#absolutely love thunder storms | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

starfinss · 4 months

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ʙʀᴇᴀᴋɪɴɢ ᴘᴏɪɴᴛ — ʀᴏʀᴏɴᴏᴀ ᴢᴏʀᴏ

𝘍𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘮: One Piece

𝘗𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨: Roronoa Zoro + Reader

𝘙𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨: NSFW

𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘊𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 7,375

𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: He’d gotten jealous when some random idiot hit on you, and you realized you didn’t mind that jealousy. The frenzied make out session in that tiny closet was just the result of that realization.

You hadn’t spoken a word about the situation since that day. That was two weeks ago.

And then it happened again.

Storms were the worst.

You used to love them, before you became a pirate. You found contentment in listening to them; the musical sound of rain against the window, thunder growling overhead, lulling you to sleep. Peaceful. That’s what you thought of them. There was a certain kind of incomparable coziness that came with laying tucked into bed while a storm raged outside. You were inside, warm and dry, in your own little bubble of warmth.

But that was then, and this was now.

You knew you were in trouble when the sky had been blood red that morning, indicating the coming storm. It was just like the old mariner’s rhyme said, though thanks to Nami, you now knew the science behind it. Something about how the red color came from high water content in the atmosphere. You couldn’t remember the exact words she’d said.

Science or no, storms spelled trouble for sailors of any kind, even the kind that engaged in certain illegal activities such as piracy. Life was easy when the water was calm and the weather cooperated. Storms were a complication, and this one was no exception.

The low visibility, torrential rain, and rough water forced the Merry to dock at a tiny island town you didn’t even catch the name of, with you and the other Straw Hats left to find a motel or some other form of lodgings, since the rocking of the ship was making it hard to even stand up straight, let alone fall asleep.

And that led you to now. Drenched and miserable, and standing in the shabby lobby of the town’s motel.

“A room for six, please.”

The clerk looked at your captain for a moment before speaking.

“For six, sir?”

Luffy whirled around, counting the group out on his fingers before facing the clerk again.

“Yep,” he said, and even unable to see his face, you knew he was grinning. “Six. One bed should do.”

Nami looked at Luffy in askance, clearing her throat.

“Sorry about him, he’s an idiot,” she said, “how about six individual rooms?”

“A waste of Berry,” Luffy countered, waving off the navigator, “just give us the biggest bed you have.”

Nami sighed, running her hand through her hair, which was plastered to her forehead with rainwater. Your own was no different.

“Luffy, there’s absolutely no way we can all fit in one bed,” Nami said, then turned to the clerk, “we’ll take six rooms, if you have them available.”

The clerk nodded, clearly pleased with Nami’s much more reasonable request, turning his back to the group to check a clipboard.

“We have five available, miss,” he said, “four with singles, one with a double.”

A hush fell over the crew as you took in the information. You chewed your lip. This was fine. You could just share with Nami. You were both women, so it made sense that way. Plus, you knew she didn’t snore, so you’d get a comfortable night’s sleep. You were just about to say something about this when Luffy beat you to it.

“Who wants to share with me?”

Nami didn’t even look at him. “Not happening.”

Luffy wilted. “Why not?”

“What do you mean ‘why not?’”

Luffy looked offended. “I’m great at sharing beds!”

You figured this was as good a time as any to bring your idea up. “Nami—”

“I’m not having this conversation,” Nami said, more to Luffy than you, “you guys figure it out. I need a shower.”

“Wait, Nami,” you tried again, but she was already turning away, disappearing down the hall after collecting a key from the clerk, leaving you dumbstruck.

Usopp gave you a look of sympathy. You appreciated that, even if it didn’t fix anything.

“Let her go,” he said, “she’s the one who navigated us through the storm to this island. She deserves her own bed.”

He was right, but that didn’t remove you from the awkward spot you were in. Your wet clothing was starting to get cold, and you were beginning to shiver, so it was suddenly less important who you may end up sharing with.

“I’m still okay with sharing,” Luffy said, oblivious to any awkwardness, “anyone?”

You chewed your lip. You didn’t want to share with Luffy, and no offense to Usopp, but you weren’t all that keen about sharing with him either. He was your friend and you cared for him, but being that close in proximity with him would just be awkward. Sanji was similar in that regard.

And that left Zoro.

Zoro was different.

You weren’t entirely sure how to define your relationship with the swordsman. It didn’t start off as smooth sailing, for lack of better terms. From the moment you met, you were constantly bickering. He was just as hard headed as you were, resulting in anything from petty spats to full blown arguments. The unstoppable force meets the immovable object, though it was hard to tell just who was what in that regard.

Then the ‘incident’ happened, and things got even more complicated.

You shook yourself from your thoughts. You were too tired to deal with stupid feelings and the way Zoro’s eyes were boring into the back of your head. He had to be thinking exactly the same thing as you, and the thought of that simultaneously pissed you off and made your stomach twist in confusing knots.

“I’ll take one for the team,” you said, breaking yourself from your thoughts, “one of you shares with me. It’s up to you which one it is. I’m going to take a shower.”

Without another word, you grabbed the key to the room with the double from the clerk, stalking off down the hall.

You jammed the key into the keyhole, stepping inside the room after you reached the door. It was a small room, a little shabby, but clean enough. The bed was on the left wall, centered beneath a painting of either a whale or some kind of indistinct mythical creature, you were unable to tell. The wooden floor was covered with a well worn striped carpet. The far wall was mostly taken up by a lumpy-looking red sofa, as well as two windows, both rather small and covered by threadbare curtains the color of watered down mud. Everything in the room had a sort of well-used air to it. As you entered, you got rid of your boots, leaving them by the door to dry out.

All you’d brought along was yourself and a small rucksack with a nightdress you’d grabbed from your things, as well as a fresh change of clothing for the morning. You were starting to smell like fish and brine, so you made your way to the incredibly cramped bathroom connected to the room, quickly peeling off your clothes.

Your skin was cold as you turned on the water in the standing shower, and you shuddered as you stepped under it. Thank God for the hot water. You half-expected it to be cold, which wasn’t uncommon in backwater motels like this one.

There was a half-full bottle of shampoo, seemingly left over from the last guest, and you hesitated to use it, but you also didn’t want to go to bed smelling like the worst parts of the ocean, so you squeezed some into your palm, lathering it into your hair.

You knew what you were doing. You knew exactly who would follow you into this room. You groaned inwardly, your forehead thudding against the tile wall of the shower. You blamed that stupid jammed door for all of this. You blamed the idiot at the bar who hit on you, and the alcohol, and everything that led up to you being trapped in a closet with Zoro while bounty hunters trashed the building looking for your crew.

Because that stupid series of events were what made you realize you had feelings for Zoro. And now things were weird.

Silence filled by bickering was left empty and awkward, and the way Zoro kept looking at you when he thought you couldn't see didn’t help at all. Neither did the way his hands would linger on your waist if he passed you, just a brush of his fingers, sending electric shocks up your spine. And neither did the way he’d rest a palm on your thigh when you sat beside him at the dinner table. Nami was the first to notice the shift, though it was Sanji who deduced that something had happened between the two of you when you were shut in that closet, not that you’d ever tell him what it was, despite all his prying.

And something had.

You remembered the buzz of alcohol fading as you bickered aimlessly, pressed closer than comfortable as Zoro struggled with the door. You remembered the way you snapped, something about how confusing he was being, and then he was gathering you into his arms, crushing his lips against yours, and how he’d crowded you against the wall behind you soon after. You remembered how his hands felt, drifting down your body to grab at your hips, how his tongue tasted like the whiskey he’d been drinking before, and how just his touch alone made you feel like you were losing your mind.

He’d gotten jealous when some random idiot hit on you, and you realized you didn’t mind that jealousy. The frenzied make out session in that tiny closet was just the result of that realization.

You hadn’t spoken a word about the situation since that day. That was two weeks ago.

And then it happened again.

That was one week ago. You’d been in the kitchen, fixing yourself a sandwich late at night when Zoro appeared with the same idea. It started with you trying to bring up the closet incident, and ended with you caged against the countertop by Zoro’s arms, his mouth hot against yours, your fingers in his hair.

And that wasn’t spoken of, either.

You wanted to talk to him about it. And it wasn’t for lack of trying. You’d tried to approach Zoro about it, only to either chicken out, or end up with even more questions. It was incredibly strange, not only because it was out of character for Zoro to beat around the bush, but also because he seemed just as awkward as you were about it all.

Maybe this would force his hand, you supposed. Or maybe he’d ignore you, though that was unlikely for obvious reasons, and you’d end up spending the night in the same bed as Luffy or something.

Through the thrum of the running water, you heard the door to the main room open, then close again. You couldn’t hear anything else, however, and whoever had just entered didn’t bother to announce their presence, but you were already pretty sure you knew who it was. You took a breath before turning off the shower, wringing out your hair before stepping out.

