn what the future holds for you, scared to take a step towards a future without him.

on top of all that came public attention.

the news about your breakup hadn't been confirmed by chan or jyp entertainment. regardless that didn't stop the speculations and rumours that came with the lack of seeing you and chan in public together, seeing you without your ring, and other proofs fans would dig up. the algorithm also working against you as whenever you refreshed social media, the first couple of posts would be news articles, headlines and what have you, discussing the speculations.

'did stray kids' bang chan and his long term girlfriend call it quits?'

'fans of stray kids speculate bang chan and his partner have called off the engagement'

'netizens react to alleged proofs that bang chan and long term girlfriend have split up'

'breaking: did stray kids' bang chan and girlfriend split up? here's why fans are wondering about the status of the long-term couple'

your comments were flooded with questions regarding the rumours, mourning fans hoping that they were baseless and haters congratulating you on setting the man free. you wondered why the news hadn't been spoken about by chan or any official representatives but the speculations drove you to log out of social media. the realization that one day the articles and headlines will change from 'speculations' to 'confirmations' the anticipation and anxiety driving you insane.

you look back up to your friend, your lips pursed together in a small smile as you reply:

"i'm fine."

…

"chan hyung!"

the boy pulls the pillow up and over his head, trying to block out the noises from outside the door. hoping that the longer he ignored, the realization that he wanted to be alone would sink in and everyone would leave him be. that hope was short-lived as the door swung open.

"chan hyung!" changbin calls from his spot at the door, "you need to eat something."

from where he's standing, changbin watches chan groan out a response from under the pillow, making no effort to get up and go eat something. changbin's eyes drift to the older boy's bedside table, a picture frame is lying face down (probably a photo of you), and sitting on top of the frame is a gold band with a large diamond: your engagement ring. the sight of the band sitting on chan's bedside table and not on your finger has a small frown adorning changbin's lips.

"hyung, i know it's hard but please. you need to take care of yourself too," the younger boy sighs, "locking yourself in your room won't do anyone good."

of course, it wasn't easy for them to see chan in such a state.

chan had always been the one putting up a strong front, walking around with his head up no matter the circumstances as the leader. but these past couple of weeks, whenever chan was out of the public eye he'd walk with his head down, dragging his feet, no words leaving him. almost like he's being forced to be anywhere outside of his bedroom.

the members in the other dorm were curious about their leader, wondering how he'd been holding up but chan stopped replying to the group chat. it got to the point where the members made a chat without chan, using that to ask jisung, changbin and hyunjin how the older one was doing.

for as long as you were in chan's life, you were also in the member's lives. the news of the breakup came as a shock to them as well. they were all curious as to how you were doing too, but were hesitant to ask you directly for fear of making things harder for you. you met all of them through chan, and seeing their names pop up on your phone may just be another reminder of your ex.

changbin's eyes are on chan as the older boy takes the pillow off his head, slowly sitting up on the bed, feet hitting the floor but making no move to stand up. instead he's slouched over, head in his hands and sighing.

"do you, uh…" chan's voice barely above a whisper, "do you think i made a mistake?"

changbin shuts the door behind him hearing chan's question, realizing right now his friend needed someone to talk to before, maybe, going to eat something.

leaning against the door, he replies, "what do you mean?"

"w– was proposing… a mistake?"

"do you feel like it was a mistake?"

chan shakes his head, "no."

"did you mean everything you said when you proposed?"

"yes."

"then it wasn't a mistake."

chan lifts his head out of his hands, head turning to the younger boy leaning at the door. even in the dim purple lighting of chan's room, changbin can see how glossy his eyes are, how the bags under his eyes have gotten more prominent since yesterday.

"was… was letting her go," chan's voice shaky, "a mistake?"

changbin pushes himself off the door, making his way to sit next to his hyung on the bed. a comforting hand moving to chan's back.

"that's a question only you can answer," changbin's lips are pursed to one side, a sympathetic look in his eyes as he continues, "did it feel like a mistake at the time?"

"i- i thought i was doing the right… thing," chan's voice pitches higher at the end, questioning his own answer, "when i came home, an–and saw the dinner table, full of food she made for us. when she told me everything she was feeling, the look i-in her eyes."

chan loves your eyes, it's by far his favourite thing about you.

looking into your eyes had him falling in love with you before he even knew it. looking into them made it feel as if he was looking into your soul, almost like your eyes could tell him what your words couldn't. chan's day would immediately be flipped upside down just at the sight of your eyes, a shitty day becoming the best day when he caught a glimpse of those radiant, warm pools of life, your eyes sparkling with a zest and excitement for life that sent a wave of comfort over him. whenever he looked at you, that glimmer of hope in your eyes made him feel like everything would be okay.

but that night, the look in your eyes that night is seared into chan's memory. haunting him whenever he closes his eyes, whenever his eyes fall on your ring sitting on his bedside table.

that night when you told him just how lonely you'd been feeling, how you felt like he was treating you like the help and not as his fiancé; those words knocked some sense into chan. the harsh reality glaring him down: he had been falling short in your relationship. he had been so blind to that fact for who knows how long, listening to you had chan wallowing in guilt.

at one point chan felt like he was a third person watching everything go down, but it felt like he was watching you and a whole different person. he wondered why he wasn't saying anything, why he couldn't move, why he couldn't feel anything other than guilt eating him alive.

when he looked into your eyes, that's when everything came crashing down.

the eyes that once gleamed up at him, washing a wave of comfort and reassurance through his body were boring into his own. the contrast had his blood running cold. the sight of your hollow and dull orbs gazing up at him, even the sources of light around you did nothing to bring back that sparkle. the way your eyes looked incredibly sunken in, tired, swimming with distress as they searched his. he wondered how he hadn't seen the change before.

a change that happened because of him. the light in your eyes is gone all thanks to him. he wanted to be the one to preserve and make sure your eyes light up for the rest of your life, but instead he's the reason you look defeated. he couldn't handle the guilt eating him up at the sight.

"i-i broke her," chan whispers, "you could see it in her eyes how my shortcomings, the ones i was too blind and stupid to notice… that broke her. i broke her."

changbin doesn't say anything.

"i thought it would be better for me to let her go… get her away from me who was sucking the life out of her," chan's hands run through his hair, "she deserves so much more than me."

the older boy cries. his thoughts, feelings, everything just clouded with you.

"hyung," changbin's tone is soft, feeling out the atmosphere, "don't you think that it's sucking the life out of her even more, to be away from you?"

this time chan is the one who doesn't say anything.

"she wanted you to stay, she wanted you to convince her to stay."

"convince me to stay… please."

"i'm sorry."

"yes. from what you told us the day after you broke up, she does deserve better."

changbin's words send a dagger to chan's heart.

"but don't you want to be the one she deserves?"

chan's head turns to look at changbin.

"you need to work to be better, to be the one y/n deserves. that's what she wants, she wants you hyung."

"… m-me?"

"she wouldn't have said yes to marrying you if she didn't want you for the rest of her life."

…

your plan for the day was to wake up around noon, order some takeout or ransack your best friend's freezer for some food (and ice cream), chill on the couch and watch some netflix. instead you're jolted awake, at ten in the morning, by pounding at the front door.

rolling your eyes in annoyance, stretching your arm out, feeling around before grasping a pillow and clutching it over your head, trying your hardest to block out the noises and fall asleep. hoping the longer you hold out, it will give off the illusion that no one's home and come back later. a couple moments pass, a sigh of relief falls from your lips when the knocking stops, allowing you to loosen your grip on the pillow around your head.

maybe the neighbours got annoyed and kicked whoever that was out.

at the silence, you roll onto your side and shift your body around to get comfortable in the mattress. another long breath leaving your lips once that optimal position to fall asleep in is found, closing your eyes and getting ready to be lulled back into dreamland.

now you think someone is fucking with you.

the knocking starts up again, for a second you thought you'd fallen asleep and the knocking was continuing in your dreams but no. sadly, you weren't lulled back into dreamland like you hoped, the pounding in your head making it apparent that this was indeed, reality.

on top of all the things happening in your life lately, being woken up by a stranger relentlessly hammering the life out of their fist on your– actually, your best friend's– door is the kicker to a great day. a whine leaving your lips as you roll out of bed, pouting as you trudge to the door of the guest bedroom and continue your trek down the hall, towards the front door.

sure, you wouldn't have minded if your best friend, the person who lives in this unit, was actually home to answer the door. alas, she's at work whilst you're here; straightening out your pyjamas and plastering the fakest smile on your lips whilst you undo the locks, twisting the doorknob and swinging the door open.

"hello, mis—"

your jaw drops. posture immediately straightening due to the wave of tension that rushes through your veins, your mind comes up with two options: hide behind the door or run. your heart begins to race in your chest, tears threatening to spill at any moment but your feet are cemented to the ground. any urge you had to run away and hide quickly depleting at the sight of the man in front of you, a bouquet of flowers in his hands.

"chan… wh-what are you doing here?"

there he is: the man of the hour.

in front of you, in the flesh. standing a couple inches away from you clad in his usual all-black attire. you're avoiding his gaze but can't seem to pry your eyes off the bouquet in the man's hold.

a medley of red and white roses, baby's breath peeking throughout the arrangement.

"i- i needed to see you," chan's voice comes out husky.

shifting awkwardly on your feet, you sigh, "how did you know i was here?"

"multiple calls to your best friend and a long speech," he uses his free hand to scratch at the back of his neck, a nervous smile on his lips.

'she's getting a long speech from me too.'

"okay, well…" you clear your throat, "you saw me so bye."

you go to shut the door but chan stumbles forward, holding it open as he stands in the doorframe. the gush of air from his sudden movements gives you a whiff of his cologne. that along with the closer proximity has a lump forming in your throat.

"w-wait, i wanted to talk too."

"y-you spoke and so did i so, bye," you choke out, trying to close the door again but to no avail as his body blocks your way, "please chan, what more do you want from me? don't make this harder for me."

chan reaches forward at the sight of a tear falling, wanting to wipe it away but you flinch away from his touch. your reaction has chan recoiling, he shifts awkwardly on his feet. you go to turn away from him.

"i made a mistake," he states, his words coming out rushed.

you gulp, angling your body towards the man again. this time your arms crossed over your chest, your gaze still falling away from his face. chan's throat clears when he realizes that you're not going to speak.

"that night, i shouldn't have let you go," he continues, "i should've told you, said something, said anything to convince you to stay… but… fuck. i- i was scared."

your eyes glance up at his face, only to look away just as quickly.

"you're probably thinking, of what?" chan runs a hand through his hair, "but listening to everything you said, everything that i was stupid, ignorant enough not to notice, all those things that i did– or, uh didn't do… that hurt you. it scared me to tell you i wanted you to stay."

your eyebrows furrow in frustration, this time your gaze stays on his face, making no move to wipe the tears running down your cheeks.

"listening to you, hearing how much i hurt you. i- i thought it would've been selfish of me to tell you to stay," chan's voice cracks, tears falling from his eyes as well, "i thought i would hurt you more if you stayed… that you didn't deserve that, y-you deserved so much more than me."

"god, chan.…" a bitter smile on your lips, "you saying nothing, letting me leave… a-and not fighting for me, for us! fuck… that hurt more than anything."

the memories of that night have your heart aching. whimpering as the tears continue to fall, the sight has chan's gradually getting heavier in his chest. he wants nothing but to pull you into his arms and to never let go.

"i know… i know. baby, i'm so sorry," chan's cheeks are soaked with tears but he makes no effort to wipe them away, "i'm so fucking sorry. i thought i was doing what was best for you, but i fucked up, i fucked up big time."

your eyes lock with chan's. glossy, tear-filled orbs gazing into each other, at that moment the tears only build until the both of you are crying a river in the hallway.

chan quite literally launches himself at you. throwing his arms around your body and pulling you into his chest. instinctively, your arms wrap around his torso, nuzzling your head into his shirt. bodies trembling and shaking as the both of you cry in each other's arms.

chan soaks up every single thing about this moment; the warmth of your body radiating onto him, your face nuzzled into his chest, the smell of your hair, the way your hands grip the back of his shirt, the feeling of your body pressed up against his. he isn't even sure that you'll take him back. regardless, he knows he wants to work his hardest to ensure he'll have you in his arms every day for the rest of his life.

in his arms, he holds the person who has been with him every step of the way and supported him day in and day out. the biggest mistakes chan ever made took place on that day: not convincing you to stay, not telling you how he loves you with his entire heart, and holding your engagement ring in his hand while he watched you walk out.

chan wants you to be so much more than just his past and present, he wants you to be his future, his forever. he's always wanted that but he failed at showing you, instead hurting you in ways he was completely ignorant of.

"i love you," chan cries, you can hear his heart racing in his chest, "i love you so much. if you let me, i'll work every single moment of every day to show you that. when i told you i wanted you for the rest of my life, i meant it. i mean it with my whole heart. i fucked up–majorly, but i swear to you! i swear i'll show you that i'm the one you deserve, that i can give you that life you deserve."

chan looks down at you, enveloped in his arms as your gaze naturally lifts to meet his eyes.

chan's heart skips a beat.

there it is.

that sparkle.