You toweled yourself dry before finger combing your hair, making sure to get rid of any knots before putting on your underwear and pulling your nightgown on over your head.

You opened the bathroom door, pausing briefly when you saw Zoro sitting on the bed, busy unlacing his boots. He turned to look at you when you entered, clearly intending to only spare a glance, but his gaze lingered, doing a full sweep of your body. You suddenly felt self-conscious, tugging the bottom of your nightgown down further.

You shook it off. This was fine. You had him alone now. He had no way of escaping the discussion that needed to happen.

With a breath, you circled the bed, sitting down with your back to him.

“We need to talk,” you said, “no more avoiding it.”

Zoro said nothing. You heard a soft thud as he tossed his boots away, followed by the rustle of fabric.

“Zoro,” you said, “I’m serious.”

“Can we do this another time?” He said, finally, and you sighed, annoyed.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t feel like it right now.”

You turned around to face him finally. He was standing now, and wearing less clothing than when he’d first entered the room. His shirt was gone, as was the haramaki he usually wore. The latter was laid out on the nightstand alongside his swords, the former clutched in one of his hands. You didn’t blame him for taking it off, it was surely soaked with rainwater, but him being shirtless really wasn’t helpful at the moment. Infuriatingly, you felt heat rising to your cheeks.

“I don’t care,” you said, “you haven't ‘felt like it’ in two fucking weeks. We made out, Zoro. Twice. Plus… everything else. That happened. We can’t pretend it didn’t.”

“We did,” Zoro said, crossing to the bathroom. He left the door open as he wrung his shirt out into the sink, turning to look at you over his shoulder.

“There,” he said, “we talked about it. Are we done?”

You rose to your feet, arms crossed. “No. I need to know why. I need to know what that meant.”

Zoro turned to face you, leaning back against the sink basin. “What do you think it means?”

You tossed your hands up in frustration. “I don’t know. You kissed me. Both times.”

He shrugged, infuriatingly nonchalant, his face as impassive as always, though something about him was unmistakably smug. “I did.”

Zoro folded the shirt over the edge of the sink, moving to lean in the doorway. You cleared your throat, taking a step forward as well.

“Is that a problem?” He continued, eyes lifting at the corners in taunting mirth, “it didn’t seem like it at the time.”

“If it’s this easy to acknowledge it, why didn’t you talk about it at all? You got jealous, Zoro.”

Another shrug. Then a scoff, a near laugh, as he pushed off the doorframe to cross over to you.

“I did,” he said, “I didn’t like the way he was looking at you. Don’t tell me you’d rather have been in that closet with that stupid drunk rather than me. Or that you’d rather be with someone else in that kitchen. Or, y’know. Everything else.”

You wrinkled your nose. “Of course not. Why would you even think that?”

A flash of mischief appeared in his dark eyes. “So you liked kissing me?”

You avoided his gaze, displeased with the way he’d taken control of the situation. “That isn’t the point. The point is—”

But you didn’t get to finish. Because before you could even finish being annoyed with him, Zoro was grabbing you by the shoulders, pressing his mouth to yours. It was a chaste, quick kiss, but it still left you speechless and reeling.

“And what about that one?”

You blinked, your thoughts a jumble of nonsense. “Still not the point,” you managed, “I’m trying to have a serious conversation with you, Zoro, this isn’t—”

Another kiss, deeper this time. You gasped in surprise, fighting back the urge to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. Stupid, infuriating man, doing stupid, confusing things to you. You pressed your hand against his chest, pushing him gently, just to get a word in before he pulled you back in.

“Zoro,” you said, “what do you want?”

“You,” he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Fuck it. Fuck this, fuck him. This stupid moss-headed moron was messing with you, he had to be, and you could tell from the way he was smiling at you, crooked and devious, like the cat that got the cream. He liked seeing your confusion and uncertainty. He’d just been waiting for this, for you to snap. You stared at him furiously and wild-eyed before it was your turn to pull him in, your mouth colliding with his.

Zoro’s hands rose to cup your cheeks, then shifted down to land on your waist, and you were moving, back colliding with the wall beside the bed. He tasted like whiskey again, which was puzzling since he hadn’t had any to drink that you knew of, though, knowing him, he probably had a flask stowed somewhere.

It was almost a relief to kiss him, like a salve being applied to a burn, and you had to stop yourself from crying out as his hands drifted down to your hips, squeezing, his knee pressing at the close of your thighs. Zoro had been like a cat before, playing with his prey. Now he was going in for the kill.

But two could play at that game.

You slid your hands down from where they’d been folded behind his neck, flattening against his strong chest. Your fingers trailed down the defined muscle, pressing into the dips and curves of his abdominals, finally catching on the waistband of his trousers. Your thumb dipped into the ridge of muscle at his waist, nail scraping gently against the warm skin, and you felt him shudder, breath catching.

His hand caught your wrist, with no particular strength, but enough to warn you of what you were getting yourself into. You responded by taking his lower lip between your teeth, tugging gently before linking your mouths together again. You knew what your were doing, and you knew what would happen if you riled him up more.

That did it. Zoro sighed against your mouth, a slow release of breath that seemed to display his rapidly fraying restraint, especially as you twisted your wrist free of his grip, fingers trailing up his sides, making him shiver. His grip on your hips tightened, the fabric of your nightgown bunching between his fingers, causing the garment to ride up, but you hardly cared, not when his knee was slotting itself between your thighs, pressing flush against your clothed cunt.

The slow, easy grind made you gasp into Zoro’s mouth, hips twitching, but he was holding you down, firm against the wall, still an utterly infuriating tease, even now. You retaliated by palming him through his trousers, slow and deliberate, and he broke the kiss to look at you, breath heavy, gaze heated.

“You sure you wanna do that?” He warned, “you’re playing with fire.”

“Maybe I like getting burned,” you shot back, defiant.

Amusement danced in his dark eyes, his lip catching between his teeth as he fought a smile, and it was then that you noticed his face was flecked with countless freckles, a constellation across his cheeks. Absently, you wanted to kiss each and every one of them.

But the thought was ejected from your mind as he was kissing you again, tongue pressing into your mouth, and your fingers found his hair as he pulled your leg up to rest against his hip. Then his hand was between your thighs, broad palm against your clothed center, fingers pressing against the rapidly dampening fabric, dragging so slowly that it made you crazy, but his opposite hand was still holding you in place, unwavering, even as you squirmed in his hold.

Zoro’s fingers slid to your clit, pressing through the fabric of your panties, making you gasp into his mouth, the sound devolving into a low moan as he pressed again, rubbing in slow, lazy circles. He kissed you deeper, slower still, making you arch into him as his hand tightened its grip on your hip, pushing the fabric of your nightgown up higher, then sliding beneath to touch your bare skin.

Fuck, the feel of his palm, rough and worn and calloused, against your flesh, it felt like perfection, and your body twisted as his fingers pressed against the bend of your waist, his touch like a simmering heat.

“Touch me,” you blurted, muffled by his mouth, and he pulled back to look at you, amused.

“Aren’t I already doing that, doll?”

Your defiance was draining away more and more as the seconds ticked by, especially at the sound of his voice. It was a low, rough sound, husky and heated, and it made suffocating arousal shoot down your spine. It was almost embarrassing just how quickly he’d gotten you like this, only with his hands and stupid, smart mouth.

“You know what I mean, jerk,” you shot back, but he simply chuckled, fingers sliding away from your clit to press at your entrance, pushing the fabric of your panties against your heated skin.

You squirmed, but he held you still, his grip like iron on your body. You felt his breath against your skin, making you shudder, one hand gripping at his wrist, the one between your legs. His mouth brushed against the curve of your shoulder, dragging up the column of your throat, teeth grazing the spot just beneath your jaw, and you almost felt lightheaded.

His fingers pressed against your panties again, aided well by the wetness that was soaking through the fabric, causing your body to jolt in his hold, back arching against the wall when his index finger circled your clit again.

“Zoro,” you gasped, fighting for control, “please.”

“Please?” He rumbled, “‘please’ what?”

Your head fell back against the wall, eyes squeezing closed as he pressed down against your clit. Fuck, how were you already so wet? His mouth skated down your throat to your collarbone, teeth grazing your skin before you felt his tongue dart out, dipping lower, towards the top of your already low-cut nightgown.

“Just take them off,” you blurted, head swimming, “do it properly.”

Instead of doing what you said, he simply pushed the fabric aside, but before you could counter, his fingers were dragging along your cunt, teasing, and you let out a low whine. His mouth attached itself to your throat, teeth sinking into the tender flesh and making you cry out. His tongue smoothed over the spot he’d bitten before repeating the action.

Slowly, his fingers sank inside of you, and your hands were grasping at his hair, making him groan against your skin, a sound that only riled you up further. He moved away from your throat to rest his forehead against yours, and when your eyes fluttered closed, he crooked his fingers inside of you, forcing a cry from your throat.

“Eyes on me,” he whispered, “don’t look away.”

A flush of arousal flooded your system at the request, and you realized how much of a struggle fulfilling it was as he began to move. His fingers were able to reach much deeper than your own were, not to mention that they were thicker. The slow, almost tortuous pace he’d adopted made the friction of his rough palm against your clit even sweeter.

Gasping, breathless, your hands curled around his forearms as you clambered for any kind of purchase, anything to keep you anchored. Your eyes were still locked with his, leaving you unable to hide the flush on your cheeks, the desperation in your gaze.

His eyes were growing wild. Famished and dark as midnight, his gaze slid down your body to what he was doing between your legs, and you watched in rapture as his lips parted, drawing a shuddering, stricken breath at the sight. You squeezed his arm, forcing him to look up at you.

“Don’t break your own rule,” you said, voice heated, and amusement flashed on his face.

“Minx,” he countered, palm grinding against your clit, and you let out a startled moan.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he rasped, “that’s what I wanna hear.”

You groaned, both in pleasure and in frustration. “Then go faster.”

He chuckled, full lips pulling into a roguish half smile.

“Oh no,” he said, fingers curling inside of you, making your back arch, “I intend on taking my time with you. You have no idea what you do to me, do you? What you make me feel? I wanna savor this.”

His thumb moved to your clit, rubbing in slow circles, and you bit your lip to muffle your gasp of pleasure. This was embarrassing. You were so defiant before, but some pretty words and his stupid, pretty hands were enough to make all of that crumble.

But that didn’t mean you couldn’t bite back.

One of your hands slid down his chest again, fumbling with his belt before tugging it off. He was already hard, something evident through the fabric of his slacks, and when you pressed your palm against him, you got the pleasure of hearing him gasp.

You tugged at his button for a moment before it came unsnapped, then pulled down his zipper before reaching down past the fabric, palming him through his underwear. He shuddered under your touch, a muscle in his jaw tensing as you explored, breath coming out in a sharp burst when your thumb ran over his clothed tip. His eyes briefly flicked away from yours as you focused on that spot, rubbing in circles, making him grunt, and when you pressed down, ever so gently, he groaned.

“You’re making it hard to focus,” he said, and the way he was looking at you was almost predatory.

You looked at him through your lashes, causing his breath to hitch. “Good.”

Finally, you pushed his underwear down, tugging him free and catching him in your hand.

Fuck.

He was thick. Your fingers only barely met as you wrapped your hand around him, and his length was worth mentioning as well. Six and a half inches, you’d guess, maybe even seven. It was oddly pretty, too, with a pink flush. He was a good deal bigger than anything you’d been expecting, not that you thought about Zoro’s dick with any kind of frequency.

You took him into your hand, rubbing at his leaking tip, smearing precum with your thumb, an action that made him groan. You stroked him slowly, just as slow as he was touching you, and you watched as he fought to keep his eyes on you, lashes fluttering. His jaw clenched, hips shifting towards your hand as you thumbed his tip, sliding your fingers down to rub the underside of him.

Zoro’s breath left him in a burst, hips twitching forward, the hand on your waist tightening its grip to nearly bruising. His fingers curled inside of you, making your back arch, free hand flying to grab at the back of his head, tangling into his hair. Your eyes were still locked, and you wanted to kiss him so badly, but you wouldn’t be the one to break, not when he was still going so slowly it was driving you crazy.

So you sped up. You knew you’d catch hell for this, but you decided that whether or not you’d be able to walk tomorrow was a problem for then, when your thoughts weren’t blurry with arousal.

You touched him in quick, even strokes, squeezing at the tip each time, and you got to listen to him growl, his hand slipping from your waist to press against the wall beside your head, fingers fanning out. You could tell from the quickness of his breaths that he was trying to keep control, and then he was speeding up, making you falter.

The curl of his long fingers as he pumped them in and out of you, creating a sound that should’ve embarrassed you, but really only aroused you more. Your brows pitched up, pressing together, because fuck, it almost burned after how slow he’d been going before, making you squirm, and his hand was grabbing at your wrist, pinning the hand that had been touching him to the wall.

“Eyes on me, darling,” he hissed, voice heated, “you wanted faster? I’ll give you faster.”

You couldn’t help but moan as he pushed his fingers deeper, hitting all the right spots, mouth just grazing yours as you squirmed against the wall, bucking your hips against his hand. He was playing you like a damn instrument, thumb firm against your clit, and he rewarded you with deep thrusts of his fingers every time you cried out. You could feel your orgasm rapidly approaching, and your fingers knotted in Zoro’s hair, eyes half lidded, pleading. He groaned, low and rough, just at the sight of your stricken expression.

His hand left your wrist to run up your body, stopping on your clothed chest, and he pushed the fabric down below your breasts, causing the straps to slip down your shoulders. His palm pressed against a breast, and your breath shuddered. Your hips jumped when he gently squeezed, rubbing a thumb over one of your nipples. He caught the nipple between his fingers, pulling, rolling it between them, and the sensation shot straight down between your legs.

You were close. It was almost maddening, how good it all felt, and you could hardly focus on anything but Zoro’s hand between your legs, and how you were grinding down into his touch, chasing your high. He let you do as you pleased, gaze downright famished as he watched your face twist in ecstasy. You let out a loud, desperate whine, a near sob as he pushed his fingers deeper, thumb on your clit, driving you into that desperate build that comes just before you tip over the edge.

“Zoro,” you managed, voice strained, “Zoro, please.”

He said nothing, only replying with a growl as he crushed his lips against yours, frenzied and hungry, and your nails dug into his scalp as he brought you to your end, sending you toppling over that edge and into oblivion.

You saw spots as you came, and he broke the kiss to watch your face, gaze dark as your head knocked back against the wall, hips bucking wildly against his hand, because it was all you could do not to scream, one of your hands slamming over your mouth, teeth sinking into your palm. You were squeezing around his fingers, spasms wracking your body, his name on your tongue like a broken prayer. Zoro pulled your hand away from your mouth, diving in to kiss you, deep and passionate, his tongue tangling with yours, and you moaned into his mouth as he worked you through your climax and into the realm of overstimulation.

You were halfway towards a second orgasm when he finally pulled away, and you slumped against the wall, boneless, breath uneven and heavy. Zoro’s mouth pressed against the side of your throat, trailing up to your ear.

“Think you can handle more?”

You smiled, still breathless, looking at him through your lashes. “Let me catch my breath.”

“Tired already?” He taunted.

You responded by pushing off the wall to drop your nightgown off your body, followed by your panties. Zoro’s eyes raked down your figure, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, and then he was pulling you to him, mouth hot against yours. You could feel his bare cock pressed against your stomach, and his hands slid down your hips to your thighs, boosting you up, forcing you to wrap your legs around his waist.

His mouth trailed down your throat, sucking hard enough to surely leave marks, and you wrapped your arms around his neck. You pressed your hips forward, grinding against him, and he moaned into your skin, his grip on your body growing tighter. He was growing impatient, you could tell. But so were you.

“Wanna fuck you so bad,” he husked, and you whined, pressing your hips against him once again.

“Then do it,” you said.

That was all it took. You were suddenly moving, tossed onto the bed, and you watched as Zoro slid his trousers down his legs before he was taking his place above you. His mouth was hot against you, and you wrapped your legs around his hips, growing more impatient by the second, something that didn’t go unnoticed.

“So needy,” he chuckled, lips brushing against your jaw, and you arched your back, shifting your body against him, making him hiss between his teeth.

“So cocky for someone who was telling me how bad he wanted to fuck me,” you countered, “are you all talk, then, demon?”

His eyes flashed, thrilled and amused, and you knew you were in for it, but not one part of you cared. In fact, you welcomed it. Obviously just as impatient as you were, he was prying your thighs farther apart, his body slotting between them.

You felt his tip at your entrance, pressing forward, and you propped yourself up on your elbows to watch as he pushed inside, and fuck, even just that was a stretch. Your head fell back, breath uneven. You felt Zoro’s mouth against your neck, and he was pushing forwards just a bit more, making you whine.

“Fuck,” you gasped, “fuck, you’re too big.”

“Relax,” he urged, voice rough, “it’s too fuckin’ tight, you gotta relax.”

You took a breath through your nose, fingers knotting into the duvet beneath your body. You took another breath as he sunk deeper, the stretch bordering on painful, but you could take it, even if it felt new and strange.

Zoro’s face was flushed pleasantly pink, a sight that would be endearing in any other context, and you watched his teeth grit as he pushed forward again.