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awoogayanderes · 11 months

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BSD MEN WITH THEIR TOXIC TRAITS

➪ characters : osamu dazai, chuuya nakahara, ryūnosuke akutagawa, fyodor dostoevsky, sigma, saigiku jouno

➪ other notes : i love writing silly angst with silly characters from my favorite silly anime / manga <3 non-edited

osamu dazai :

running away at any conflict with you

- whilst dazai has a lot of toxic traits and red flags, this issue is the biggest one by far

- running away is all dazai has left when it comes to arguing with you

- you’re someone he can’t lose, so instead he pushes everything under the rug, expecting it to go away

- you don’t dare mention his habit, but this fighting and forgetting habit has your hands tied together, not knowing what to do

- one minute you’re at each other’s throats, the next minute he’s gone, with uncomfortable silence choking you

- when you wake up, he’s hugging you tightly in the middle of his sleep as if your previous night’s encounter never existed

- he brings small bouquets of flowers to you when he comes back, wilting away once you get up and put them in a vase

- it’s almost a routine at this point, you fight, he leaves, you go to sleep angry, he comes back with flowers and lies next to you

- a relationship is staying with each other when things get difficult at times, but what happens when they leave you and come back into your arms with no other words said ?

chuuya nakahara :

over possessiveness and accusing of cheating

- this all roots from his previous betrayals where he thinks he’s found a family, only for it to be gone in a split second

- he’s a darling partner except that he can’t seem to trust you as much as he tries to

- ‘it’s just for precaution’ he says when he sends his men to be with you when you go out, it makes you feel weird having someone by you at all times

- if he ever gets the feeling that you’re being too friendly with a random waiter it always ends up with him accusing you of cheating on him

- you beg him to believe you when you say that you aren’t like the people he had in his life before, that you wouldn’t leave him

- he wants to trust you but when someone gets too close to you, it’s almost like a primal instinct to get you away from them

- he spoils you to no end but nothing materialistic compares to being alone without someone breathing down your neck

- it’s overwhelming not having time to yourself, always being surrounded by someone because they’re afraid to lose you

- you love him like a human so why does he love you like a trophy in fear of betrayal ?

ryūnosuke akutagawa :

lashing out at you for caring

- what else were you expecting when you started dating someone with so much trauma that he can only express with anger

- he doesn’t mean to lash out at you for no reason, he wants to make it work but instead of improving, his attitude continues to grow

- he doesn’t like you “nagging” at him to take better care of himself

- you know that there’s a big brick wall that stops you from reaching his heart but at what point is too much, too much

- when you nod at him after he screams at you, it almost angers him more because he thinks you aren’t listening even though you are, not wanting to argue back and cause more chaos

- there’s times where he makes up for his behavior, sometimes he picks a random flower from grass and gives it to you

- he doesn’t know why he gets so angry that you care for his wellbeing, isn’t that what couples normally do for each other

- it’s saddening seeing the own man you let into your life berate you for no reason

- it’s so hard to love someone who just seems to loathe you so much even with his small actions of caring

fyodor dostoyevsky :

seeing himself as your superior and seeing you as a pawn in his own game

- another man with a shitload of red flags and toxic traits, this one rising above them all

- he cares about you, he does ! but not in the way you’d like, he cares about you like how humans care about their pets

- sure he’d give you the world if he could, but he’d also give you up for his ideal world if it ever came down to that

- a relationship is a balance where each partner sees the other one as an equal, yeah not with fyodor it’s not

- you’ve proven your worth to him so many times for him to see you as the same as his level, instead it just makes you seem as a pawn under his control

- despite this, there are times where it almost seems that he cares about you like a person should, when you’re hanging onto his arm walking in a park humming quietly

- he indulges in your needs every so often, not before bringing you right back down to your place beneath him

- not even death would allow you to escape this cycle of rising and being kicked down

- why does he expect you to see him as the righteous hand of god when he sees you as a mere pawn ready to be sacrificed

sigma :

unintentionally guilt tripping you every time you get frustrated at him

- he’s been used so many times, his naivety is something he hates to the core, all he wants is someone to settle down with, a family

- he’s another sweetheart partner when you can push past the teary eyes and begging for you to not be mad at him and to not leave him

- his biggest fear is losing you, someone who doesn’t use him, he’d rather abandon his casino than end his relationship with you

- whilst he doesn’t realize, you notice his wording when he begs you to stay, often saying that he’s nothing without you, that he’d rather die than be without you

- maybe it’s heartwarming for the first few times but once it becomes a cycle you start to truly wonder if he’d actually go crazy without you or if it was all bluff

- even then, you can’t deny him when he guilts you into staying, he doesn’t know any better

- if you ever mention this to him, he’ll burst into tears, thinking you were breaking up with him, it takes hours trying to convince that you were here to stay

- it’s a repeating cycle he doesn’t notice and you can’t break for the sake of both of you

- love is a powerful thing, powerful enough to guilt you into staying with a man who loves you a bit too much

saigiku jouno :

putting his work above you at all costs

- he swore to protect those that need him, he’s not going to break that just for you

- you knew what you were getting into when you started dating the hunting dog, yet sadness can’t help but fill you when he misses important events with you

- after all you’ve been through with him, and not a single happy birthday text, not a single note for your anniversary, nothing

- he knows when you’re upset with him even if he can’t see your face, he can feel you rejecting his touch, and that’s when he reminds you of what he swore and what you agreed to

- it doesn’t help when he has his snarky attitude and almost mocking voice explaining to you why he can’t just walk out of a meeting

- despite this, he does love you, otherwise he wouldn’t waste his time on you, he loves that you still stick with him no matter what

- you really don’t ask for much, you understand his work and what he has to do, but he still thinks you make a big deal out of nothing

- as hypocritical as it sounds, he always expects you to be there for him even if he’s not

- you knew you were never going to be his first priority but it hurts so much more when he makes sure you know

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triple-asstro · 1 year

Text

Groceries | Leon Drabble

oh, you want ao3?

warning: mentions of leon readjusting after his missions

summary: Leon uses a new trick to keep track of you during a grocery trip.

pair: domestic!leon x reader

a/n: so, i've got leon on the mind (who doesn't?) so here's a short drabble based on an instagram reel i saw <3

words: 957

Groceries, something so simple and rudimentary to complete by mostly everyone. Leon Kennedy is that exception. His missions demanded the absolute best out of him, both physically and mentally and there was no room for half-done or partially completed. It was difficult to transition from always being on your guard, darting your head at even the slightest of shadows that passed your eye to mindless shopping.

You brought Leon to your most recent grocery trip to try and introduce him slowly back into society. While the first few tries were difficult, he got slowly used to the monotonous sounds of beeping and quiet radio music. As you both traversed separate ailes, you always found yourself peeking around the corner to see him smiling at jars and boxes of cereal. It was so captivating seeing Leon, the man who’d deflected hatches and chainsaws with a simple knife, be so domestic. He’d always turn his head towards your direction as you swiftly tucked away into the next aisle, which presented another problem.

He could never find you on the first try.

No matter how many times he tried keeping track of where you went, trying to practically attach you to his hip, you’d always disappear in the blink of an eye, usually eyeing some spectacle that caught your eye or a trinket that reminded you of him. It was starting to become more of a routine than an unusual occurrence. But then, one day, an idea struck his mind.

That day was a typical trip, simply there to pick up essentials and a few treats. However, something new appeared that day. A booth stood near one of the aisles, filled with birthday cards and clip-on balloons, as colorful as May. That’s when the idea struck.

“Ok, here’s our list. We just need toilet paper, steak and pepper for dinner tomorrow and some candles because we’re running out. I can get the candles and toilet paper if you can get the steak and pepper.”

“Steak and pepper, got it.” he said, carefully yanking one clip-on balloon off of the standee and secretly clipped it to your back as you walked away, unknowingly. As Leon went to grab his items, his eyes stayed glued to the balloon bobbing up and down in the air. Giggles quietly erupted from his mouth, as the surrounding patrons silently judged from afar. Of course, Leon noticed their prejudiced looks, he just didn’t care. He’d seen those looks so much, they were burned in the back of his eyelids. The scrunched nose, the crinkled eyes and the furrowing of eyebrows. He knew it instinctively. But now, there was no longer an intense ache in his heart, instead there was only anticipation for when he surprised you.

He swiftly grabbed the steak in the freezer and left the aisle, sneaking into the next one. As he traversed down, desperately trying to find the pepper, he found himself flinching at the crackle of chip bags. A simple flicker of the fluorescent lights sent him darting his head above, eyeing for a danger that never existed. He clenched his fists, closing his eyes trying to forget the instinct. He was at a grocery store, not an infected city or running from ravenous locals in Spain. He was in a grocery store. He was fine.

He shook his head, snapping himself out of his trance and spotted a small glass bottle on the shelf. Pepper. Black. He yanked it without a second thought. That was everything. He glanced upwards, surveying the ceiling until it stopped on a polka-dotted balloon swaying in the chill air. He made his way through the store’s layout before peeking around the aisle, spotting you looking at the pocket-knives and multitools adorned on the wall by zip ties, hanging from hooks. Your eyes fixed on the shiny metals and sleek colours decorating each one, unaware of the balloon that’s been strapped to your back for the past thirty minutes.

Leon approached you, wrapping his arms around your waist, resting his head between the crook of your neck. He could feel your smile crinkle on your lips, your hand placed on his hair.

“Wow, this is the first time you’ve found me in one try. What’s your secret?” you teased before tilting your head up, spotting the balloon. “...Nevermind, how long have you had that?!”

“For a while.” he said with a sly grin on his face. “It looks nice on you.”

“Alright, nice try, pretty boy. Since you’ve interrupted me, why don’t you help me with an important choice?” you suggested, turning towards the wall of trinkets. “And stop looking at the pocket knives, you already have enough of those.”

“You don’t have one. It doesn’t hurt to have another.” he stated, picking a deep blue one and dropping it into his cart.

You sighed, staring at him with adoration. “Fine. Would you prefer a black multitool or a lilac multitool?”

Leon tilts his head askew, eyes deep into thought. You smiled at him, silently admiring him and his oh so sweet thinking expression. To others, it seemed like a stoic cop who was ready to come up with an ingenious plan. To you, it was Leon, thinking with his goddamn gorgeous smile, as slight as it could be.

“I’m feeling lilac. I like the black outline of it, too.” he responded, grabbing it and tossing it into the cart.

“Great, I think we’re done for the day.”

“Hold on, sweetheart. Have you forgotten something?”

You tilted your head in confusion, eyes drifting to the side. “No, am I supposed to remember?”

“Sweetheart,” he said, turning your head towards the flower aisle, decorated and arraigned with such beauty.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Want to test that?”

“Game on.”

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #leon kennedy fanfic #resident evil #resident evil 4 #leon scott kennedy

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creedslove · 1 year

Text

BETRAYED - PART TWO

Pedro Pascal x f!reader

Summary: Pedro invites you to be his plus one for the night but his attention is caught by another woman and leaves you with a broken heart

Warnings: angst, age gap, established friendship, unrequited love/one sided feelings, Pedro being a dick

A/N: I'm so sorry but I can't manually tag anyone on the post, the app won't just let me do it!

1.6k words

PART ONE

When Pedro woke up in the next morning he knew he had screwed up. He knew he had screwed up bad. Though he barely remembered what had happened, he just had a gut feeling he'd screwed up. His head was pounding from his excessive drinking the night before and his back was sore, he groaned in pain as he shifted in bed and flashes of what happened the night before crossed his mind.

Clothes flying around the room, scattered on the floor, sloppy kisses, dirty touches, he had no idea how he'd look at you and tell you your night together didn't mean what you probably thought it meant. He swore to himself he wouldn't touch you, no matter how bad either of you might want, he knew he couldn't lead you into thinking you had a chance of anything romantically happening between you both. He sighed heavily before turning in bed and being shocked to see you were not the woman who was lying next to him.

If he hadn't slept with you, then, who did he sleep with? What was her name? He had no idea. The man cursed under his breath as the stranger slept deeply in his bed and grabbed his phone. He felt his heart pounding with anxiety, worried he'd done something embarrassing in public, but luckily, he hadn't. He was still the internet's sweetheart.

He let out a sigh of relief and managed to get out of bed, stumbling towards the bathroom and getting under the shower so he would clear his mind. The cold water poured over his naked body as he rested his forehead against the wall tile, he was definitely too old for that routine or partying, drinking, fucking. He shook his head as he replayed everything that happened the night before, from getting styled, to taking you to the gala, dancing with you, having a few drinks and then leaving with another woman. She got him horny, he was a man after all, he was single and he was free to be with whoever he wanted, so he decided to end his night with some female company. What was so bad about that?

But Pedro knew what was that bad about that. He simply ditched you for someone else, he already knew about your feelings and even if the two of you pretended it didn't exist, he was conscious enough to know it wasn't polite to make you go back home on your own because he'd found something better to do. As his towel hung wrapped around his waist, he checked his phone again, it explained why you hadn't replied to any of his drunk texts. He knew he'd play it cool and let you take your time.

Exiting the shower, he found the naked stranger in his bed, and god, she was gorgeous. She smiled at him, noticing how his gaze burned her skin. Pedro knew there was nothing he could do for Y/N at that moment, so he just shrugged and jumped into bed again, letting the woman tangle her legs around his body.

•••

You had a rough day as everything that happened insisted on being on your mind. No matter how much you tried to forget it or let it go, you were brought back to that night every time you closed your eyes. Your face still burned with the shame and humiliation you felt. Even if no one seemed to have noticed, you never felt so exposed to Pedro before. And you also couldn't believe the nerve he had to drunk text you during the night, he repeatedly asked if you'd arrived home safely, as if he cared about it at all. If he did, he wouldn't have told you to take an Uber home while he drove that skank back to his house, undressed her and fucked her all night long. You honestly felt sick to your stomach just to imagine him grabbing his phone to send you a text while she probably had her mouth or other holes busy with him. At that moment, you wanted to erase Pedro from your existence, and hoped he would give you a break, not wanting to face him at all.

However, it took him a week before he was again after you, he texted you at random hours during the day, always asking you if you wanted to facetime or hangout. It baffled you how he simply acted as if nothing happened and was unable to give you space when you clearly didn't want to be social. You always declined his invitations and though you still replied to his messages, anyone who had access to them could tell you were being nothing but polite and distant from him, because that's exactly what you wanted: distance.

Pedro on the other hand, just couldn't accept that, you out of every single person in the world would never do that, I mean, stay away from him? Not a chance. He knew you'd rather be by his side as a friend than be without him, and he wasn't afraid to admit he was that selfish. He didn't want you out of his life, even if he couldn't give you what you wanted, but at the same time, he couldn't sacrifice his freedom like meeting women because of you. So once again, he told himself he would accept your decision of having a break for him, but he wasn't going down without a fight.

Showing up at your job at the end of your shift was the solution he came up with. In his mind, it was the perfect plan. There were enough people so you'd be too shy to tell him off, but not crowded enough to drag everyone's attention.

You were just finishing your tasks with some of your co-workers when you saw him standing there. He was in his regular sweater, glasses on and a messy hair that showed he'd been out in the wind. He smiled sweetly, his warm brown eyes scanning the tight jeans you were and the high knee boots had on.

"Hey Y/N, can we talk?" He asked as if nothing had happened, he stared into your eyes with his puppy ones and slowly took both hands to your face, cupping your cheeks and stroking them gently.

"I missed you, mi cariño" he mixed the two languages knowing damn well how that made you weak at the knees.

You're heart raced and your breathing wasn't steady anymore, the butterflies got all agitated and you bit your lips, before reminding you it wasn't real, it was just one of his tricks, how Pedro learned to read you over time and used this on his favor.

You gently held his hands and took them away from your face "I'm sorry, I was busy" you gave him a lame excuse and he knew it was bullshit, but still, didn't care at all.

"It's okay, princesa, I wanted to see you… wanna go for a coffee?" He asked sweetly and frowned softly at your refusal. You had never said no to going out with him.

"I really can't, Pedro, I'm still in the middle of tasks here and I can't leave early" you half lied as you were indeed very busy but if it was any other occasion, you would always make time to him.

He sighed and took a step back "alright hermosa, just… stop by Saturday night, I'll have some friends over, it's our group and I'd really like to see you there, you know it is never the same without you" he said in a sweet way and said goodbye, leaning towards you and pecking your cheeks, dangerously close to your lips.

•••

Saturday arrived faster than you could tell, if you were excited about the dinner party the week would've probably dragged itself, but as you were still feeling awkward, in a blink of an eye, you found yourself checking your makeup in front of the mirror. You didn't take long to get dressed and knew you should get going, so you wouldn't be too late. You decided to take an Uber instead of driving, unsure of how much you'd drink. When your screen lit up, the first thing that drew your attention was the headline to some high profile gossip website that said

'Pedro Pascal seen with mysterious beauty blonde as he's out'

You felt your hand shake lightly and your whole body heat up again, clicking on the link and being redirected to the article that said he was spotted a couple of weeks ago walking down the street with the woman whom you immediately recognized as the skank from the party. The text said some fan recognized him and snapped a picture of the two while out for lunch but it only went viral on TikTok two weeks later.

You could see she was still wearing the same dress she did at the party which was an obvious proof they'd slept together and she didn't have spare clothes to change while he took her out for lunch.

He took her out for lunch. The son of a bitch had told you to go home by Uber late at night knowing you had drunk considerably and that could make you an easy target in case the driver or anyone else had bad intentions. And yet, he made sure to take her out for lunch and drive her home like a real gentleman.

You couldn't believe what you were reading, as angry tears blurred your eyes, you threw your phone onto the bed and began taking off your clothes. To hell with Pedro and his dinner party. Judging by his behavior in the last few weeks, there was a huge chance the skank would be there as well, and you would not humiliate yourself like that, not for him, not for anybody.

"Fuck you Pascal" you mumbled under your breath as you removed your makeup and turned off your phone.

-----

A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed it!!! Part 3 is coming soon!

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal angst #male actors #hot actors #pedro pascal headcanon #pedro pascal headcanons

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all-alone-he-turns-to-stone · 1 year

Text

The Time of A Coffee

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Summary: It’s only you and Dean for the hunt. Sharing a motel room is not the best, but it’s a must, so you sleep in the same room as Dean for the first time. But Dean is a man of routine, and he cannot function without his coffee. Fed up with how long it takes him, you act like a brat to piss him off, only… Dean has no patience in the morning. Especially when you walk naked in front of him.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x F!Reader

Word Count: 5k

Rating: Explicit

Warning: Smut, p in v, unprotected sex, bondage, overstimulation, masturbation, shower masturbation, use of sex toys, teasing, grumpy Dean

Square: Coffee for @mfbingo

A/n: I got this idea while looking at the gif below... Enjoy! Feedbacks are appreciated!!

It wasn't the first time you went hunting. The world of monsters invaded your life a few years ago, but it was only recently that you moved into the bunker with the Winchesters. It was more convenient to live in the lair where hundreds of pages of information on all the kinds of monsters that existed were located. Besides, it was the most secure place in the world.

It was your first time hunting alone with Dean, though.

The eldest Winchester didn't seem to appreciate your presence in what he called his home, and you never quite understood why. Except for the few times you passed by him in the hallways on your way to a room, the bunker was so big you hardly ever saw him.

Sam was still injured from the last hunt, so Dean flatly refused to take him with him. However, Sam refused to allow Dean to hunt alone. And if his brother couldn't go with him, there was only you left.

“Don’t think I’ll protect you kiddo,” Dean told you the moment you got into the impala. “We’re going together but I work solo.”

Of course, his attitude had frustrated you badly. You just wanted to get it over with. By the time you arrived in the city where the supernatural event was happening and rented a seedy motel room for the two of you, it was already late. It was impossible to begin the investigations until the next morning.

The night passed without incident. Each of you had their own bed and you turned your back on the green-eyed hunter, hoping to find sleep, but the frustration rising inside you throughout the night made sure you wouldn’t get any rest. The incomprehension of his attitude towards you haunted you, why did he have to act like this? Hunting alone was dangerous, that was why Sam always preferred to go in teams of two or three, and if necessary, the person left at the bunker could do research or answer the phone pretending to be an FBI boss. Dean should be grateful you were there and put up with his attitude.

The sun seeping through the half-open curtains was what woke you up the next day. Yawning, you stretched your arms above your head and kicked the blanket out of the way, forgetting for a few seconds where you were and with whom. A growl echoed next to you and it was enough to completely wake you up, bringing with the hoarse sound chills to your lower stomach that you wish you hadn't had. Especially for the man who seemed to hate your presence so much.

Turning your head to the side, you encountered a sight you never thought you'd get the chance to see.

His hair was disheveled on his head. Half-open eyes stared at the ceiling, the light probably strong to his retinas. His large hands rubbed his eyelids, like it could help him see better, and his tongue moistened his dry lips. A new growl echoed the first as he rotated his previously half-sided body so he was fully sprawled on his back. And in this position, the blankets shifted and a tent was formed.

The heat rose to your face so quickly, you thought for a moment the blankets of the bed were still on your body. A hundred degrees crashed down on you and headed directly between your legs, the space growing hotter and hotter as you watched the man lay in bed next to you. Still half asleep, Dean hadn't noticed you waking up. He groaned again, and you hated the effect his hoarse voice had on your body, in addition to the sight of his morning wood unraveling the structure of the blanket.

Dean then moved. Sitting up, he put his legs on the side of the mattress so he was now back to you. Before he got up, you half-closed your eyes to pretend to be asleep but you could still see what was going on. After a few seconds of sitting on the edge of the bed, Dean finally got up.

His walk was very slow, like he was purposely giving you plenty of time to watch the tent in his loose pajama pants rise and fall slightly with each step. You swallowed dryly as you watched him walk to the bathroom, the door closing behind him the last thing you saw. Then the sound of the water being turned on in the shower hit your ears, and you could safely open your eyes.

“God.”

It was your turn to sit up in bed and rub your eyes. A hand in your hair, you stared at your thighs trying to understand what had just happened and why it had had such an effect on you.

"I so need to get laid," you mumbled to yourself as you stood up. You had to go out for some fresh air, it was a pressing need. With the shower occupied, you couldn't wash away those lewd thoughts running through your mind and refresh your feverish body with the help of freezing cold water. But maybe the fresh morning air would help you in this case. Picking up the first clothes you found, you grabbed your wallet and hurried out of the room.

Once outside, you walked to the nearest cafe. A good, strong coffee would be perfect to put your ideas back in place. And a coffee for Dean might make him a little friendlier, who knows? Once you had both drinks, you were about to return to the motel when a sign caught your eye. It was still early, but if you believed the person who had just entered, the store was open.

The feeling of warmth spread once again between your legs. There was no way you would make it without some relief. And it wasn't your fingers that would satisfy you, certainly not with the next few days you had to spend with the source of this discomfort.

Gathering up your courage, you crossed the street and went to the store.

About twenty minutes was all it took you to get two coffees and your little personal present. And yet, when you returned, you were greeted by a gun pointed at your head.

“Where the hell have you been!” Dean exclaimed the moment he recognized you, his gun now pointed to the ground. The hunter growled and walked back into the bedroom, leaving the door open for you to follow.

Fuck, if he could stop growling, maybe the heat would stop soaking your inner thighs!

"I went for coffee," you rolled your eyes as you set the cup holder down on the table. Noticing Dean's back to you, you rush to your bag to put your other purchase in, hoping he wouldn’t notice. But obviously, the hunter had to put his nose everywhere.

“Oh and what’s this you’re hiding?”

"Pads," you jerked your head around, answering his question very quickly. “What, do you prefer I bleed all over your car?” Of course you were lying. Since you took the pill, you no longer had your periods. But menstruation had always put men off and you hoped that was enough for Dean not to go through your things to verify your statements.

“Ew.” Obviously. Dean walked over to the table, totally disinterested in your bag, to grab one of the two coffees.

"That's mine," you rushed to pick up your cup. After a “whatever” perfectly gestured with only his eyebrows, Dean took his drink and went to sit on the edge of his bed to sip it slowly. A sigh of appreciation broke the silence after his first sip, and you didn't think anything could be worse than his growls.

But that sound in any other context sounded dirty. You were lucky to hold your coffee firmly in your hands.

“Alright, so, for the case,” you began as you sat down at the table. The computer Sam had lent you for the hunt was there, so you slid it towards you and opened it. But before you could add anything, out of the corner of your eye you could see Dean raise a hand. Putting your full attention on him, you watched as he pointed to his coffee and then raised his hand again, palm facing you, signaling you to slow down.

Coffee above all.

It was your turn to growl. All you wanted was to finish the hunt as soon as you could, or at least make the day go by as quickly as possible. Chances were Dean would hit the nearest bar in the evening for a beer and a girl or two. And so, you would finally have some alone time with your purchase.

You fucking brought him a coffee. And that was how he thanked you? Besides, now that you thought about it, the hunter never thanked you.

Your frustration grew.

In the end, and much to your dismay, Dean didn't go to the bar that night. No, he decided it was more interesting to spend the evening in the motel room in front of the television with two or three open beers around him. Not only could you not use the object you had bought in the morning, but you also had to endure Dean's presence that only made you feel more warm. The frustration was so intense, it felt like you were about to explode. So, although you had already taken a shower that morning, you went to the bathroom to freshen up a bit.

Once in the safety of the bathroom, you removed your clothes and entered the bathtub. You smiled as you took the detachable shower head in your hands and sat down on the cold ceramic tile. Once the temperature was perfect, you directed the shower head between your thighs.

Your hand pressed against your mouth immediately as pleasure slammed into you from all sides. The frustration of the day was so accumulated in your lower body that you felt yourself twitch around nothing, your pussy begging to be filled as quickly as possible. But both of your hands were busy, one holding the shower head and the other making sure you didn't make any noise, and you didn't trust yourself enough to be quiet.

The thin jet was like hundreds of tiny needles attacking your clit. And if you moved the shower head from left to right, it felt even better. So much pressure built up, you were on the edge of your orgasm continuously. It was burning, building up, over and over, your back arching in the tub as your hips chased the jet like a hungry animal.

It felt so good, so hot, like your pussy was on fire. Everything was on fire, and yet, something was still missing, it wasn't enough to reach your climax. Desperate, and needing it badly, you took the risk. Your hand clasped over your mouth left its post and you hurried, knowing full well that biting your lip wouldn't be enough for long.

Only two fingers were enough. As simple as that. Feeling full was enough for your orgasm to shatter you into little chunks of pleasure and an all too loud moan left your mouth, but as the pleasure lasted, as your body shook and as you saw stars, you didn't care about the sounds you made.

Once your high was over, you had to quickly divert the spray from your now far too sensitive intimacy. It was immediately after that knocking was heard against the door.

“Y/n, you’re okay? I heard you scream!”

Hearing his voice after cumming only brought back that desire and the uncomfortable feeling of being too horny. Your pussy clenched around nothing and you swallowed hard, the thought of getting caught way too exciting for you.

“Yeah! I just slipped and almost fell, that's all!”

You hoped your voice didn't shake while speaking. Because your body was still trembling with the aftermath of your release.

"Clumsy," you heard from the other side of the door, and then footsteps moving away.

Fuck, that was close.

The next day was almost exactly like the day before. You woke up before Dean after a far too realistic dream that left you with an unpleasant aftertaste.

Dream that consisted of Dean ordering you to get off on his thigh. Fuck, you could still feel the material of his pants rubbing your thighs to the point of burning. Needless to say, you woke up with overpowering sexual frustration. And Dean waking up next to you, a new tent in the covers and lots of grunts…

This time, you got up before the hunter. Going past him to get to the bathroom was harder than you thought, the temptation to look in his direction was spellbinding… only a quick glance at this tent, just to see and imagine how big he was… And how perfectly his length would stretch your core, filling you up so much you would cum with only him entering you…

You failed. Near the bathroom door, you glanced at Dean.

The tent was the first thing you looked at. Then, your gaze went up on the body under the blanket until it met green eyes firmly staring back. A half-smile tugged the hunter's lips as you quickly entered the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind you.

Heat exploded in your face.

There was always the possibility of using the shower to relieve yourself a little, like the previous day. But all it took was one sound for Dean to know. And slipping in the shower two days in a row was unlikely to happen to give that as an excuse again.

You just stepped into the shower, your wet hair sticking to your body when you realized you hadn't brought your shampoo with you.

"Damn it," you wrapped a towel around your body and opened the door without thinking. “Forgot my shampoo-”

You never stopped so suddenly. So much that you almost lost your balance.

A new magnificent view was offered to you.

Still lying on his bed and under the covers, Dean was in the middle of… taking care of his morning problem. And even though his gestures were hidden under the blanket, your brain was filling in the holes. The tent was in motion, animated by a hand rising and falling rapidly on the very hard tower. Small moans were in motion all around the room, and surprisingly, despite his irreplaceable hunting instincts, it took several seconds for Dean to notice your presence.

But unlike you, if your presence bothered him, he didn't show it.

“Well, go ahead, take your shampoo,” Dean pointed to your bag with his chin. The tent had stopped moving, but now it was his burning gaze on you that was the problem.

His eyes traveled up and down your body a couple of times, his head tilting to the side as he put himself into a sitting position. Dean didn't speak more, he just watched. That was enough to turn you on so much, if you hadn't been soaked by the shower, drops of water falling around you from your hair, you would have felt your inner thighs completely drenched with your arousal.

He wanted to play this kind of game? Perfect. You were fed up with his attitude and the feelings his presence gave you. You were tired of feeling constantly turned on and ruining your underwear with your arousal. He was about to get a taste of his own medicine.

Walking in front of him, you bore his gaze into yours until you were near your bed. There, you leaned over to access your bag, purposely not bending your knees. The towel was very short and you knew you were flashing Dean enough for him to have a very nice view of your naked intimacy and your asscheeks. Excitement shook your hands as you grabbed what you needed. His gaze burned your skin, so you straightened up and stalked back to the bathroom. Once near the door, you turned back to Dean and with a simple movement of your arm, untied your towel that fell to the floor. But before he could get an eyeful of your naked body, you backed into the bathroom and closed the door.

Your breathing was rapid at what you had just done. You only hoped your little show would leave him in a similar state to yours… Frustrated. Excited.

You were about to celebrate your small victory when a sound echoed from the other side of the door. A sound you knew all too well, that vibration you desperately craved for the past few days

Opening the door abruptly, you immediately froze at seeing Dean right in front of you. He was so close his body heat engulfed your person. Also… There was something pressing against your lower stomach, something you didn't have to look at to know what it was.

“You left your bag open," Dean mumbled in that hoarse voice you loved so much. He raised his hand and in it, you recognized your purchase from the night before. His thumb pushed the button up, then down, the dildo shaking in all directions as it turned on and off.

“Yeah, so? You take so much time drinking your coffee. I have time to cum 3 times before you’re even ready.”

Talking back to Dean while you were completely naked, with him holding your sex toy, clearly as excited as you and with the way he was looking at you like an animal in front of its prey… It probably wasn't the best idea. Dean raised an eyebrow and stepped closer to you again. Now his torso was pressed against your chest, your wet skin leaving dark stains on the gray fabric of his t-shirt. His cock still trapped in his pants pressed against your stomach, a wave of heat attacking you as you felt how hard he was. Raising your head to maintain eye contact, even your breath was lost in the remnants of desire as you gazed into his green eyes.

Feverish was a weak word to describe the way he looked at you.

"Three times, you're sure?" Dean cocked his head to the side.

"Yeah," you replied haughtily, your head tilting the other way. His face was so close your noses brushed and your breaths became one. The excitement was now in full play.

It was heavy. It was hot.

“Let’s see that, shall we?”

You were sure he was about to kiss you, so you closed your eyes. Big mistake. The next moment, you were handcuffed against the headboard of Dean's bed, your arms above your head, his personal smell invading your senses.

But the scent was nothing compared to the sight.

The hunter had captured his prey and was pacing in front of the bed, your dildo in his hands, carefully detailing it as if it were a weapon he intended to use against you.