“You can take it,” he whispered, encouraging, “shit, relax, relax.”

You lifted your hips, allowing him to take hold of them, using them as leverage to push the rest of the way in, finally bottoming out.

“Fuck,” Zoro gasped, voice breathless and stricken, “fuck, that’s it, I knew you could take it— shit—”

His sentence was cut off by a loud groan, and you yanked him down into a kiss, appreciating how still he was being, despite his rapidly unraveling restraint, but you could hardly wait, even as your body protested at the unfamiliar feeling of being stuffed so full. You shifted your hips forward, your breath leaving your lungs in a sudden burst, and you heard Zoro groan in response.

“Move,” you gasped, “please.”

He gave a shallow little thrust, then another one, slightly deeper, and you felt his hands grip your waist as he pulled his hips back, only to thrust forward, filling you once more.

You gave a choked, helpless moan as he thrust again, and fuck, you didn’t think you’d ever felt so full in your life. The stretch was rapidly making your thoughts turn to nonsense, head emptied out, and not one part of you cared at all.

Zoro adopted a pace that had you rocking back against the bed, head falling into the pillows, and he was dipping his head down to meet your mouth in a heavy kiss. His hands found your legs, pushing them up to wind around his waist, shifting his hips back to an angle that made your head spin.

“Right there,” you slurred, “Zoro, Zoro, right there— so good.”

He gave a low, indulgent groan, his hands smoothing over your body, grabbing at your waist, tugging you flush against him before he was thrusting again, stuffing you full, forcing a sudden moan to fall from your lips.

The room was filled with the sounds of skin on skin, mixed with your breathy, bitten-off moans and his soft grunts, and fuck, you didn’t know it would feel this good. It definitely wouldn’t be the last time this happened, not when it was more than evident that what you felt for Zoro was far from one-sided, and certainly not when it made you feel like this.

Your nails dug into Zoro’s back as he fucked into you, and he gave a stronger thrust, breath shuddering. You watched a muscle in his jaw tense, twitching, eyes squeezing shut as you tightened around him. His head dipped to connect his mouth with the curve of your shoulder, dragging down to your chest, and his lips pressed against your nipple. His tongue passed over the sensitive flesh, making you arch into him, squirming, and his grip grew tighter.

“You don’t know how much I thought about this,” he breathed, hips rocking forward, “how many times I imagined fucking you in that closet. You’re so fucking gorgeous, with that smart-ass mouth. And you love this, don’t you? You’ve wanted this, too.”

You let out a shrill wine as he ground his hips against you, the base of his cock rubbing against your clit. Your hips lifted to meet his thrusts, making him groan, and he was holding you down, one hand on your lower stomach as he shifted back onto his knees, tugging your thighs around his hips.

“I wanted this,” you slurred, back arching as he ground his hips against yours just right, “thought about it, too.”

Zoro’s hands tightened on your thighs, and you sobbed in bliss as he ground himself against you, the friction combined with the way he made sure to hit your clit with the base of his cock with every roll of his hips making it hard to even see straight.

You tossed your head back, whimpering, and you weren’t going to last, not when he was doing everything he could to make you writhe. Each thrust left your head empty, breath heavy and rough.

“Harder,” you gasped, “c’mon, Zoro, give it to me.”

You felt his hands find the backs of your knees, lifting them to your sides to use as leverage as he pushed deeper with a heavy groan. His mouth met your throat, and then he was biting down, but the pain was nothing compared to the overwhelming pleasure, the two mixing into an intoxicating feeling. Deep, hard thrusts sent you into incoherency, and when one of his hands left your leg to press a thumb to your clit, you let out a whine of his name.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Zoro groaned, “you’re gettin’ close, yeah?”

You could do no more than nod as he took your body with abandon, your climax so close it was driving you insane. You wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers in his hair, and he groaned in your ear as you bucked up against him. You were totally drunk on pleasure, overwhelmed. He was the center of your world at that moment as he thrust deep into you, the rough pad of his thumb working you into madness.

You bit down on Zoro’s shoulder, sobbing in bliss as your orgasm hit you, washing over you like a tidal wave. His name was the only word on your tongue as he worked you through it, repeating it like unholy scripture until you could do no more than whimper in ecstasy, nails digging into his back.

“Fuck— fuck!” You heard him cry, hips stuttering, “one more, do that again, I need to feel that again.”

And he was hiking one of your legs over his shoulder as his pace turned borderline punishing, leaving you helpless, unable to do anything other than lay there and take it, but you hardly had the wherewithal to even protest, not as he worked your over-sensitive body to its very limits.

His nails dug into your thigh, a growl tearing from his throat as his thrusts grew erratic. Your head was empty, completely fucked out, thoughts filled only with jumbled thoughts of the man above you as he fucked you, deep and hard. You felt tears beading at your lash line as Zoro worked you towards yet another climax, and you yanked him down into a sloppy kiss in crazed desperation for as much contact as possible.

“Gonna cum,” you choked, “Zoro, fuck—”

“Do it,” he snarled, “fuck, do it, cum on my cock— yeah!”

You felt yourself gush on his dick, muffling your scream in the crook of his neck, vision spotty, and you knew you’d get addicted to this, addicted to him, but you knew neither of you cared at all about that fact, not when he was chanting your name, chasing his release as you squeezed around him in a vice grip. His pace was relentless, entirely indulgent, and you could feel him twitching inside of you.

“Wanna fill you,” he gasped, desperate, completely undone, “let me, will you let me?”

Unable to form words, you only nodded, yanking him down into another kiss as he thrust all the way in, stuffing you completely full, moaning into your mouth as he pulsed inside of you, his hands bruising in their grip on your body. Heat bloomed inside of you, making you whimper against his mouth, and you slowly rocked your hips to help him through the euphoria of it all, something that made blunt nails dig into your flesh.

Together, you lay panting, breathless and undone, tangled together. Zoro broke the kiss to bury his face in the crook of your neck, breathing erratically, and it was a few tense moments before he was slowly pulling out, rolling off of you to lay beside you.

“That can’t be a one time thing,” you said, after you found your voice, and Zoro huffed what may have been a laugh.

“Fuck no.”

A few beats of silence passed before the bed creaked, and another few passed before you felt a towel between your thighs, wiping you clean. Then, the blankets were being pulled back, and you were being tucked under them. Zoro climbed in shortly after, tugging you to lay against his body.

Silence passed some more, and you almost thought Zoro had fallen asleep before he spoke.

“You make me feel things I’m not used to,” he said.

You stole closer, curling into him, resting your head on his chest.

“How long have I done that?”

He pressed his nose into your hair. “Since I met you.”

You snorted. “Bullshit. You didn’t like me when we met.”

“I did,” he said, “I’m being serious. You’re gorgeous and strong, and you know it. You don’t back down. You made me feel things I’ve never felt before for anyone. I didn’t know how to handle that, so I acted like an idiot.”

You smirked. “Hell of a time to tell me that, after you fucked my brains out. You had a crush, so you acted like a little kid on the playground, is that it?”

A snort. “Yeah, pretty much. Never said I was proud of it.”

You laughed, enjoying the warmth of his body against yours.

“I feel the same,” you said, “when you kissed me in that closet, I realized it. You could’ve just asked me to get a drink, though.”

Zoro smiled. “Sure, I could’ve. But this was way more fun.”

You quirked an eyebrow. “Teasing me relentlessly?”

“Yep. Do you have a problem with that?”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, several. But I’ll pay you back for that in due time.”

“Give it your best shot. I look forward to it.”

Idle chatter continued for a little while before you began to doze off. You felt Zoro tug you closer as you fell asleep, and for once since you started sailing with the Straw Hats, you were actually thankful for storms.

And, as you felt Zoro’s lips press against the crown of your head, you were excited for the future.

“You had fun last night.”

You turned to look at Nami from your spot at the front railings of the Merry, eyes slowly growing wide.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Sure,” she said, “play that game. But maybe try a little harder to cover up the hickies next time you and Zoro… spend the night together.”

Shit.

“Nami, I’m sorry,” you relented, “it sort of just happened.”

She snickered. “Usopp told me he basically forbade anyone from taking the room with you after you left the lobby.”

You put your face in your hands, thoroughly embarrassed. “Usopp knows?”

“He isn’t stupid, anyone could’ve figured out what might happen. The hickies are just confirmation.”

“Confirmation for what?”

You bristled at the sound of Zoro’s voice, stiffening when he crossed the deck to reach you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

“You know what I’m talking about,” Nami said, and Zoro smirked, smugness radiating off of him in waves.

“Do I?”

She rolled her eyes. “Why else would she be walking funny?”

Zoro shrugged, nonchalant, still smug as ever. “I guess we’ll never know.”