“Three times. Okay. I'll get the coffee first, just to be fair.” Only his eyes moved as Dean detailed you with a smirk to see your reaction. Then, he knelt on the bed and invited you to open your legs. Hypnotized by his actions, you let him, watching his every move as if he was going to jump on you any moment. “Relax for me please…” Taking a deep breath, you tried to relax as Dean thrusted the toy inside you. As he handled it well with his warm hands, the silicone was no longer cold and entered easily into you. A moan immediately escaped your mouth as the toy burned your entrance, filling you to perfection. Dean pushed the toy into you until the space that meant to be against your clit was in its position.

It was fully inside of you.

You had taken this toy for this reason, precisely. Not only did the dildo vibrate, but the space that rested on your clitoris… had a suction mechanism.

Dean turned the toy on to its lowest setting and immediately, your body tensed up all over. Your head lolled back and moans after moans escaped your mouth, your legs shaking and your arms tugging at the handcuffs. You clenched your thighs, trying to position the toy in the spot that would make you cum immediately, not giving a damn about how desperate you looked.

Opening your eyes, you met Dean's gaze. He was watching again, not saying anything, observing your body's reactions to the toy that was stimulating you, and seeing him looking at you that way… It had the same effect as if you had turned the toy on to its strongest setting. It didn't even have to be positioned at the spot that could make you cum easily.

The orgasm exploded between your thighs in a high pitched, surprised moan.

Your body started shaking and your legs tightened around the toy to be sure it stayed in place. It was so good, you ended completely exhausted and out of breath. Now very sensitive, your clitoris still trembling, you were about to cum again when suddenly, strong hands spread your thighs apart and the buzzing stopped completely.

"That's one and I don't even have my coffee yet," Dean grinned, his eyes fixed on your chest moving up and down quickly, your breasts jiggling with your every breath. "You're already so wet..." Even your inner thighs were sensitive, you noticed when Dean ran one of his hands against that part of your body to see how wet you were.

"Please," you tugged on your handcuffs, wiggling your hips for him to put the toy back on. You had never experienced such a good and powerful orgasm and you wanted more.

“So greedy. That was one. Now, I'm gonna get my coffee. See how many times you can cum again while I drink it.”

And that bastard left you like that. Tied to the bed, naked, still soaking wet from your shower with a toy deep inside you, on the verge of a second orgasm and the promise of more. “Don't leave me here! Winchester!” You yelled at him, but Dean was already gone.

Once alone, you sighed and took the time to understand the situation. Fuck, he was going to watch you get consumed by that toy that had the ability to make you cum in just seconds… And the thought of him watching you turned you on so much, only thinking about it made you throb around the dildo. And if you shifted just a little, you could feel it moving inside you and it felt so good, not enough to make you cum, but enough to satisfy your needs while waiting for Dean to return.

Your eyes were closed when Dean came back, your hips moving in circles to feel something, small moans escaping your lips every time the toy brushed your g spot. You didn't hear the hunter enter, you only knew he was there when the vibrations attacked you again.

A high-pitched scream broke your throat as the sensation washed over you. Your eyes snapped open and you looked at Dean. He had his coffee in his hand, the other between your thighs holding the toy in place inside you.

“Oh fuck, oh God!” Your back arched under the sudden onslaught. And if that wasn't enough, Dean turned up the intensity of the toy. If you hadn't been tied down, you would have reached out to grab something, anything, but all you could do was pull on your cuffs and move around. To try to escape the suction, or to put it in the place that was going to make you explode? You didn’t know. But it was so hot, so good, it was burning, and when you opened your eyes to see what Dean was doing, you could see him sitting on your bed, his cup of coffee in his hands. He was slowly sipping his drink as he watched you writhe with pleasure in his bed, and again...

The fact that he is looking at you made you cum.

“That’s two, and I’m not even halfway through my coffee.”

His hoarse voice made you cum again. Then it was his laugh.

You lost count of how many times you came. Every time you thought it was over, that Dean had finally finished his coffee and was going to take the toy away from you, a new orgasm attacked you. And Dean wasn’t helping by increasing the intensity. Everytime. Until the toy was maxed out.

"Please, please, oh god stop, stop, I can't, I can't!" You were crying now. You were so overstimulated that your orgasms were now torn out from you almost painfully, your body so exhausted you were coming quietly. Each orgasm lasted longer and sent thorns of pleasure for long seconds. Like you were cumming continuously.

"I'm done with my coffee," Dean said, finally turning off the dildo. Your body immediately softened, only small spasms running through your limbs made you moved. Your muscles were so tense it took you a moment to remember how to use them. Dean pulled the dildo out of your entrance and you moaned sadly at the feeling of emptiness. "You're sure you wanted me to stop it? Look at that, the toy is soaked, oh…” you glanced tiredly at Dean to see him place the toy down on the bed and put his attention between your thighs. “Son of a bitch, you soaked my bed, it’s so wet…”

His growl, the one that had gotten you in this situation, rang in your ears again. You came so much you were exhausted, and yet, your hole throbbed at the thought of Dean filling you up. You wanted him to growl against your ear as his cock moved in and out of your abused cunt.

“Please, Dean, please,” you spread your thighs, now too far gone to care what you looked like.

Dean didn't care either, because it only took him a few moments to take off his clothes and be on top of you. You hadn't noticed until now, but the warmth of his body informed you how cold you were. “I got you sweetheart…”

He must have been in as much of a hurry as you, because Dean didn't even wait to enter you. Since he had undressed quickly and you had trouble keeping your eyes open, you could barely get an eyeful of his length. You knew he was big, but yet, it was a surprised moan that escaped your lips as he entered you until he was comfortably settled in your channel. To say he was big was almost too sweet to describe his girth. “God, you’re so wet… Fuck… Oh fuck…”

As you wished, his growls tickled your ear and you clenched around him. It only made him groan louder.

You were both impatient. So immediately after entering you, Dean started moving. It was fast, it was rough, and as soon as Dean untied the handcuffs, your hands went to his back, that you scratched and marked with your nails.

“Oh fuck, do that again,” Dean begged, thrusting slower but deeper. Exhausted from all your orgasms, you moaned lazily and dug your nails into his back. The accumulation of your wetness created obscene and embarrassing sounds, but made his movements so easy that Dean could go any way he liked. As rough, hard or fast as he wanted. And you were taking it all in, constantly feeling yourself on the verge of another orgasm.

But that orgasm was different.

As it was about to hit you head-on, Dean pulled his face back enough to look at you. You gazed into his eyes and time seemed to stop.

It was like after all the stimulation, you finally saw who made you feel this good. It wasn’t only the toy that made you cum. It was seeing him there, seeing him in control.

It was Dean.

You moved your hands to cup his cheek and finally put your lips against his.

It was a rising orgasm. Higher and higher, burning your insides, exploding in small sparks of pleasure and spasms. Moans and grunts mixed together and when you entered your tongue in his mouth to deepen the kiss, you could feel him twitch inside you. Dean buried himself as much as possible, so deep, you could feel his cock brush against your cervix. And despite how wet you were, you felt his seed fill you up.

Once Dean came inside you, you stayed like that for a while, just kissing. The passion in his movements, how he kissed you and touched you after fucking surprised you, you would have thought that was all he wanted, sex, but you weren't complaining and kissed him until you ran out of breath.

“Fuck,” Dean gasped. “You have no idea how bad I wanted this.”

"What?" You stroked his shoulders, not really understanding where he was going with this. You put your confusion on the little high cloud of pleasure you were still floating on. “I… I thought you hated me.”

"I didn't hate you," Dean brushed a lock out of your forehead softly. It had to be the sweetest gesture he had for you since you knew him. “I hated how bad I wanted you all for myself. You seemed so close to Sam, I thought you two were a thing.”

“But Sam is with Eileen,” you frowned with a smile, understanding now why he was always so grumpy whenever you were near him or his brother. “You’re a dumbass, Winchester.”

“I know.” His gaze softened. It was also the first time you saw that side of him. The caring, sweet Dean. “So, how about I help you clean up in the shower? I think you need to cool down… Or warm up… And get clean, even if you’re still wet…”

At the thought of the shower, you clenched around him. Dean didn’t know why, but he was smart, he would figure it out soon enough. “Please.”

Supernatural Tag List: @cryptichobbit @sexyvixen7 @stixnstripesworld @charred-angelwings @treat-winchesterswith-kindness @lyarr24 @fiftyshadesgrl

Dean Winchester Tag List: @akshi8278 @siospins2 @kazsrm67 @wtrpxrks @deanwanddamons @thoughts-and-funnies @charred-angelwings @jensendreamland @deanswaywardgirl @happyt0exist @waynes-multiverse @djs8891

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harmonictechnicality · 8 months

Text

*no rest for the wicked*

my teensy contribution to @thefreakandthehair's spicy six summer collection 💖 | word count: 3k | rating: T | ao3 link | also, this wouldn't exist if @chocoarts didn't send me a sketch that immediately set off sparklers in my brain so bless youuu ✨

Twenty-six hours. That’s how long Eddie has been up. Twenty-six hours and twelve minutes. The heaviness hanging in his eyes is medieval-level torturous, and the cramp in his left calf is probably permanent by now.

A sane person who enjoys sleeping might be asking, ‘Why? Why put yourself through this when there’s a perfectly decent bed down the hall?’ And Eddie would be forced to reply back with two, simple words:

Concert. Tickets.

That’s right, Eddie is actively murdering his own brain cells to win two vip tickets on the radio. Twenty-seven hours ago, it seemed like a grand idea. Genius, even. It’s free and minimal effort - he just has to call the station every hour on the dot. No biggie, right?

Ha, sure. Tell that to the muscles in his eyelids.

“How much longer do you have?” Chrissy asks, snagging a magazine from the stack on the couch.

Eddie checks his watch. Huffs out a laugh. “Let’s just say, I could watch the entire Star Wars trilogy including the credits for each one.”

“Translating to...?”

“Seven-ish hours.” Robin quickly chimes. She pops out of her bedroom and joins Chrissy’s side, instantly threading their hands together. They share a look, one that makes Eddie believe in nice things, even in his state of misery. It’s their superpower, injecting their optimistic outlook into the atmosphere. Infectious in the best way.

“I always forget that you speak fluent nerd.” Chrissy snorts.

“Ouch.” Robin gasps and pulls away, stomping off to their room. Too dramatic to be believable. “Get back to bed before I actually feel offended by that.”

Normally, Eddie is charmed by how hopelessly in love his roommates are with each other. But right now, they are his mortal enemies (well, tied with The Clock), because they get to sleep and he gets to stare at the lightbulb in the ceiling fan. Every now and then, it flickers, which never fails to startle him.

Good. He desperately needs the extra alertness.

Another forty-five minutes go by before anything noteworthy happens. Eddie’s other roommate gets off his night shift around one in the morning. The front door squeals as it opens, crackling all the adrenaline leftover in Eddie’s body.

“Scared the shit out of me, man.” Which could’ve been a literal statement if Eddie hadn’t just taken a bathroom break.

“Gotta get this door fixed.” Steve says. That’s what he always says when it creaks. The reaction never changes, always skating his fingers over the door hinges, mouth twisting to the side. Hands on his hips in disapproval. Eddie has to look away before Steve breaks out his insufferably cute ‘foot tap’ routine. “Hey - why are you still up?”

Ah, yes. Just what Eddie needed. A reminder that it’s fucking late. He finds the energy (or common decency, who knows) to point at the phone. Then to the radio.

“You’re still doing that, huh?”

Eddie nods twice.

“Damn, I’ve never heard you this quiet.” Steve sounds genuinely surprised. A little too smug for Eddie’s liking. “Didn’t know your mouth could stay in a straight line for this long.”

There it is. The rich boy smartassery that will never die. Always lurking in the depths of his genetic makeup.

Eddie claps, total deadpan.

The conversation lulls while Steve messes around in the kitchen for a bit. He’s noisily opening cabinets and clanking dishes around in the sink. Eventually, he walks back into the living room with two beers.

Both for him apparently. “Well, listen,” he starts out. Kicks his feet up on the coffee table. “I’m pretty wired after work, so if you need some company-”

“Six… hours… left.” Eddie musters out.

“Okay well, I doubt I’ll last that long. But I can give it a shot.”

Eddie smirks, raises both eyebrows. “There’s a dirty joke somewhere in there. Too tired to find it though.”

“Good to know the horny part of your mind is still awake.” Steve gives Eddie a small pat on the head.

“Oh? That’s a good thing?”

“Depends on who you ask.”

“I’m asking you.” It’s too direct, Eddie hears it. And now it’s just Out There - his inability to flirt in a subtle way. And yeah, he could blame it on sleep deprivation, but he’s never been known for his mastery of ambiguity so…

The pause goes on long enough for the light to flicker again, the room growing darker with it. Steve takes a swig of his drink and smiles. “It’s good to know, Ed.”

The light flickers even darker.

Eddie is fully awake after that. Which could’ve been part of Steve’s plan - stimulate his brain with flirty comments and keep him up with those melty smiles. It’s no secret that Eddie turns into a hair-twirling loser around this guy.

Even after living together for a year and seeing one another’s most disgusting habits, he still feels this way. Tight throat, stomach flips. Purely smitten in a way that would nauseate deadbeat poets.

In this moment, however, it’s a wonderful remedy to staying awake throughout the rest of the night. Much more effective than energy drinks and Tootsie Rolls.

Steve ends up on the floor, leaning against the edge of the couch. He sips another beer, recounting some bullshit that happened during his shift at the hotel. Eddie does his best impression of Listening to Steve’s stories, but the words are just buzzing around the glow of Steve’s hair and the shine on his lips. Nodding at seemingly appropriate times is all Eddie currently can offer.

“Sleeping with your eyes open, Munson?”

Eddie blinks hard. “Huh?”

“Creepy, but impressive.” Steve laughs, tapping his hand against Eddie’s leg. “You should add that to the Special Skills column on your resumé.”

“Bold of you to assume I have a resumé.”

They spend the next hour doing just that - adding useless skills to Eddie’s nonexistent resumé. It keeps them busy. Content. Steve smacks Eddie’s knee anytime he laughs, leaves his hand longer every time. Maybe that’s all in Eddie’s semi-dormant mind, especially since Steve shows casual affection to all of his friends. But the warmth of his palm is real enough to have Eddie fully committed to making Steve laugh as much as possible.

“What about… Expert Paper Clip Chain-Maker?” Steve suggests.

Eddie stares at the chain in his hand, the one he was oblivious to creating. He whips it around like a lasso and then shrugs. “A bit wordy.”

“So you’re saying length matters?”

“Christ on toast, Harrington. You’re awfully quick to jump to that conclusion, aren’t you?”

Steve doesn’t answer, just starts laughing again. Eddie didn’t even need to tell a shitty joke this time.

And when Steve’s hand hits his knee, sliding slightly up his thigh, Eddie laughs along with him. It’s the only way to cover up the heat rushing to his face.

Eddie enters the realm of delirium with three hours left in his challenge. He slumps onto the floor next to Steve, nudging his shoulder, staring into his sleep-heavy eyes. It’s four in the morning, inhibitions be damned.

“Do you think if you ever visit Europe, they’d call you Harring-metric-ton?” Eddie picks a piece of lint off Steve’s sleeve. Perfect excuse to reach out, move in closer.

Steve groans. “Yikes. But yes, that question keeps me up at night.”

“So that’s why you’re still awake. See, I knew it wasn’t because of my silly little concert tickets.”

As soon as the words leave his lips, Eddie convinces himself that it’s the truth. Which is so dumb, so stupid. But this seed of insecurity keeps him going, fully projecting his assumptions onto Steve’s harmless comment. Somewhere deep down, buried underneath his exhaustion, Eddie knows it was a joke. But he can’t seem to shut up anymore.

“The riddle has been solved, folks! We finally know why Stevie here is still awake.” Eddie exclaims, flinging his arms out to the side. “Alert Scooby and the gang at once! Mystery Incorporated can finally pack up their magnifying glasses and pursue careers with better health insurance. Ones that covers vision costs this time. It’s what dear, ol' Velma deser-”

“Eddie.” Steve places a hand on Eddie’s arm, holding him still. Was he moving? Oh god, was he shaking?

Fucking mortifying.

Steve’s thumb swipes across Eddie’s skin, tracing diagonal lines back and forth. “You’re rambling.”

“And you’re…” Eddie loses focus. He looks down at the hypnotic patterns that Steve is making. “There. Doing that.”

Steve stops briefly to flip Eddie’s hand over, starts tracing the lines in his palm instead. The pressure makes Eddie’s heart lurch up into his throat. He can feel it thumping in his neck, faster with every stroke of Steve’s fingers. All he wants to do is close his hand around them, keep Steve there for the rest of the night. Longer if he’d let him.

“I can stop if it’s weird.” Steve’s voice is so much quieter than it was earlier.

Don’t stop. Eddie thinks. Can’t say it like that because gross. Humiliating and gross. “It’s not weird.”

Steve keeps his focus on the motion, Eddie does the same. They stay like this for a while, just watching. Intently staring over the invisible lines like pages in a novel. Eddie is pretty sure he’s breathing too loud, can hear it above the whistle in the air conditioner. Wonders if Steve can hear it too.

Probably.

“That’s not why I’m staying awake.” Steve says, never breaking the pattern.

“No?”

“It’s who I’m staying awake for.”

Steve finally stops, right in the center of Eddie’s hand. The air in the room goes dense, weighted with acknowledgment. Something has changed and Eddie can feel it everywhere.

He tilts forward, pulling his gaze away from his hand and up at Steve’s lips. If he weren’t stuck between half-awake and total-delirium, Eddie would just do it. Kiss Steve the way he’s always wanted to. Syrupy slow and deep. Savoring every second.

He could do it right now, right this second. But his focus starts drifting as he closes his eyes. “Did Chrissy tell you?” Eddie grumbles, almost unintelligible.

“Tell me what?”

Eddie’s head falls, landing somewhere on Steve’s chest. He inhales the scent of laundry detergent (because Steve and Chrissy are the only avid laundry-doers in the apartment). It’s so soothing, drawing him further into a dreamlike place.

“Tell me what, Ed?”

“That I…” Eddie is nearly asleep before he can finish the thought. The confession:

‘That I’m crazy about you.’

Sunlight hits Eddie first, startles him so much that he jolts upward. Fully awake. It takes a few seconds of furiously rubbing his eyes before the dread kicks in.

Morning.

It’s morning.

“Shit.”

Eddie fell asleep.

Steve fell asleep.

“Shitshitshit. So many shits!” He fumbles through the labyrinth of blankets and pillows around him, snatching his watch from the coffee table:

10:24 a.m.

“Goddamnit!”

Eddie sinks back down to the floor, clutching the phone that serves him no purpose anymore. All of those hours of waiting and calling for nothing. Even if general admission wasn’t already sold out, it’s not like Eddie could afford tickets on his own. He can barely keep up with his share of the rent. Chrissy had to cover for his grocery run last week and he still hasn’t paid her back.

It’s just so expected too - for him to fuck up like this. Always letting opportunities slip through the cracks, making careless mistakes. No one will be surprised that he failed at such a simple task like calling a fucking radio station.

Eddie sets the phone back on the table and cleans up the living room in a daze. Every now and then, he mutters under his breath about being a total moron. He stays relatively quiet for the most part though. No use in throwing a bitchfest while Steve is blissfully conked out three feet away.

Of course he looks good sleeping too, even in the midst of Eddie’s breakdown. Unfair.

Just before heading back to his room, Eddie hears that familiar door creak. Same one that always sets off Steve’s inner handyman tendencies.

He looks back to see Chrissy padding towards him with a blanket wrapped around her. For someone who hasn’t had their mood-altering cup of coffee yet, she looks extremely pleased to see him. Maybe she knows about the fate of the concert tickets. Maybe this is an early-risers pity party.

Fucking yay.

“Chris, please don’t try to-”

His words are muffled by Chrissy throwing her arms (and blanket cape) around him. She’s so bouncy, the way she always gets with Robin whenever their favorite song comes on at the karaoke bar. He pats her on the back and clears his throat, still trying to piece together what this exchange could be about. However, Eddie is functioning on a few hours of sleep, so his cognitive skills are groggy at best.

She gives him one more squeeze and then looks up, positively gleaming. “I knew it! I knew it would finally happen!”

“That I’d screw up for the umpteenth time in my life? Gee thanks, Chris.” Eddie says.

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about you and Steve!” She whisper-yells back.

Was she snooping on them last night? He wouldn’t put it past her, snoopiness is the foundation of their friendship. Well, whatever Chrissy thought she saw, she’s wrong. Sure, Steve and Eddie flirted, both letting some potentially mutual feelings slip out.

But it was all cut short by Eddie passing out mid-flirt. God knows how Steve took that reaction. Probably assumed Eddie was so bored that he would rather sleep than makeout with him. Or worse, that Eddie was pretending to sleep to let him down easy.

Christ, he doesn’t wanna think about that right now. Not while he’s still mourning the loss of his precious tickets.

“Hate to break it to you, honeyjam, but nothing happened.” Eddie shakes his head, gesturing to Steve who hasn’t budged from the recliner. “It’s just me over here and Steve over there. No conjunction connecting us together in that way.”

He can already tell Chrissy isn’t buying it. She’s getting that little forehead wrinkle right above her eyebrows, just like an angry cartoon character. Her best attempt at intimidation. “You didn’t see what I saw.”

“Gay desperation?”

“No, you jackass. Come here!”

Chrissy yanks Eddie into his bedroom, demanding for him to lock the door. He listens, mainly because the intimidation is starting to work a little. They sit at the edge of the bed and she begins to explain everything she saw:

Steve constructing a wall of blankets and pillows around Eddie to ensure he slept comfortably. Steve waiting by the phone, tapping his foot in that insufferably cute way that Eddie loves so much. Steve scoring the tickets, celebrating quietly to himself.

“How long were you standing at the door, weirdo?” Eddie teases her to avoid the way his stomach is twisting around her words.

Chrissy shushes him and squeals. “And he kissed your cheek!”

“Liar.”

“He did, I swear! He kissed you on the cheek or the chin or the nose. I don't know which one for sure because my view was obstructed by all of your hair.”

Eddie instinctively combs his fingers through a few strands, undoing the knotted pieces. Not all of them, but enough to keep his hands busy while he thinks through this. Processing. “And you’re sure it wasn’t a dream?”

“Positive.”

“What about a hallucination? Didn’t Byers make a batch of those infamous brownies again?”

Chrissy gives a deep sigh. “Whatever. You’re hopeless.” She shrugs the blanket back over her arms and heads toward the door. More than a fair assessment, Eddie can’t argue even if he wanted to (he always does).

He stares at the line of posters along his wall, letting Chrissy’s words replay over and over. Imagining what it might have felt like. If Steve’s breath was warm or if his lips were soft. Eddie wonders how it looked to have Steve dipping down to his level. Staying so quiet, so careful not to disturb him. The visuals swarm his head until there’s nothing left but Steve.

Him and Steve. Connecting them together in that way after all.

So, Eddie gets up and walks back into the living room. He takes in the view of Steve curled up in the recliner, mouth slightly parted open. Chest falling with every sniffle, not quite a snore.

There’s so many emotions while looking at him. Eddie can’t just pin one down to fully comprehend what's going on. All he can do is repeat the scene that’s occupying his mind, settling in his bones.

“Here,” he whispers, placing another blanket across Steve’s lap. It’s feathery gentle, more than he intends for it to be. So gentle that Steve doesn’t shift or stir.

Eddie takes a deep breath and bends down, close enough to notice all the little details. The ones he’s been too sheepish to indulge in before last night.

The tiny hairs on Steve��s forearm. The creases in his t-shirt. The bit of dried toothpaste on his chin. None of it should make his cheeks feel this flushed, but they do.

He lets the rush of bravery wash through him as he kisses Steve on the tip of his nose. Just the way Steve must’ve done to him. It’s swift, lighter than he means for it to be. Barely touching. But it’s enough to switch his heart rate up a few notches, pulsing jumping in his wrist.

Eddie steps away, waiting to see if Steve wakes up. Not entirely sure if he wants that or if he’d rather keep this memory to himself.

“Thanks… by the way.” Eddie adds, brushing the tips of his fingers over Steve’s hand. Wishing he could trace the lines in his palm. Rewind back to last night and pause it there indefinitely. “I’ll tell you again when you’re up, but yeah.”

“Thank you, Steve Harrington.”

#steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #slight buckingham because I said so #lexssummerfanworkschallenge #biggest of shoutouts to lex for giving us this space to create and share together!!!#is the sleep depravation making Eddie good at flirting???#or is it all in his overactive imagination???#the world may never know #also Eddie is wearing one of Robin's shirts bc he never does laundry #that's not relevant - it's just a brainworm that he ironically wears her marching band tees #okay okay pls enjoy 💖#(and pretend I'm in a timezone where it's still August pls)

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maissafespace · 8 months

Text

I know you.

Shigure Sohma x Reader

synopsis: Shigure Sohma, a complicated man with a lot of secrets, knowing him gave you everything, from love to happiness to frustration and pain. It can’t help that you cannot get away from him.

warnings: age gap relationship. angst. mean!shigure, domestic fluff, heartbreak, arguments, mentions of break up, mentions of cheating (not happening). nsfw. emotional s*x, doggy style, missionary, cream pies, mentions of pregnancy, breeding.

a/n: it’s a brief story for one of the men that has my heart, but unfortunately is in a unique situation with a person I loathe lmao. It’s something that I needed more than anything, I haven't written for some time so I hope it's decent. please like, comment, reblog, tip! thank you for reading!!!!

Masterpost • Masterlist

Living as a zodiac and as a Sohma, Shigure never saw anything beyond the walls of the clan when he was young, and he never thought about it either.

When he was kicked out after the whole thing with that woman and the other as well, he had no option but to. He had to find a house, find a job, a routine to follow, to live a life as a normal human and not one of the zodiac.

In that, he could not forget to fill his own release. How to pass time when he had the time to distract himself.

First, it was his few flees here and there, Mayu as well. But nothing and no one that made him feel less like the dog of the zodiac, only loyal to one woman in mind. No one was ever serious enough or enough in itself.

The appearance of the kids was a welcomed distraction but not ‘it’ yet, it was another failure. Their fights, their presence made him observing of what the zodiac was, therefore made her existence even worse and far more amplified.

When he met you, nothing changed at all at first. You were and are younger than him, just another woman, meeting him during your first year in uni in a random cafe in the city while he was 25.

It took you a bit of time to actually talk to him, to get the glances and looks to have an effect, to have him take you seriously at all beyond an 18-year-old looking at a slightly older man.

Maybe at that moment you were looking for a distraction from the workload as well, he doesn’t know really the motive behind your pursuing.

But he knew that neither of you were actually taking the situation seriously, it was all out of lust, for him to not think of Akito and the curse, for you to probably not think of family and your own problems.

Things weren't supposed to be taken seriously.

Yet, after three years, here he was, thrusting into you deep and hard, groaning into your mouth as he muffled your moans and made everything echo with the slick on your skin.

Your legs spread apart, feet planted on the futon while his hands pinned yours down. Chest against chest. Forehead against forehead.

You knew his secret.

His attraction grew even more after the discovery, you stayed and listened, you stayed and understood, you stayed and didn’t care.

You stayed.

He knew the difficulty in it though, you were a very affectionate person, for years you wanted to hold him, the man that was making your head go crazy but you couldn’t without ending up with the cute version of his dog.

Because while it was at least something, after years, and a title, it was still frustrating.

As he fucked you thoroughly, he could see the way your legs twitched every time to wrap around him and feel the most. He wanted it too, feel your legs tightly around himself, feel your arms around his back and leaving all the marks you wanted.

As he spilled into you, hands firmly on your waist, digging into your flesh as he pushed as deep as he could, he showed you the same amount of want and need. The marks perpetually being left on your skin, everyday you saw them, every time you remembered that none other would fit them as his hands would.

Panting against your chest, he was feeling your nails brushing through his hair, your lips leaving light pecks on the crown of his head.

It was an experience looking into your eyes every time. He never felt as overwhelmed as in those moments.

So much care and love that he probably shouldn’t deserve for who he truly was. He had told you things but not nearly as everything as he should have.

His head was still split into his zodiac and human, but now there was you, thinking of Akito felt like a betrayal each time, he felt shame that he still couldn’t figure out a way to break this curse and shame of feeling a pull that he would never feel with you. It was something unique with Akito, unfortunately and till then, when she called he would be with her as she wished.

While nothing physical had happened, that was the bare minimum. Just his thoughts were near enough awful for someone in a relationship, he couldn't do anything about the chain that tugged when she wished even in moments like these, where he had the only woman who truly loved him unconditionally with him, making love to her.

Much that he only snapped out of it when he felt you push him off your body. Scrambling around with the sheet covering yourself to find your clothes while he just closed his eyes with a sigh, knowing he had fucked up royally, his hand going to his face, eyes looking down with guilt and then at you, putting on his t-shirt and pants with your shoulders going up and down irregularly.

"I'm sorry." Is all he could say.

"It's not enough." You said with a crack in your voice. "I understand, okay? I do, I did for three years but I can't just ignore it every time. I know she's in your head but where am I? Are you wishing it was her? Are you just doing this out of pettiness? Are you just wasting my time? Am I wasting my time with a man that cannot stop thinking of his ex lover even when we are having sex? Did you cum because of her or me? These are all the questions that come to mind whenver this happens, I'm tired of it, Shigure." Tears were freely rolling down your cheeks, looking at him with sadness and disappointment as he just felt guilt. He couldn't even hug you.

"I know it's not enough but I'm trying. I don't want to think of her, I don't want to, I want to be with you. Why do you think we are where we are now? I want you, but I cannot stop that! I cannot break it." He said through frustration.

"And I get it! But you cannot expect me to not be hurt!" You said back to him.

The room fell in silence. When your breathing regulated, you started to walk off to the door, but he held you back by the wrist. "Where are you going?"

Snatching it back. "I will sleep with Tohru. I cannot be with you tonight."

You closed the door behind you. Shigure just fell back into bed, hunched over as he repressed the need to scream in frustration. He didn't want to admit defeat, unfortunately whenever this happens, he would lose you for three days at least.