And as he tugged you closer, nose pressing into your hair as Nami turned to walk away, you couldn't help but smile.

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emeraldbloodcrown · 19 days

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i'm thinking of an alpha 141, with price and simon being you stereotypical alphas, while johnny and kyle might be mistaken for betas - until you piss them off and then even price and simon struggle to hold them back.

they're all alphas but they're also all part of the same pack, which wasn't planned by either of them but it's not unheard of for that to happen in a task force as close knit as the 141. it's their bread and butter to go into the most dangerous situations, to protect one another, to take bullets or knifes for the others; they're the only ones who can actually understand the depth of the trauma each of them is going through.

of course they'd bond together and form a pack. but they're all also alphas. alphas with a desperate wish to mate and breed, and they can't do that with each other, they need an omega for that. but an omega who not only accepts and respects their weird pack dynamic but actively wants that? unheard of, chances so slim they were non-existent.

but so were the chances of simon crawling out of that grave or johnny recovering from that shot to the head.

and they did find one, someone who loved all four of them, someone who wanted to be their mate and give them a child. a beautiful little girl, who somehow seemed to share all of their appearances. and it was perfect.

until it wasn't. until these alphas had to gravel with the situation that their omega was gone, mating bond ripped apart, and their little girl screaming her lungs out. so used to the omega's scent, which after months of trying their best was now fully gone, that it put her in severe distress for weeks on end, leaving not only her but her fathers restless.

and then there's you, their newly moved in neighbor, they only knew their name from their landlord when they came back from their latest mission, knocking and looking just as stressed as them.

price had opened the door for you, chest puffed and ready to tear you apart for coming at his pack but you were calm..exhausted beyond belief, of course, but understanding and most of all concerned for their girl..

"all that screaming can't be healthy for her either"

you had a small container with you, a remedy from your great-grandmother, all herbal so as not to offend her nose, that needs to be rubbed into her chest before bed.

"i'll just leave it here, maybe it helps"

johnny, always the perceptive one, will forever remember how you smiled sadly at their daughter, how your fingers seemed to itch towards her before you remembered your place and just left.

they would soon find out that you were an utter blessing, kind to the bone and so unbelievably considerate. the ointment worked wonders and for the first time in over a month, they saw their daughter smile again and each other finally relax.

and from that point on, johnny was gone, absolutely enamored by you and always jumping at the chance to invite you into their circles, knowing full well the others were much more hesitant, the pain and trauma from their omega abandoning them still stiff in their bones.

but they'd see what he already saw, and it was like you wanted to prove him right when you found out about what happened to their omega, to the one among them that should be bonded the closest to their little girl but was still able to just leave.

you clenched your fingers so tight he was almost afraid you'd break something, the muscles in your neck tightened and you downright snarled, nostrils flared and lip pulled back.

"is...is that normal? her screaming like that for weeks on end? is that likely to happen with something like this?"

the air in the room tensed, charged, similar to before a storm, and it answered all of their suspicion, when they gave you the answer that yes, it was normal - and it audibly cracked around you, like thunder striking, and you had to take a deep breath, mumbling in an old language to let your environment not be influenced by your emotions, lest you hurt or scare any of them.

"you're a witch"

and damn, it should terrify him, witches and shifters don't mix well but all he can think of is that he was right, you were perfect for them, your protectiveness of their daughter only outmatched by them, and if johnny hadn't already made up his mind, hadn't already talked it through with his pack, this would definitely solidify it:

witch or not, you were theirs and mark or not, they'd never let you leave again.

#crown mumbles #i have a distinct idea with this #can you see it??#cod mw2 #cod x reader #141 x reader #poly 141 #john price #john price x reader #simon riley #simon riley x reader #johnny mactavish #johnny mactavish x reader #kyle garrick #kyle garrick x reader

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alwaysshallow · 3 months

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Okay but imagine this Somehow ghost is at higher!ranked readers house It's just him , her And her baby (No Cheating husband around) And it starts to rain outside with thunder the baby Starts to cry and everything

And fucking simon Is just holding the baby like if it was his And of course he calms the baby down

And higher!ranked reader is just looking at him just with loving eyes.. ( And maybe they can have their first actual kiss there😗.... just a maybe...)

Btw I absolutely love your writing!

-🦷

You don't hear it first.

Tired, right in your apartment, taking a nap while Ghost works over some documents that you were supposed to work over with him—he's kind enough not to wake you since he knows how much you have to hold.

Maybe that's why he picks up the baby the moment she cries, cooing. Such a large, violent man, with war in his head, haunted by ghosts of the past, has your baby in his arms, being the softest he can. Whispering soothing words on her anxious little mind, overwhelmed by the storm that's happening outside.

It's the lightning that wakes you. Not the angry baby, nor the Simon that does his best to put the baby back to sleep.

For a moment, you're scared. Unable to find a baby, anxious, when you leave your bedroom in a hurry, just to see the idyllic picture of your baby girl and Simon.

"I've got it, mama," he murmurs. Low, not to wake up the baby that's already closing her eyes. You know it's the span of seconds and she’s gonna be in her happy place again.

“You can give her to me. It’s not your duty—”

“—but somethin’ I want to do,” he cuts you off, shaking his head. “She woke up, and I was near, so… not a big deal.”

It is a big deal. At least, a big deal for you—you can’t really remember when your husband decided to do this for his own baby. It was always a problem; he’s tired, exhausted, he’s done it before. Excuses, nothing else, but excuses.

And here is Simon Riley.

Despite your thoughts, you smile a little. “Right. Got those fatherly instincts?” You raise your eyebrow, teasingly. He huffs, but before he says something, you place a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you.”

The minute he frowns, you think you overcrossed a boundary. You're quick to open your mouth to blabber something about being sorry, but you don't get to say it.

Because his lips are on yours the second after.

It's not a heated kiss, like you would expect it. It's a slow one, full of emotions, just like he is. Longing, deep one, can be felt through his movements, as he'd want to remember the shape of your lips.

"'m gonna put her down," he starts, his voice a mere whisper, "then we'll talk. A'right?"

You just nod in response.

#thank you sm anon pls.#exilesanswers #anon.🦷#simon riley x reader #ghost cod #simon riley #cod mw2 #cod x reader #ghost x you #ghost x reader #x reader #cod fanfic #simon riley fluff #simon ghost riley #ghost call of duty #higher!ranked reader

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ioniansunsets · 6 months

Text

✖ Heartsteel Boys and Their Love ✖

[[I was inspired and then I got too lazy to proofread. I hope this leaves a warm feeling in your chest! I guess these are headcanons?]]

Kayn loves you like a storm. Passionate, explosive, and mad. Emotions high, he is passionate about loving you. Grand gestures and even grander proclamations. His love was names shouted out from rooftops that the two of you aren't allowed to be on. Loud noises of excitement whenever he sees you. The little yelps he makes when you surprise him at concerts. It's the happy shouts as he waves at you from the stage, arm thrown up high before he points right at you. His love is the excited smiles as he runs up to you whenever you meet, full speed, almost a tackle. It is the loud laughter as you watch him do absolutely insane shit. The laughter of someone truly in love as he spends time joking around with you. Kayn loves you like a storm. Loud, fast, exciting. Kayn's love is wild and overwhelming. It is the thunder and lighting, the whirling winds and cold rain. It is the way he'll pick you up at your place and drive you to impromptu dates. Teasing the speed limit while blasting songs out loud while the two of you stick your heads out the window. It’s the way he would fill your room with balloons on your birthday and hand you a knife to pop them all with right after. Or jump you with a present you mentioned wanting just a day before. It’s the way he would drag you to the studio to jam out when you needed a pick me up. It was the way his kisses leave you breathless, and his smile sends electricity down your spine. His love was wild. His love was free. His love was a storm.

Ezreal loves you like it is the first day of spring. Bright, sunny, and undeniably warm but not too hot. His love is in the way he chuckles like a flower blooming for the first time whenever he sees you. His kisses like the first warm breeze of the season, chaste and leaving you wanting more. Ezreal's love is in the way he blinks into your life. Taking cute photos together at a photobooth. It's the way he holds your hand as he runs through the streets. It's the way he would mess your hair up and run away, baiting you into chasing him. It was the way he would sneak you into a school late at night, kissing you under the bleachers like it is your first love. His love was the way he'd pick you up and skateboard down the street, whisking you away to do something fun. His love was the wink he’d throw your way when he spots you in the concert crowd. Ezreal loves you like it is the first day of spring. Sparkling, colorful, new. Ezreal's love is like the way you hear birds coming back from the winter. It is how he would whisper you cringey romance as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. It's how he would blush sometimes when you tell him you love him, somehow still shocked that you haven't gotten bored. It is how he would bring you out shopping, throwing cute clothes and accessories your way because he loves making you feel good about yourself. It was how he would drag you cafe hopping, feeding you a macaron here, a slice of cake there, always new things, always fun and interesting. It was the way he would go to the ends of the earth just to see you smile. Ezreal's love was fresh. His love was heart racing. His love was spring.