He could not do anything, he had not found the way to break the curse yet. He was really trying, for you and for him to live a normal life. He was also sure that it will still take time for it to happen after he discovered a way.

He slept sporadically in the night, waking up every hour and hoping to find you back on the other side of the bed, but it was always empty. In the early morning he woke up and walked down to find the kids all up and about, you were with Tohru by her side wearing his long sleeved shirt and his sweatpants, with your hair wet after what he assumed was a relaxing shower whenever you felt stressed.

Tohru greeted him as gently and kindly as always, Kyo and Yuki doing the same with less enthusiasm, you stayed quiet, he only met your eyes briefly, recognizing the puffiness and the slight redness you tried to cover up, looking away as quickly as possible.

The kids knew to not ask. They ignored whatever had happened every time it happened. Breakfast happened as normally as it would've.

When the kids were gone, so were you, locked up in your shared room with him as you worked from your computer, he knew already he had to stay out of it, he stayed in his study room, writing when he could not do nothing but think to how fix things with you this time.

The first two days went exactly as he predicted, each of you staying in your own spaces, not a word said between you two. He felt anger that you got mad at something he could not control at all and frustration that he could understand it. He saw you each day with the same puffiness around your eyes.

The third was not as he imagined, after the kids went to school, he waited for you to walk up the stairs and disappear till they returned, instead you spoke to him. "We need to talk, Shigure."

Those words didn't inspire faith in him, just fear. Hearing his full name from your lips felt even worse, whatever it was, it was not something he probably wanted to hear.

You two sat in front of each other in his studio, in silence, heart racing in both your chests as you tried to find the right way to put it out. But there wasn't a right way, so you just said it.

"We should break up."

Your words felt like a bucket of ice poured onto him. His eyes widened and he spoke without even thinking. "No."

"I'm not asking, Shigure."

"I said no. I'm not breaking up with you, I don't care whatever you have to say about it, I am not ending my relationship with you." He said, anger visible in his eyes. "We are happy."

"If you think happy means having an argument every two weeks because of another woman, I doubt and am scared of your definition." You said with a chuckle.

"Are you unhappy?" He asked directly.

"I'm not happy entirely." You swallowed. "We have our happy moments, I know, everything apart from this is perfect. But I just can't overlook it every time. It hurts, Shigure, I feel it breaking me all the time physically and emtionally." You said to him. His jaw clenched.

"I'm trying, it's not something I asked for. I want to break it as much as you do and live a fucking normal life."

"And how much time is that going to take? A year? Two years? Five? Ten? Never?! I am 21, I am young and have time to start and build something with someone else, Shigure. I'm not wasting time being your second choice, I will want to get married and have children. What will happen then? Akito will have me end up like Kana and then what, Shigure?"

"You're not a second choice-"

"I am if there is another woman in your heart and mind. Because there shouldn't be. I do not have another man pop up every now and then to which I cannot say no, to which I cannot not accept advances from."

"You know, nothing ever happened. Don't start that shit with me, Y/N. You won't end up like Kana, I won't let Akito get close to you, I made sure of that for three years and Hatori knows he cannot. This conversation is over, I'm not breakiing up with you, forget it." He got up and started to walk away.

"Shigure. Shigure. Shigure!" You yelled following after him up till you were in your shared bedroom. "Stop behaving like this."

"I told you I'm done with the conversation."

"But I'm not. Can you not understand that I'm hurting and we have no way to know if this will end up in tragedy or will work out."

"Do you think I don't want that? I just want to have a fucking life, away from that, now that I'm with you. I did think of it, I want to get married and have a family with you, I just need time to figure this out and break it." Tears rolled down your cheeks at the thought of not having that.

You had fallen in the deep end with him.

"I'm not throwing away the best thing that happened to me." He said sincerely, with fear in his eyes as he looked at you. "I know things are not the best right now, but we endured it and I'm not giving up."

You sniffled, frusteation growing in you as well. "What if I want to get married right away?"

"Then we will get married, tomorrow if you want."

"First you'll have to get permission from the head of the family." You spit back at him.

"I don't care. I've been kicked out, despite being called back from time to time, I call all my choices. I'm marrying you, whether you want it or not, tomorrow or whenever you think it's right." He shrugged. Your jaw clenched.

"What if I was pregnant? What would happen then when you get called back, when she finally wants you openly because she will not want you with another? Where do we end up? Shigure, just understand, for once, things will not change." Your voice had some sincerity, his eyes narrowed at it. Looking at you up and down.

"Are you?" His voice was hoarse, in disbelief.

"I said if I was."

"And I'm asking if you actually are." He just looked at your frown, the veil of tears that was buidling up in your eyes as you shut your mouth in a thin line instead of giving him a proper answer. "You are." He said taking a step towards you, as you took a step back.

"I don't know if I'm keeping it, don't get your hopes up, I'm not raising a child in these conditions." Your words held bitterness. "You didn't even want anything when we started our relationship, you didn't want the committment, I'm sure a child was not in it as well."

"Things changed you know that. For fuck's sake we live together, how do I not want committment? With you? I just told you I'd marry you tomorrow if you want. I'm 28, a child is not going to scare me off and make me break up with you. It's just making me love you more."

Your breathing became visibly irregular from the anger or frustration he didn't know. But you had only given him a reason more to fight for you. "Gure, please." You just cried, breaking. "I am scared." Your head fell down, eyes shutting as you cried.

Despite it, he understood. He understood your fears, he understood that you were scared, you were young, pregnant and in a relationship with a man that it's chained to a woman he grew to despise, and that could not touch fully without becoming a dog.

His gaze softened, walking towards you and leaning his forehead down to the top of your head, the most intimacy he could give you, kissing your head. "I love you. I truly and incredibly am in love with you." His hand slid on top of your flat stomach. Your hand going on top of his. "I'm here with you, just hang with me a little more."

You faced him, lips colliding with yours as you locked in a burning kiss. Your hands quickly pulling down his yukata from his shoulders, pooling on his waist as your nails quickly dug into his skin as always giving him indication of your need for him.

It wasn't long after that you both found yourselves naked on the bed, his cock into you as he dug his fingers into your thighs to keep you down and yours in his shoulders in a position where it didn't trigger it.

His length going in and out of you deeply, whispering sweet things into your ears as you just moaned his name, making something snap in him, something he wasn't quite sure of.

"Mine, mine..." He repeated as changed and pounded from behind you, his hand keeping your head to the side, looking at you fucked out state as he erased any idea of breaking up from your mind.

He felt the pull, growing restless to have his attention, but he just couldn't, he was caught up, he had you, he had you forever, and with you he had a child that was enlarging his own proper family, that tied you in a way that he cannot be tied with anyone else, his dream of a normal life with you and away from everything else.

A tear fell down his cheek as you moaned out his name coming on his cock as he kept going in and out of you sloppily, reaching his own point of release as he came deep in you, spilling his seed in you once again, feeling the knot releasing and something completely breaking in him.

You both panted for air, crying silently and he fell on you, the urge in him to hug you tightly.

So he did, he hugged you.

#fruits basket x reader #shigure sohma x reader #shigure sohma #fruits basket smut #fruits basket angst #shigure sohma smut #shigure sohma angst

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adnauseum11 · 1 month

Text

After Action Review (John Price x Reader)

You and John talk through your argument.

2.1k words

cw: none - light angst and fluff!

Feedback welcome!

This work is part of the S.N.A.F.U. series, the Masterlist is pinned to my blog.

The slow glide of John’s fingertips over your exposed lower back is what ultimately wakes you. Your consciousness is slowly swimming back to the surface when your attention is pulled towards the sensual drag of his skin against yours. It’s almost enough to make you forget the knife’s edge of tension that currently exists between you. You barely manage to restrain yourself from stretching along his side and purring, his fingers conjuring delicious hazy memories.

Instead, your hand lands on his ribs, using him as leverage to shimmy yourself back a few inches and create some distance between your bodies. John lets his arm drop away, offering no resistance.

“What’s happened?”

You immediately ask, invoking the sort of short hand conversations you and John routinely have, bracing yourself on an elbow to groggily look at his face. His eyes are still closed, the sweep of his dark lashes sending shadows over his cheeks in the weak early morning light. Your eyes are slowly drawn to the bandage around his forearm, the white of the gauze a contrast against his skin. The reality of the past few days lands on your shoulders, urging you to wake.

“Going to have to narrow it down for me, love.”

His deep voice is sleep roughened; his tone still vaguely dreamy, not following your meaning.

“Your arm, John.”

John cracks an eye cautiously, finding you perched on your elbow staring at him with concern.

“Just a scratch, it’ll be fine in a few days, darling.”

“And your head? Any better?”

“Still behind my eyes but not as bad.”

You take him at his word, patting his ribs reassuringly as you shift further away from him.

“Alright, I’m going to make tea. I’ll bring you one?”

You’re rolling out of bed before he answers, knowing he won’t turn one down no matter what state he’s in. He hums in agreement but otherwise doesn’t move, tracking you with his heavy-lidded eyes through the room. In fact, he still hasn’t moved when you return, carefully setting the steaming mug down on his bedside table, eyeing his now dozing form. He’s sprawled his long limbs out in the bed, the indent of your body next to him in the sheets still partially visible.

A prone John is a true anomaly, the man almost always on the move in some respect. It speaks to how poorly he’s feeling that he’s still in bed, basically laid out. You wonder if it might be better to leave him alone to recuperate while you blow on your tea, assessing him. He cracks his eyes open again and finds you staring down at him, undecided.

“I’m alright”

He’s insisting, reading your face without you saying a word.

“You’re clearly still feeling rough, John. You should rest today.”

“No, I want to sort this out, I don’t like having you upset with me.”

He’s arguing, looking up at you from the pillows, his eyes looking less bloodshot and more alert. Still, he stays put in bed, watching for your reaction.

“Don’t give me reason to be upset with you then.”

“I’m not going to apologize for wanting you safe.”

And just like that, your heart rate kicks up and you are right back in the thick of it with him like the past few days were a bad dream. A surge of adrenaline makes your fingers automatically clench around your mug.

“John! I’m upset with you making unilateral decisions! How am I supposed to keep myself safe if I don’t have all the information at hand? And just deciding to take off? I’m lucky David made the spare room up for me last minute!”

“I only want to protect you, love, I didn’t think upsetting you with details was the right thing to do with so much going on.”

“Yes! Of course I want details! Jesus John – I don’t know. I don’t know if I can do this.”

That has his attention and he finally pushes himself into a sitting position with a grunt and a badly hidden grimace, pushing his fingers through his sleep rumpled hair slowly. You can feel a ball in the pit of your stomach and shift from foot to foot, feeling unsettled.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean…it was one thing to be your friend when you were off doing this dangerous stuff but now – maybe you’re right. Maybe I’m not cut out for it. I don’t think I managed a full breath until I saw you yesterday, I was so worried. And I deserve to be a partner, not just someone to be managed.”

You have to pause to take a sip of your tea before your shaking hands spill the hot liquid, your emotions hammering through you. John pounces on the interruption, his face is drawn and serious.

“I’m not taking more contracts. This was a one-time thing, darling. The break-in, the mission, it’s over now. I’m done. Properly retired.”

You look at him, unconvinced and he scratches his jaw, his lips pressed together in a thin line before he continues.

“But you’re right. I’m used to making decisions for people and being in control of situations- “

You can’t stop the sarcastic laugh that bubbles out at that understatement. He pauses and then carries on, clearing his throat.

“I’m still adjusting to civilian life, darling. Patience.”

“John, you thinking you’re in charge of everything is nothing new. Get real. I just thought you would consider me before you made a decision like taking off for a mission with a few hours’ notice. I’m not worth the time it takes to have a conversation? You made me feel like an afterthought, what I wanted didn’t even matter to you.”

“Of course it matters to me what you want. Darling, you’re all I think about. When I got home and you weren’t here-”

“Doesn’t feel good, does it? To not be considered? Why should I tell you my plans when you don’t include me in yours?”

You can’t temper the petulant tone that bleeds through your voice even though you hate how it makes you sound like a whiny teenager. John groans, rubbing his palms over his face and the motion reminds you that despite holding his own he’s still not recovered. You sigh and take a step away from the bed, shaking your head in annoyance. You can feel your heart pounding against your breastbone, the effort of trying to make John understand your point of view making your entire body thrum in agitation. If you could pace without spilling your tea, you would.

“Just…get some rest, John. Let’s try to figure this out later- “

This raises his alarm, and he leans forward, his eyebrows raised and face earnest. Suggesting more space to John seems to be akin to suggesting he cut his own hand off and he reacts strongly.

“No! No, you’re right. I should have looped you in on what was happening even if I thought it would upset you. I should have talked to you when I got the call about the mission. I thought I was doing the right thing by shielding you, but waiting for you to get back and not knowing what was going on…I’m not a fan of the shoe being on the other foot. Message received.”

John’s tone is pained, his hand reaching out for yours instinctively. You pause, considering for a moment. The stricken expression on his face is pulling on your heart strings, making your resolve bend. He’s genuinely contrite, your ill-fated last-minute jaunt to your brother’s home seemingly killing two birds with one stone after all. He takes another breath and pushes on, his voice softening and dropping into his lower register.

“I’m sorry darling. I should have been honest with you, and included you in the conversation. I thought I was protecting you. I’d do anything for you, love, you have to know that. It’s always about you. Please. Stay.”

His hand slowly wraps around your free hand, the warmth of his touch radiating up your wrist. You let him; your barely touched tea cradled in your other hand. Your eyes find his and you lock gazes, the hesitancy in you melting slowly under his steady scrutiny. You let him reel you in, setting your mug down on the bedside table before he drags you over his lap and back in to bed. A muffled squeak forces itself out of your lungs as John twists over you, pressing you down into the pile of pillows and curling around you as if he’s afraid you’re going to make a break for it.

“John, you muppet, go easy.”

You’re gripping his bicep, your hair tousled and John’s half lidded eyes on your face. He ignores you and his chest rumbles against you as he speaks, brushing your hair back from your face gently with his fingers.

“I don’t scare easy love, but I nearly lost it when I got home and couldn’t find you.”

John’s words come more easily when he’s got his hands on you. You idly think how you’re the opposite, needing space to corral your thoughts. You can’t summon the heart to separate yourself from him at the moment though and try to stay focused.

“I was hurt John, I just wanted to get out of here as fast as possible. I haven’t been that upset with you in god knows how long. I thought you trusted me.”

“I do darling. I love you. I only ever want what’s best for you. You have to believe that.”

“I really don’t like how you went about it.”

“I know, it was poorly done, love. I’m going to do better if you’ll let me.”

You hum in agreement, finally giving in and stroking your palm over his wiry beard, smoothing the stray hairs back into place. John’s eyes drift closed again at your light touch. It feels fragile, the truce between you, like the slightest jostle will upend it. You need reassurance that he meant what he said earlier.

“No more contracts?”

“None. You’ll tell me when you go somewhere next?”

“Yes, but I think I’d prefer it if you come with me. It was hard being there with David’s family. I mean, they’re lovely and it was good to see them but... they were so happy together and I missed you so much. I was so worried John. I love you too.”

The tears come almost immediately, choking off your throat. John’s palm cradles the back of your head as you tuck your face into his shoulder, wiping your cheeks on his shirt. You force the rest of the thought out, your voice unsteady.

“I hate that we fought before you left, if anything happened to you, I couldn’t live with myself - “

“Shh, it’s alright. That part of my life is over now, love. We don’t need to worry about that, yeah?”

The slow stroke of his thumb over the base of your skull is soothing and you jerkily nod, dislodging the tears on your bottom lashes. John kisses your forehead, his bristly whiskers tickling your delicate skin.

“I’m sorry I derailed Christmas, darling. But I’m glad if you went anywhere, you went to see David. What did he say about you moving in?”

“I didn’t tell him; I didn’t want to get in to it.”

You admit, your voice wobbling slightly, the unspoken ‘on my own’ hanging over the end of your sentence. You busy yourself twisting your fingers in the sleeve of John’s shirt, his big palm stroking your side, following your curves. John waits a beat before he speaks.

“Are we going to be alright, love?”

“I-I think so, you’re going to talk to me, yeah? I want to be involved in decisions.”

John hums in agreement, his palm resting on your hip as he kisses your forehead again. You release his sleeve from your grip and press your palm against his chest, tilting your head back so you can see his face.

“Are you alright?”

“Just stay with me for a little while?”

“Of course.”

You stroke his beard again, leaning in to press a kiss against his lips. One easily turns into two, and your hand retraces its path into his hair. You can feel John droop against you, the tension bleeding out of his body as you massage his scalp again. The two of you share air for a few moments, foreheads pressed together, cocooned in the pillows. You give one last peck to his lips before cradling his head to your chest and stroking his hair slowly. John is seemingly content to let you pet him, nestled against the soft curves of your body. Eventually, you can tell when sleep starts to tug him under again, his breathing slowing and evening out. You stay curled around each other until late in the morning, when your stomach starts to cramp from hunger, forcing you to gingerly extract yourself and scavenge in the kitchen while John dozes on.

Next Chapter

Ao3

Taglist: @deadbranch @beebeechaos @cadotoast @syoddeye @writeforfandoms @itr-00 @chloepluto1306 @batw3nch @magsmagic @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @chickennn-soupp @fruitymoonbeams-blog @redwites @glitterypirateduck @tf141gloryhole

#john price x reader #fanfic #john price #captain john price #john price cod #john price x f!reader #friends to lovers #john price x you #captain price #call of duty #captain john price x reader #captain price x reader #ao3fic #ao3 fanfic

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iwashie · 5 months

Text

HOW THEY REACT TO SOMEONE FLERTING WITH THEM| BLLK (f!reader)

Type 1- HE KNOWS HE’S BEING FLIRTED WITH AND DOESN’T GIVE A DAMN

He knows the person is hitting on him, but he pretends not to know. His ear is already hurting from so much “you’re such a man, full of talents and blah blah”. And when the person approaches him, touching him, he dodges, staring at the person for the first time and they say, “Did you see my girlfriend? She’s the most beautiful woman here.” Cutting through the vibe of the person who was hitting on him, smiling internally when he saw the person’s face of disappointment. “Oh, there she is. The woman of my life.” He points at you on the other side, talking to other people and goes towards you, loudly saying "love!" and kissing you as soon as you hug him.

karasu, rin, sae, aryu, chigiri, lorenzo,

Type 2- KNOWS HE’S BEING FLIRTED WITH AND SHOWS OFF HIS DATING RING

“Do I date?” The person nods in affirmation, and he raises his right hand, showing the ring shining on his finger. “Yes, I date and I love my girl.” He says smile, his eyes shining like the ring and starts talking about you to the person.

isagi, bachira, kurona, nanase, hiori, kunigami, kyiora, aoshi

Type 3- HE SAYS THAT HE IS DATING AND IS RUDE TO THE PERSON

“You don’t see the ring, do you?” He almost rubs his hand in the person’s face. “Didn’t your mother teach you to respect what belongs to others?” The person has already understood that he is committed, but he continues. “My wife is the only woman for me in the world. No one is better than her, and if she didn’t exist, I’d become a monk!” He speaks loudly, staring the person up and down, disgusted, and walks away from the person, looking for you.

michael, barou, reo, sendou, alexis

Type 4- HE KNOWS HE’S BEING FLIRTED WITH AND FLIRTS BACK.

“This one?” He looks at the ring on his finger. “Oh, it’s just my dating ring, nothing to worry about.” He makes the woman laugh, she leans on him more and more, and he just forgets he has a girlfriend. You are not surprised to see such a scene. It is almost a routine, but it still makes you very sad.

oliver, otoya, ryusei

Type 5- DOESN’T KNOW HE’S BEING FLIRTED WITH.

“So... If you want to get out of here, go somewhere more private...” The woman speaks, approaching him and you arrive just in time. “That’s my girlfriend. You should talk to her. She’ll help you better than I can,” He said, pointing at you. After the woman walks away, clearly angry, he hugs you, saying he didn’t understand what had happened. “She was flirting with you, baby.” He pauses for a moment, eyebrows raised, eyes and mouth open, finally understanding what was happening. “You didn’t notice, did you?” You ask and he shakes his head, making you laugh.

nagi, zantetsu, gagamaru, niko

#iwashie work #blue lock #blue lock x reader #bllk imagines #blue lock x you #blue lock headcanons

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ghcstao3 · 6 months

Note

Ghost goes to the bar to drink to Soap's memory where he finds... Soap? Only he is there to drink in the memory of Ghost. Neither of them have any idea of how and why, but they aren't protesting. It's nice to see a familiar face as they mourn together.

cw for unhealthy coping mechanisms

it’s also just kind of. sad 🧍‍♀️my fault for writing memory loss

Ghost knows it isn’t a healthy decision but it’s… about the only way he can stand thinking about it. Thinking about Soap.

Because really, drinking is a barrier. It’s said it removes inhibitions, and sure, that’s true—but it also provides a filter for his grief whether or not he runs his tongue, and that obstacle before a feeling such as mourning is all he needs. It’s all Ghost craves, in a sense.

There’s no world worth existing in peace without Soap.

As per a new and frowned-upon routine by Price, Ghost seeks out a new bar or pub to drown nagging thoughts and lingering memories until it’s time to go home and fail to fall asleep sober yet again. Ghost isn’t proud of himself in the slightest, knows he’s ruining everything Soap had rekindled in him, but it’s too late to care.

He’s alone again. He’s nothing more than the shell of a man again.

But then, maybe three or four drinks in (Ghost doesn’t know, he’s long since stopped counting during his outings), someone slips into the stool beside him and flags down the bartender. This isn’t a major revelation or anything, it’s just… strange. No one has ever dared be in close proximity with Ghost in his time mourning.

Ghost can’t find it in himself to care, though. Not until this new person speaks, and it feels as if the haze of alcohol over Ghost’s mind evaporates in an instant.

He snaps his gaze to the man beside him, wondering if he’d just been imagining things, but no—it’s Soap, somehow. The very man Ghost came here to forget. To remember.

Before Ghost gets the chance to say something, Soap seems to catch his eye and turns to face him. He offers a bright smile, though it’s nothing quite as blinding as it had once been.

Soap’s grown out his beard and his skin’s a little sallow, and not to mention the grisly scar at his temple—but it’s still Soap. Certainly not healthy, but… alive.

“What brings you here, handsome?” Soap is asking, gently nudging Ghost’s shoulder.

Ghost wants to scoff. He wants to both tease and scold Soap for flirting with him just as Ghost is only learning that Soap isn’t dead, but he doesn’t.

Instead, Ghost treads warily. He plays into whatever game this is supposed to be.

“I’m grieving,” Ghost tells him flatly.

“Oh.” Soap’s face falls. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Ghost shrugs, though his heart is in his throat. Is this some kind of a joke?

The bartender delivers Soap’s drink, and Soap doesn’t offer more than a nod of acknowledgement.

“If it makes you feel any better,” Soap says, slowly tracing the rim of his glass, “I’m… also grieving.”

At this, Ghost cocks an eyebrow. Something feels… off, about what Soap is saying, but inebriated, Ghost just can’t quite put a finger on it.

“…well, maybe grieving is the wrong word,” Soap mumbles. “I don’t… I don’t know if he’s dead, but I—I don’t remember him. I don’t remember him, but I know he was important to me, so… it only feels right.”

And isn’t that bitter.

Here Ghost mourns a man he loved, and when he learns said man is still alive—he doesn’t even remember Ghost.

But Ghost has already dug his grave. He’s already miserable. So all he can do is torture himself further.

“Tell me about him,” Ghost suggests. “What you think you know.”

Soap looks at him in a way that hurts, but Ghost listens anyway when he begins talking. When he begins recounting the tiniest details, vague memories that seem too foggy to have been truly lived by himself. Soap orders a second drink at some point, and Ghost his fourth (or fifth).

That’s when Soap suddenly cuts himself off, completely angling himself toward Ghost. Ghost acts like he doesn’t notice Soap almost reaching out to set a hand on his forearm.

“—you know what… you look really familiar.” Soap is frowning, brows furrowed like he’s trying to piece something together. “Have we met before?”

And because Ghost is a cruel man, he just shakes his head. Offers nothing more than a curt, “No, we haven’t.”

Soap sighs, almost disappointed. “Well, in that case—I’m John.”

Ghost peers down at the hand Soap holds out to be shaken, but he can’t budge from his spot to hold it. He’s almost… afraid of the touch, like the contact might reveal to him that Soap isn’t really here at all.

Soap gets the hint eventually, though he isn’t at all deterred. Especially not when Ghost supplies him, “Simon.”

“Simon,” Soap echoes, expression drifting far away for just a moment. Nearly reminiscing. “I like that.”

Ghost huffs, something that could be interpreted as a laugh by a certain someone, once upon a time.

Soap clinks his glass against Ghost’s before downing the rest of his drink. He bumps Ghost with his elbow, teasing.

“To mourning,” Soap explains.

Ghost nods. Hums, “To mourning indeed, Johnny.”

He pretends not to notice the curious look that crosses Soap’s face at the use of the nickname.

Ghost already has more than enough to process first.

#ask #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #soapghost #ghost x soap #ghostsoap #ghoap #writing

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r0ttenhearts · 11 months

Text

My Dove

sypnosis: in which kazuha leaves you after the death of tomo

warnings: angst, no comfort

“hey, wait, kazu! hold it still!” you giggle into the frame as kazuha holds a kamera above the three of you. a smile gracing your features as kazuha’s arm slung around your neck. tomo’s wide smile perfectly captured in that photo.

that was the last time you all took a photo together.

the news of tomo’s passing hit you hard, but not as hard as it hit kazuha. his fleeting touches became much more scattered as he kept to himself. your usual routine of being together came to a screeching halt the day he told you he needed space.

the solem look in his eyes, the way his head tilted downwards, you were weak to him so of course you complied. but what you didn’t know was that he was leaving inazuma. he never told you he was boarding the crux, nor that he was going to liyue.

you only found out when yoimiya brought it up to you one day as you helped her decorate her firecrackers.

“do you know how long until kazuha is back? i helped him load them up but he never said when he’d be back.”

you froze at the mention of kazuha. load? when he’ll be back? your mouth felt dry as you looked up at yoimiya from your painted firework.

“what do you mean, yoi? he left?”

yoimiya’s eyes widened, her hands halting.

“the ship is going to liyue and kazuha was on it with captain beidou. i thought you knew (y/n), isn’t he your best friend? you two used to always be together on the docks.”

you shook your head. your heart clenching. kazuha never told you he was leaving.. why didn’t he? especially after what happened. he said he needed space, not that he was leaving.

your mind flashes back to the private moments you had with him, moments you’d replay in your head that never failed to make your heart race.

his gentle lips on yours, the way his warm hand would gently squeeze yours, his warmth breath on your face as he did your eyeliner for you, his endearing nickname he gave you, “dove.” did this all mean nothing to him?

“he never told me anything.” you whispered as yoimiya rubbed your shoulder. she assured you that he’d be back soon enough! he just needed time to sort out his thoughts like he said! you stayed positive, agreeing with her until weeks turned into months and eventually it had been 3 years since he left.

your positive attitude and cheery demeanor was long gone, replaced by a cold and indifferent girl that now wore your face. mentions of kazuha and the renowned traveler had met your ears as your friends gushed over the traveler one day, failing to notice the way you scoffed at the mention of his name.

kaedehara kazuha. the man that had taken your heart with him on that ship, only to let it disappear into the salty winds of the sea he seemed to adore. he adored more than he did you, anyway.

you pretended not to care for his absence, cursing his very existence every time someone would ask you about him. not a single letter from him, nothing. not a word. if he wanted to forget about you, you declared you’d do the same.

one day after helping yoimiya with her firecrackers for the yokai festival, you noticed she was more chipper than usual.

“what’s with you today?” you asked, your monotone voice flat as ever. yoimiya shook her head, giggling to herself. “oh nothing (y/n)! thanks for the help today. if you could, could you go set up some fireworks by the docks?”

you nodded, scooping up a bundle of the brightly painted fireworks as you made your way down to the docks. you didn’t notice a familiar ship that was docked with a few others.

you sighed, crouching down and setting up some fireworks together. you tied a bundle of them with red string, not hearing hurried footsteps from behind you.

“dove? is that you?”

your eyes widened with shock as you heard him behind you. you slowly stood up from your crouched position, turning to see the face of the man that had broken your heart. a wide smile on his face as he tugged at his sleeve before taking a step towards you. his face falling as he saw you take a step back.

“(y/n)? what’s wrong? i came back to see how you were doing-”

“don’t bullshit me kazuha.” you spat, voice laced with anger as you walked in front of him, pointing a finger to his chest. angry tears bubbled up in the corners of your eyes, your chest feeling nothing but hate.

“if you cared so much, why didn’t you write? not a word from you for these past few years, and you think showing up will make that okay? you didn’t even fucking tell me you were leaving.”

you shoved him hard as he stumbled, his eyes creasing with worry. the sight of that only made you angrier as you lifted your hand, a slap resounding off of the water.

“you’re a cruel man to have broken my heart and shown up here like nothing happened between us. i no longer feel anything for you kazuha. don’t speak to me again.”

kazuha didn’t say a word as you left, watching your back as you slowly disappeared from view. he knew he fucked up, but he didn’t think you’d be so angry. angry enough to strike him.

a few days had passed since your reunion with kazuha. the festival was now in full swing as you stood next to yoimiya in your yukata. she gave you a small smile, telling you she knew what had happened. you frowned, remembering the events that had occurred.

“wait a moment, traveler! paimon keeps taking me to the food stalls.”

your eyes narrowed at the boy with white hair, his smile and laugh as he stood next to the blonde traveler and their floating companion. the sight of it made you sick.

“why do you think he never told me?”

yoimiya looked to you as you asked that, her nose scrunching up in confusion. “what do you mean (y/n)?”