Aphelios loves you like a cold night. Safe, nostalgic, calm. Soft hands holding you close. Softer kisses and even softer words that fill you with a love like never before. The gentle love of a light from the full moon shining down, reminding you that there is light in the darkest of nights. Aphelios loves you in the way he makes sure you are always safe and warm. His love is the sneaky kisses in the shadows when no one is watching. It is the way he smiles cheekily after stealing your hoodie, only to see him wear it the next day. It is the way his fingers sneak around your waist, pulling you close to him when it is crowded, making sure you are safe and near. It is the soft raspy laugh when you prank him instead, like old friends meeting again after a long time. It was how you can see his eyes light up when he sees you singing to his songs. Aphelios loves you like a cold night. Mysterious, enchanting, soothing. It is the way he lightly plants kisses on your head, rubbing your back while you cry. It is the way he writes you love songs for his words cannot reach you. It is how he lovingly holds your face while he pulls your hand close to his chest, making sure you can feel his heartbeat for you. It is how he would sneak into your bed at night, finding solace in your warm embrace. It was how he would have quiet talks with you on the balcony, smiling happily as you talk about your day. Aphelios' love was comforting. His love was supportive. His love was the night.

Sett loves you like the middle of summer. Fun, fiery, free. Its a holiday all the time with him. Kind gestures that leave you giggling. His love was the way he'd pick you up in a hug when he sees you after a long time. It was how he would bring you to wild dinners with everyone, making sure you are never alone. His love was like the sound of students free from work. The exciting possibility of anything and everything that summer entails. It was how his laugh was loud and boisterous, leaving you feeling warm inside. His love was how he'd hold your hand in public, not worrying what anyone says because he was The Boss. It is the way his ears always flicked around, trying to hear you, how they twitched excitedly when you talked to him. His love was the little bop he’d do, punching the air to show off when he sees you rapping his lines. Sett loves you like the middle of summer. Lounging, happy, golden. Sett's love was the way his kisses were showy, always passionate, always warm. It was how he would physically pick you up and drive you to a beach when you were stressed, chasing you across the shore, lying in the warm sand as the two of you laugh so hard you cry. It is the way his presence made you feel like you could do anything, because he always had you back. It was how he would blow up your phone talking about his day when he was away, making you feel like he never left. It was how he would fall asleep easiest when you laid on him, feeling the rise and fall of his chest as he holds you close to him. Sett's love was alive. His love was young. His love was summer.

K'Sante loves you like a sunny day. Dazzling, upbeat, radiant. Love that reminded you of good weather, of warmth that makes you feel safe. His love makes you feel heard. Makes you feel like things are ok. Makes you feel like even if times are tough, he would be by your side, cheering you up. His love was like the warm sun bearing down on you on a hot day. You can always feel it's warmth heat you up. K'sante's love was how he always had the perfect thing to say, the right advice for any problem, a solution always within reach. It was how he'd bring you on a fancy dinner, dressing you up to the high heavens, making sure you were just as stunning as he was. His love was how he would hold you close, dancing with you in the living room after dinner to a tune no one else could hear. K'Sante loves you like a sunny day. Euphoric, optimistic, joyous. He loves you in the way he holds you close to his chest every time you meet, assurance that his love would never waver. It is in how his kisses were comforting like no other, bending down to stroke your hair as he lovingly presses his lips against yours. It was the way he’d chuckle when you tell him how much you love his singing. It was seen in the way he'd design matching clothes just for the two of you, so you can always feel his love nearby even when he is not there. It is the way he'd drive you to a flower field, throw out a picnic mat and serenade you in a sea of colors. K'Sante's love was hopeful. His love was light. His love was a sunny day.

Yone loves you like the first sign of fall. Cosy, crisp, cold. He loves you in the way that makes you feel like its time to get warm in bed. His love leaves you wondering how such cold can make you feel so warm. How he was so distant yet so near. Yone's love makes you feel like its a good time to snuggle up and read a book in his arms, quiet but present. His love is like the cold wind blowing autumn leaves into the air. Beautifully elegant. Gentle touches like the wind as his fingers ghost over your skin, leaving you shivering in their wake. It was how he would smile and pass you one half of his earpiece, letting you listen to him mix and edit, so you won't feel left out. His love was the way he would rest his back on the wall, pulling you close to lean on him as he calmly kisses your forehead. Yone loves you like the first sign of fall. Surprising, yearning, brisk. Yone's love was the way he would watch sunsets with you while his hand holds your head close to his. It was how you'd see him smile to himself when seeing a photo of you or reading your messages. It was how he would lightly rub his fingers against the back of your hand whenever you held his. It was how he would give you quick kisses whenever he walked past, too fast for anyone to see, but slow enough that his lips linger on yours. Yone's love was ephemeral. His love was mellow. His love was the autumn breeze.

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lymtw · 11 days

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Toji calling you over to his place because there's gonna be a storm and he wants you to weather it with him. If it gets too bad, you can't travel to each other, so you might as well shelter together before you lose the option to do so.

He didn't greet you in a fluffy manner, but when does he? Usually, when you greet him with a hug, it'll start out normal and then his hand goes down south towards your ass, where he'll squeeze until you break the embrace.

You expected him to be handsy and up in your space because he really can't last five minutes without touching you, but it was as if he was being powered by the storm. You were pushed to the edge of the couch by him, his body wedged between your legs as he ambushed your lips with his own. His hands firmly grounded your hips to the couch cushions as if he were silently telling you not to move. Most of the lights in his apartment were off, just a lamp illuminating the scene of you and him on the couch and occasional lightning strikes that would cast light on your face. It was pouring outside, the sound of heavy rain and thunder filling your ears.

"What would you have done alone?" He plays with the hem of your hoodie, picturing the body beneath it.

"Nothing, Toji. Absolutely nothing. And you?" You tilt your head, allowing him to kiss your neck. One of your hands settles on the back of his neck, the other makes a mess out of his hair.

"Mm..." he groans at the feeling of you scratching his scalp. "I would've beat my dick to the thought of you and those pretty pictures you send me all the time. 'M glad you're here so I can fuck you instead."

You giggle, digging your heels into the cushions as he keeps smothering you with kisses. His crushing weight is completely welcomed by you as you attempt to bring him even closer.

"This my sweater?" His hands use their privilege on your body, going under the sweater to run up and down your waist. The warmth elicits goosebumps from you, and you can't help but writhe in his hold.

"You said I could hold onto it until you remembered to take it back, and I sure as hell am holding onto it."

His gaze pins you down, lips curling at your playful sass. He knows the obsessive thoughts that go behind sharing his clothes with you. You take his sweaters and he tells you to "hold onto them until he remembers to take them back" but that's just his code for 'think of me when you get off to the scent of my cologne'. He only takes the sweater back once your perfume overpowers his cologne, and it's then his turn to fantasize about you.

"That's good, doll. It smells like you, now." He presses his face against your chest, inhaling your scent deeply. "Mhm, that's my girl."

You giggle, brushing down strands of his hair with your fingers. You swear you felt something poke you down there while Toji face was pressed into you.

He pushes the bottom of your sweater up, over your midriff, until he sees the bottom of your bra. He kisses up your stomach, sucking a couple marks above your belly button and on your ribs before reaching your bra.

"Fuck, I love that you go shirtless sometimes when you wear my hoodies."

You laugh. "Yeah, my boobs are constant victims to your manhandling."

You play with his hair as he continues to explore your skin, littering more marks on it as he works his way up to removing your bra.

"They call me, baby. Who am I not to answer?" He pushes up the cups of your bra, watching intently as your breasts are exposed. "So soft and pretty, could keep my mouth on them all day if you'd let me."

He squishes the underside of your right boob, mesmerized by its malleability. His lips latch onto your nipple, sucking on the soft skin while his hand paws at the other one. You sigh, wishing you could press your thighs together.

"Fuck," he groans. "So soft, princess. I wanna ruin you."

You look down at him, your fingers still tangled in his hair. "Who's gonna stop you, baby? Me?" You take in his lustful gaze before finishing. "Absolutely not."

You sacrificed yourself to Toji. Your words got to him in a way you didn't think they would, but because of them, he was thrusting in and out of you mercilessly. He enjoyed watching your breasts bounce with every snap of his hips into yours.

"Fuck... fuck, mama," he almost whimpers. "You did this to yourself," he pants. "Was gonna fuck you... all nice and slow this time," he chuckles, breathlessly. "But, you won't ever let me be romantic, so fuck that." His nails dig into your hips when you start arching you back off the mattress.