“he just looks so happy with them.” you gestured to the trio that was down the hill from where you both stood. yoimiya shook her head, taking your hands in hers. “don’t think like that (y/n). i’m sure he had his reasons. he cared- cares about you.”

her worried features scanned your face for any sign of any emotion that would tell how you were feeling. your features remained indifferent as she hugged you.

after a month kazuha had boarded the ship once again, his eyes scanning the crowd for any glimpse of you. it was a silly hope to think you’d see him off after the scene that you two shared, but he wanted to fix things. every time he attempted to talk to you, you’d turn and briskly walk in another direction. it hurt. hurt to see his childhood friend act in such a manner towards him. he sighed, his bandaged hand resting on his chest as the boat began to sail away from inazuma.

“i’ll make it up to you one day, my dove. i promise.”

taglist: @samarill

#genshin angst #genshin x reader #genshin x reader angst #kaedehara kazuha x reader #kazuha angst #kazuha #kaedehara kazuha #genshin kaedehara

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gasolinerainbowpuddles · 25 days

Note

ezra + bath oil + titties

You absolute menace ily hahaha. Initially I was just going to do a short lil drabble that was a continuation of our disgusting musings about this man, but then I said why not make this into an entire feature in honor of @swiftiscruff's Friendship Exchange? You know, give our boy Ezra some real time to shine, and all in the name of celebrating friendships formed over that little verbose slut?

So, here is my Ezra oil shower titty fic dedicated to the lovely Kelli in celebration of the Friendship Exchange.

𝗔𝘄𝗮𝘀𝗵 𝗶𝗻 𝗬𝗼𝘂

PAIRING(s): Ezra x fem!reader RATING: explicit material | 18+ WORD COUNT: 3k CONTENT: AU where Cee doesn't exist sorry lmao, established relationship, titty fixation, edible/food safe bathing oils, Ezra comes with his own warning, egalitarian assplay, cumplay, fabric washcloth used as gripping agent

Your nose for the most part had become blind to Ezra’s signature, tangy musk that edged into a ripe stench on hotter days. Even though you’d settled into the outskirts of a modest trading town and begun taking on the doldrums of keeping house, Ezra hadn’t fallen from his habit of going a little too long in between bath days. In times past he would go unshowered due to lack of amenities – the worlds you’d traveled and harvested from had hardly offered much in the way of hygienic routine – but now there was no such obstacle. He could bathe any time he wished and take as long as he pleased. You had your own home together now, one you were building upon each and every day, but the transient, unpredictable life that had become so ingrained into him was hard to shake. The notion of permanence was fleeting no matter how many days passed under your roof.

You, on the other hand, had become part fish since putting down roots here. There was a bathtub and a separate shower, and you craved the warm pool of water to soak in after a long day. Ezra liked to give you grief for wasting such a precious resource as water even though this planet was abundant in it. And yet, his admonishing never kept him from slipping into the wash room to ogle your bare form in the bath. You just wish every now and then he’d partake himself.

“The suns in all their unwavering glory has me feeling wrung of every bit of moisture,” he huffs as he fills a glass with something to wet his tongue and flood his scratchy, dry throat. “It’s good fortune that we needn’t adorn ourselves in protective suits here. I can only imagine the sort of foul fog that would cling to me then.”

You’re well aware of the second sun’s habit of becoming unbearable in these few weeks that your now home planet rotates closer to it. Your skin is sticky and wet with exertion, but at least all the growth pods you and Ezra have worked so tirelessly to establish are flourishing. They needed as much extra attention as any human on this planet did during these hotter spells. Soon enough you will forget all about the vehement heat when you and Ezra take your yields to the market during The Great Exchange and come home with lighter wagons and heavier pockets.

You accept the glass from Ezra and drink down whatever he’d poured. The cool creep of it down your throat already feels one step closer to equilibrium. “I guess we should wash up before we get the entire house dirty,” you reason.

“Hm, I suppose we should.”

You trod upstairs to the bathroom and bite back a scream when you see Ezra procure one entirely too small washcloth from the cabinet.

“You’re only washing at the sink?” you ask in what you pray isn’t a too panicked timbre.

“You don’t think the sink is robust enough to address my filth?”

You scrunch your nose, and that’s all the answer he needs. He chuckles a little and sets the singular washcloth aside. It already has smudges of who knows what just from him handling it.

“Tell me what you propose, my Little Gem.” He has an easy smile and those dangerous, glittery eyes fixed onto you.

“I mean, if you’re too tired I could, you know, I wouldn’t mind getting you washed up.” You shrug as though it’s enough to offset your way too eager proposition.

“You believe my own efforts are inferior?” he teases. “My Little Gem needs to take matters into her own hands and not rely on the fates?”

“Well, you’re always talking about wasting water. Wouldn’t it be saving water if we showered together?”

He cocks an eyebrow. “You would forgo your hallowed soak just to bathe with me, Little Gem?”

“I’m way too gross to just get into a bath. It’d just be sitting in a pool of my own funk. This level of gross calls for a full on shower, I think.”

“And you’ll tend to me in there?” he purrs as he steps closer to you and curves his hands over your hips. The pungent tang of his body makes your nose scrunch again.

“Much to tend to, it seems,” he remarks in response to your overt repulsion.

You need to take Ezra up on his noncommittal commitment of getting into the shower with you before he changes his mind. You quickly concoct a plan to hold his attention and agreeability in the small shower. You grab the soaking oil you drizzle into your baths on especially achy days and prop it on the shower ledge. You start peeling off grimy, damp layers of clothing and nod to Ezra, who begins doing the same.

You cross the room to where you stow your accessories and extras and grab a few items to pin your hair back. The last thing you need is something getting in the way of you giving him a thorough scrub down. Ezra saunters after you like a cat on the prowl, eyes roaming greedily up and down. Before he can derail the entire enterprise, you slink into the shower and start the water.

The initially cool spray is a contrary sensation to the heat emanating from your skin, but it quickly warms to a soothing slip. The stall darkens as he steps inside, broad shoulders blocking out the light struggling to filter in through the expanse of him. His frame was a thickened amalgamation of corded musculature padded in the softened flesh of a satiating supper every evening. The work here kept him lean for the most part, but you much preferred this iteration of him – all brawn and lithe but with the markers of an untroubled life.

“It seems all displeasure with my hygiene is forgotten once I’m naked as the day I was born,” he murmurs low and self-satisfied.

You roll your eyes but know he’s correct. A lover as competent and enthusiastic as Ezra meant overlooking other personal drawbacks wasn’t too difficult. “I’m sizing up my work,” you protest.

“And what do you make of its sizing?” he purrs with a gentle roll of his hips against you.

You knew this was where things would go almost immediately, and yet you still had the nerve to be caught off guard. “Ezra,” you grit out. You guide him under the stream and tell him to stay put while you grab the stack of washcloths you’ll need.

Upon your return you note the ashen brown water falling from him and circling the drain. “I must admit–” he says through the water rushing over him. Your eyes catch the flex of his biceps as he raises his arms up to work the water through his hair and scalp. “–There is something quite divine about the ritual. All sins washed away. A clean slate. A pure soul ready to be defiled once again. Isn’t that right, Little Gem?”

“What?” you mumble absentmindedly, too preoccupied on ogling the trail of water snaking down his torso and into the thicket of brown coarse hairs below his waist.

He only grins with a devious slant to his mouth and pulls you under the spray with him. His hands wander across your body in a lazy exploration. The only thing keeping you from abandoning your task altogether and just letting him take you right there in the shower is the persistent odor still clinging to him, now taking on a damp quality that only heightens the earthy grub and grit components within.

“Take a seat on the ledge, Ezra.”

He gropes the curve of your ass and presses a few kisses to the column of your neck before complying. “I’m at your disposal.” He spreads his arms open, inviting the work and focus of your hands on him.

You avoid looking at his half hard cock bobbing gently with every movement and soap up the first cloth. You try to avoid the snare of his gaze as you begin scrubbing his face, but he catches you with it as you lather through his beard. The corner of his mouth pulls up, an instant reassurance that he knows exactly the effect he has on you.

His face is a brighter, pinker vision once you rinse it, and it solidifies your resolve to scrub every inch of this man while he’s indulging your whim. His hands roam up and down your legs as you scratch and scour his hair. The fragrance of the soap combined with the purged dirt fills the space. You move to your hands and knees and start scrubbing from toe to knee then thigh to groin. He surprisingly doesn’t make too much of a fuss, which is good considering it takes three separate washcloths to get that section entirely cleaned.

“Surely I’ve indulged your caretaking long enough to have earned a different kind of corporeal attention?” He leans forward and noses at your neck and earlobe, and your body shivers despite the warm rush of water trailing down your back.

“Grab that bottle to your left,” you order as you start scrubbing down his torso. Your breath catches when your wrist bumps into his fully hardened, weeping cock, and you catch the curve of a smirk playing on his mouth. He holds up the unlabeled bottle and gives it a questioning shake.

“An aphrodisiac?” His eyebrow cocks in devilish curiosity.

“Bath oil,” you snort. “You can, um, put some on me while I’m working on you. You know, just so it has time to soak in before I wash up, too. If you don’t mind.”

His eyes narrow and pull the edge of his mouth upward. He sees right through you, just like he always does. “Here I was thinking my purest Little Gem wouldn’t resort to such lowly deceit and bribery.” He pops the cap of the bath oil open and drizzles a moderate amount into his hand before setting the bottle aside again. He’s clearly amused with the ruse you’ve concocted, but unfettered exploration of your body is apparently a bribe he’s willing to accept.

“Resume your venture to free me from all the remnants of my labors,” he obliges.

“You know, you could just say ‘keep scrubbing me because I know I still smell’, Ez.”

He grins and raises his hands until they hover above your chest, little trickling lines of oil falling onto the slope of your breasts and dripping down slowly. You push your tongue against the back of your teeth to keep yourself grounded. If Ezra decided to start toying with you, you didn’t stand a chance at resisting his efforts.

You slather his arms from wrist to shoulder and work your way to his torso. Meanwhile he grazes a slick finger against your nipples in a ghost of a touch that has you subconsciously chasing his hand. You finish underneath each of his armpits, and, just when he’s behaved himself long enough to catch you off guard, he flicks one of your nipples hard with the edge of a fingernail. A shaky gasp of sharp pleasure flies from your throat quickly followed by a second one when he does it to the other side.

“See to my hindparts, won’t you?” he solicits with a deceptively innocent expression.

You clench your teeth together and take a step forward so you can reach over his shoulders and wash his back. He dips his head and takes as much of your breast into his mouth as he can and suctions with as much strength as he can exert. You yelp and attempt to release the clutch of his mouth from your sensitive bud, but he only sucks harder with a satisfied groan. His arms circle around each of your legs and cause you to lose your footing, which he uses as a distraction to switch sides.

Little pinpricks of purple have cropped up in a bloom of red from where he already sucked, and the force of his pull now promises no different for the other side. He loved to do this to you – get you off kilter, overstimulated, and seeking out more, often all at once. Your breaths come out whiny as he latches and pulls on your nipples and tissue.

“Ez,” you gasp. “I’m–I have to–to finish.”

He grips the flesh of your ass and pulls one cheek aside so that he can deftly push a thick fingertip into your puckering rim. It glides in with no resistance, and you almost think the oil wasn’t even necessary with how much you ached for him to fill you there. He pulls away just enough to disorient you with his intoxicating diction.

“Perhaps before our wash is complete, you’ll be beseeching me just to feel the breadth of me cleaving you apart,” he husks. “Nearly weeping for me to bury my cock in this hole just as you did only two nights ago.”

“It feels good,” you mewl weakly.

He hums low and gravelly in agreement as he resumes his ministrations on your breasts. The tip of his finger plunges shallow, a slow in and out, and you know it’s just to tease you for what you won’t get until you are begging him for it. You think that he must revel in the sway he has over you when he so fervently succumbs to you. There’s something so raw and vulnerable in the way he cannot deny his devotion and attachment to you, and so he must have some part of you in the same way as to not feel entirely powerless.

You’re panting despite exerting very little energy at the moment. “I-I really need to finish washing you u—”

He pops off with a loud smack and abruptly stands. He crowds you against the corner and props a foot up on the ledge, caging you in with his cock right at your eye level. Your hands rush with a washcloth and soap, now more greedy to feel him than cleanse him. You lather his entire groin area and resist the urge to lick up the beads of precum dribbling from his ruddy tip. Your eyes keep traveling up to meet his where he watches down on you with an almost omnipotent, divine consideration.

The last washcloth falls to the shower floor, and Ezra slowly walks backward into the water to rinse himself. It’s probably just a trick of the mind, but you swear he appears less hazy than usual with all the grime cleared from him. Your mouth is slack as you watch from your hands and knees on the shower floor, impossibly cramped into the corner of the small space. He smiles down at you. You know how much he loves seeing you on your knees in front of him.

Without a word, he moves the shower head to the side so that it pelts against the tile instead of spraying down on you both before turning around and hitching his other leg up on the ledge. He braces himself on the wall and the wobbly metal and glass door on the other side.

“Reap the benefits of your work, Little Gem,” he says over his shoulder.

You frantically douse your hand with a generous dab of the bath oil and walk on your knees until your mouth is flush against the cleft of his ass. A strangled whimper ekes out of him as you reach a hand between his legs and stroke his neglected cock with the slippery pull of the oil. You entrench your face into him until your flicking tongue delves into his asshole. You massage and prod into it, eyes rolling back when you feel how it clenches in delight at your motions.

Ezra turns again to face you now with what can only be described as a wild, hungry look in his eye. He takes the neatly stacked pile of used washcloths and tosses them onto the floor. You have no time to question his motives because he’s grabbing the bottle of oil and squeezing globs of it onto your breasts, barely returning the bottle to its place on the shelf before he’s massaging them and awkwardly shoving his cock between them and rutting against their pillowy, fleshy tightness.

“Shit,” he hisses. “That ass. That asshole of yours. These tits.” He sounds pained just trying to speak. His face screws up as he fucks between them, moaning appreciatively when you use your hands to press them closer together for him to fuck.

“You like my tits?” you ask a little breathlessly.

He makes a noise of great effort, eyes pinching shut at your goading question. He frees his cock and takes the flat of his hand to slap against your peaked buds. You cry out in pleasure at the sharp, blissful sting. “Bet I could make you come for me just like this. Couldn’t I, Little Gem?” he grits.

“Y-Yes,” you moan.

He makes some unhinged noise and slaps against your breasts in quick succession, barking out an order for you to touch yourself, and teeth glinting in the light with a manic grin as you climax. He starts fisting his length over your face, breaths coming fast and heavy.

“Open wide now,” he pants as he tugs his cock faster. The tip of it knocks against your lip, and you open wider with your tongue jutting flat and spread out for him to cover.

“Just like that Little Gem,” he rasps. “Hold it open and drink me.”

A few short strokes is all it takes before he’s moaning and erupting all over your face and mouth, the hot, thick bands of his spend sticking to your skin wherever they land. He doesn’t stop jerking himself until every last drop is spent. When he’s finally done, he smears his softening cock against your face, collecting his cum in sloppy swipes.

“Now look who is soiled, Little Gem,” he hums. “Clean up the mess you’ve made.” He watches you with half-lidded eyes and a heaving chest. “Wouldn’t want to leave things filthy, would you?”

You oblige and take him into your mouth, sucking and licking until every trace of his spend has been swallowed.

#PPCUGiftExchange2024 #ezra prospect #ezra x reader #pedro pascal characters

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