"Oh my- Toji, Toji, fuck!" You claw at the couch cushion, your fingers shaking as you quickly lose grip.

You see another lightning strike behind Toji, through the window. You have two amazing views combined into one, tonight.

Toji wraps your legs around his waist to keep that strict rhythm in his thrusts. He leans forward, his forearms beside your head like a cage. "Why're you crying? Pretty girl's gonna cum? 'S that what's happening?"

You nod, gasping at his precision inside you. He's abusing his ability to find your sweet spot, torturing you with every roll of his hips. You hold back a sob, your heels digging into his lower back. Toji catches your tears with his lips, savoring the slight saltiness on his tongue. "Who else is gonna fuck you to tears like this?," he mutters into your jaw. "Huh? Who else?" He huffs against your cheek.

You let out a high pitched cry, your abdomen quivering against Toji's. "O-Only... you, T-Toji. Just, you...!"

"Uh-huh. Good girl." His nose drags down your cheek, leading his lips to your neck. "Absolutely no one else," he says before attaching his lips to your delicate skin. He knows you bruise easily so he uses this to his advantage.

"A-Ah... o-ow, Toji," your nails claw at his shoulder blades. You shudder at the sharp pain in your neck and collarbone.

"Hold still, just a couple more." His hips continue rolling into you, slower as he focuses on leaving hickeys on you skin.

"F-Fuck..." you inhale sharply when you feel his teeth on your shoulder.

"Mine," he mumbles beneath your ear. "These..." he presses on the bite mark and the litter of fresh marks on your skin, making you wince, "prove that you are mine."

He straightens his posture but keeps his gaze lowered to meet your dazed expression. Your brows are pinched, and though your eyes are lidded, he can make out tiny hearts in the slivers of your eyes that remain.

"Toji?" you moan.

"Yeah?" He groans, feeling your cunt clench around him.

"Can I," you shudder at the intensity of his green eyes focusing on you, "wanna cum."

He laughs. "How did that go from being a question to being a statement? Try again, doll face."

Your thighs quiver around his hips as he picks up the pace of his thrusts again. "U-Uh... Um..." your eyes roll back for a second. "Fuck, can I cum? Please?" It came out sounding desperate. There was a slight whine in your voice.

"Keep going."

"Toji, please? Please, make me cum. Please."

Your begging was working him towards his own peak, which is why he pushed for more from you.

"How badly do you want it, because to me it doesn't really sound like you want to cum. Convince me, mama."

You felt like tearing out your hair. You were going insane with this solid rhythm of his, holding you inches away from am earth shattering orgasm. Just a little more and you'll be tossed into a pleasurable void.

"Toji, please. Pretty please. Please, I need you to make me cum."

His hips pick up the pace the more you beg, his rapid breathing now audible to you.

"Please... daddy?" You plead, meekly.

That was it. That was enough to get whatever you wanted from Toji. His eyes widened, and for a split second, his soul was in your grasp. You willingly gave it back with twinkling eyes, and in return he made you cum so hard that you thought your spine would snap from how hard you arched off his bed. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, kissing it up as you cried his name out until it didn't sound like a real word anymore.

You felt Toji tremble against you, his hips pulling back before rocking back into you, languidly. All you could hear were little shaky breaths near your ear before feeling his warmth spew inside you. You could hear his strangled groans becoming soft moans as he slowed down.

"F-Fuck, fuck, Toji," you shuddered, tensing up at the sensitivity you felt in your cunt even when he slowed down. He groans, leaving a kiss behind on your shoulder before leaning back to look at you. His dazed expression mirrored your own. He leaned forward one more time to kiss you. It was lazy and sloppy, saliva coating your lips more and more each time they brushed his.

Toji released you, sliding his cock out to see the result of such an amazing fuck. He whistles, impressed by the sight of his cum dripping out of your pussy and onto the couch.

"God, really, Toji?" You can't suppress the smile forming on your lips.

"What? You look stunning, darling. Can feel my dick getting hard again." His hand finds your knee, stroking it gently with his thumb.

"Wait, give me two minutes. Still sensitive." You smile sheepishly.

"Take your time. You're stuck with me 'til the storm passes, anyway."

You smile. "Shouldn't be too long."

"That's cute. You're trynna be gone by tomorrow?" He hisses with fake sympathy, like he's about to break bad news to you. "Tough luck, doll. Forecast says the storm should last the next four days."

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azriels-shadowsinger · 2 months

Note

Could you pls do prompt #6 with azriel 🙏🙏🙏( “I don’t want to go to sleep with this hanging between us.” or “I can’t sleep with you still mad at me.” )

“I don’t want to go to sleep with this hanging between us.” or “I can’t sleep with you still mad at me.”

Azriel x Reader

wc: 900

a/n: i love when men grovel

prompt list

You were absolutely furious at Azriel. He had promised not once, but three times, that he would be home in time for dinner tonight. And yet, here you are, staring at his cold plate of food.

You hear the front door open and shut. Azriel walks towards the kitchen, seeing the pots and pans and realizing his mistake. Without saying a word, you angrily dump his plate in the trash and begin to scrub the dishes.

“Sweetheart…” he tries to approach you, but the furious glare you give him makes him pause. “Y/n, I’m so sorry. I lost track of time, and Elain needed help-“

“Of course, it’s Elain again! When am I going to be your priority, huh? I’m your gods damned mate, Azriel, and yet I always seem to come second to Elain. Get your fucking priorities straight, because I’m tired of the disappointment.” You snap.

“You know how she gets, y/n! Try to be understanding. She needs someone to help her through these bad days.” You roll your eyes at his excuses.

“I don’t want to hear it, Az.” You let out a frustrated sigh.

“You’re being unreasonable y/n. Stop being so sensitive and try to understand the situation!” He yells. He sees the change in your expression at his words and realizes he went too far. “Y/n, I’m-“ You cut him off.

“Go stay at the townhouse. I don’t want to look at you right now.” You say coldly before shutting the door to your shared room, locking him out.

You wait until you hear the front door open, indicating that Azriel has left, before you let the tears fall.

———

As if the gods knew you were having a bad night, a heavy storm pours down on Velaris. Any other night, you would enjoy the sounds of thunder while wrapped in your mate’s arms. Tonight, however, each clap of thunder makes you shudder.

You gave up on trying to sleep after hours of tossing and turning, so you decided to go make a cup of tea.

As you wait for the teapot to boil, you hear a banging on your door. You let out a heavy sigh, almost certain you know who is on the other side of that door. You open the door to see Azriel, completely soaked from the rain.

He is panting heavily, bracing himself on the door frame to steady himself from the wind. Cauldron, did he fly here in this storm?

“I don’t want to go to sleep with this hanging between us still.” He says breathlessly.

His eyes are bloodshot, and you try your hardest not to feel bad for him right now, but you can’t help it. Azriel is always so deeply affected by your fights, probably because he still believes deep down that he doesn’t deserve you. You can’t help the way your heart aches at the thought of him beating himself up so badly over this.

“Get inside you idiotic bat. You’re going to catch a cold.” You pull him in the door and shut out the raging storm. Water drips from him all over the floor. “Wait here, I’ll get a towel.” You mutter. When you return a moment later to hand him the towel, he immediately pulls you into a tight hug.

“I’m so sorry, my love. I am forgetful and horrible and you deserve so much better. You were right, I hadn’t been prioritizing you, but that stops now. I was so so stupid to ever take you for granted for even a second. If you want, I’ll never speak to Elain again, if that’s what will make you feel better. I’m so sorry. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness.” Your heart aches at the pain in his voice. You pull Azriel closer, and almost immediately he buries his face in your neck. You run your fingers through his hair in an attempt to calm him.

“I know you’re sorry, Az. You need to stop saying you don’t deserve me, though. You have such a big heart, that sometimes you stretch yourself too thin by trying to help everyone. Just because I get angry at you, doesn’t mean I love you any less. I understand that Elain has needed some extra assurance lately. And I’m not asking you to never speak to her again, that’s a bit dramatic.” Azriel sniffles and pulls away to look at you. “I just need you to make sure you make time for me, even when you are helping everyone else.”

“I will, I promise. I love you, y/n. I’m so sorry.”

“I forgive you.” He releases the tension from his body at your words.

Azriel spends a few more minutes drying off before following you to bed, immediately pulling you to his chest.

“I can’t sleep when you’re upset with me.” He mumbles quietly, pulling you closer.

“I know, Az. We’re okay, let’s talk more in the morning.” He nods sleepily.

———

The next morning you wake up to breakfast in bed, four bouquets of flowers, and coffee from your favorite cafe. You’re not even sure how he had time to do all this, but before you can question it, Azriel is bringing you another plate of apology pancakes.

I just want to hug azriel🥺

this is the last one for tonight. i will post more tomorrow!

prompt list

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fic #acotar fanfic #azriel #azriel acotar #azriel x reader #acotar x reader #my writing

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sweet-as-an-angel · 1 year

Note

Maybe Ghost Konig and any other cod characters you write for with an s/o who’s very insecure about their stretch marks? Thank you very much

MW2 w/ an S/O who is Insecure about their Stretch Marks

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, No Pronouns used for Reader except for 'You', Implications of Smut, Knife Play, Insecurity, Anxiety/Upset, Minor Implications/Spoilers about Ghost’s Past, Mention of a Strap-On, Brief Mention of Murder/Killing, Angst, Fluff, Possessiveness, Protectiveness, etc.

Ghost:

Has absolutely zero clue as to why you're insecure about your stretch marks.

Genuinely never even thought of them before now, even though he’s seen them many a time.

However, when you expressed concerns over the way you looked - the way you felt - because of these marks, he set about trying to make you feel better immediately.

He’s not the most emotionally mature person; having to grow up as quickly as he did at such an early age definitely stunted his emotional growth, making it difficult for him to feel and express emotions clearly.

But for you, he’ll try his best.

He starts nuzzling into your thighs and stomach more often outside of sex; just tender moments between the two of you, with him showcasing how much he loves you and your body.

He’d try words of affirmation, saying how he thought you looked “Positively spiffing” (he was using the term humorously but meant every word) in your outfit.

Whenever you cracked a smile, he’d feel triumph bloom like solid gold in his chest, casting him in a glow of pride.

Eventually, he’d showcase to you the parts of himself he would never show another soul.

One evening, Simon had his hoodie off, his back and chest fully exposed to you. And all the scars that seared across them. You tracked your finger along them, creeping from one gash to another. All the while, Simon rhymed them off to you: when, where and how he’d gotten them.

You traced one on his shoulder blade. The warm glow of the room belying the horrific means through which the scar was attained.

“Paris, terrorist attack, twenty-ten.”

“I never heard of an attack in Paris then,” you said, tone questioning.

Simon cast a lopsided smile over his shoulder at you. You caught it.

“That’s the point.”

He turned to face you fully, placing a hand on your waist, beginning to hike your shirt up. You placed your hands over his, shaking your head, a wide-eyed expression overtaking you.

“No, Simon,” you said quietly. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. His head tilted.

“Why not?” He said. “Have I done something to upset you?”

At that, your eyes snapped up and found his, dark and gleaming. You shook your head, vehement in your judgement.

“No, God no! Simon, it’s not you, it’s-”

“Don’t say it’s you - don’t you dare say it.”

The authority in his tone made you ache in places you didn’t want to think about right now. You shifted.

“But…it is me, Simon.” You felt your eyes and throat sting with tears. “It’s always me.”

“Love–” Simon’s movements were stutterish as he took your chin in his hand and inched your face up to meet his. You tried resisting, but he wasn’t going to let this rest. “Tell me what’s wrong. Please.”

There lay a desperation in his voice you’d never heard before, and neither had Simon. You sniffed, and, your eyes shimmering with tears, you looked up at him. Only sincerity painted his features, no trace of condemnation or judgement hanging upon a single point. You swallowed.

“It’s just that…I appreciate what you’re doing for me - believe me, I do ! - but…”

“...But…?”

“But your scars mean something; you got them through protecting people, fighting for them - caring for what matters most–” You choked on a sob, tears starting to roll down your cheeks. “And mine are just…” it burned your tongue to say it, “there.”

Simon went quiet for a moment.

“(Y/N)...” His voice was a rumble of thunder, the cleansing storm rising over the tainted hill. He took your hands in his, abandoning your shirt. He rubbed reassurances into your hands, tracing the veins, the valleys of muscle and the alleys of life which pumped through them. His eyes seemed to turn down at the ends, round, doe-like.

“Your marks are not ‘just there’.” He wiped a stream of tears indenting the heather face of your cheek, and his hand remained there, collecting those which followed. “They are evidence of how you’ve lived, how you’ve survived,”

His hand dropped to your chin, bringing your face up to his once more, shining his moonbeams upon you.

“They show how you’ve grown. How you’ve lived and enjoyed a life you made for yourself. Your marks succeed where mine have failed; yours scream life, while mine whisper death - a life loved, and lives taken.”

Your mouth fell open. You were aghast, unable to conjure anything in your vocabulary that was either expansive or emotive enough to convey all that you felt. Your chest broke out into warmth, the dawn of a new perspective shining upon you as Simon did now.

Before you could form a sentence - as blubbering and elementary as it would be - Simon pressed a kiss to the corner of your lips. It was warm, all-encompassing, musical and low in the ringing silence of your desolate ocean.

He parted, cautiously, lips peeling from yours as if you were attached there, and looked upon you. Your cheeks were beginning to sting with the salt of your tears, vaguely chemical against your skin. You clambered into Simon’s arms, wounded and healing, and encompassed as much of him in your arms as you could.

“Your scars are beautiful, Simon,” you whispered into his chest. “No matter what you think - no matter what you say - I’ll always find them so.” You nuzzled into his neck. “I’ll always find them you.”

You heard Simon sniff, felt his chest rise with the sudden influx of air - emotion. You didn’t look up. You allowed him emotional anonymity.

“And I’ll always love your marks, (Y/N),” his voice strained, whispering and wisping. “I’ll always love them on you–” he pressed a strong, permanent kiss to your head, “--I’ll always love you.”

The evening consumed you, whisking you from the mortal coil to that of the metaphysical, that which was hidden to all but you and Simon, where you joined once again, physical bodies bound in a tight embrace, slumbering, dreaming.

König:

You actually came to König, sliding into his lap as he read a book, unable to keep what was eating you alive a secret any longer.

“Maus?” he said, putting Pride and Prejudice down and turning his full attention to you. “Is something the matter?”

You kept your head down and nuzzled into his chest, hoping his shirt would soak the tears staining your cheeks.

König tried to crane his neck down to see your face, but you hid it further into the cotton of his jumper.

König sighed, then began rubbing your back with a large hand.

“Whatever it is, we can fix it,” he said softly, gently. “No matter what.”

Maye thirty minutes passed, maybe it was only five, and König remained quiet for the duration, occasionally squeezing you and pressing a kiss to your head.

“I hate them,” you muttered, voice muffled by König’s chest.

Immediately, his back was up, like a cat’s. If he had the ears, they’d have been pricked.

“What?” he said, voice hard and thin, like a spear. You jumped in his lap and he sank back down, patting your head, a silent apology for his outburst.

His voice sounded as if it were spread thin, trying to conceal something far bigger than itself.

“Who has upset you so, maus?” He was careful with his words, trying to keep the extent of his bubbling anger at bay.

Finally, you looked up into his large, soft gaze. His eyes widened.

Your face was red in places, a map of countries in a continent called Sorrow.

Your eyes glistened, and König’s breath caught in his throat.

Before he could ask what was wrong, you shuffled off his lap and stood before him. You lifted your top and held it in your limp hand.

König’s eyes moved across your body as if searching for an injury, and when he turned up nothing, he looked you in the eyes.

“Maus, my lovely– I don’t understand,” König said as he shifted to the edge of the sofa, ready to jump up at your command.

You sighed deeply. “Don’t you see?” you said, folding your arms across your chest. “Don’t you see them, König?”

“See what?” His tone was becoming gradually frantic.

You huffed. “My marks, König! My– ugly– disgusting–”

“Hey, hey–” he slid off the sofa and enveloped you in his arms, holding you close to him, “--they are not ugly! Just– listen to me, maus–

“How do you deal with them?” you said, quiet as your namesake. Exasperated. “Your scars, Köni…how do you live with them?” Your voice croaked with tears, and the lump in your throat grew, bobbed up and down. It burned, reminded you of why you were here to begin with.

König thought for a moment, going quiet, his arms still wrapped around you. His hand squeezed your shoulder, fingers pressing soft, repetitive circles into your skin, a cycle of comfort. His warmth - his scent of pine - filled your senses, held you as he did now.

“There was a time,” he said, finally, his voice a whisper, “not too long ago, when… they made me hate myself, hate what I’d become.” He took your chin between his fingers and inched your face to meet his. He smiled, eyes crinkling. “But then I met you, and you told me how pretty you thought they were; ‘like tattoos,’ you said.” The memory tickled your mind and you couldn’t help but smile at the image of you sat on König’s chest, trailing a light finger just below his scars, afraid to touch them - their history - for fear it would hurt your dear König. He urged you to feel them, to make himself entirely transparent to you.

“And that’s how I have grown to like - to love - them. Because your opinion means more to me than mine does.”

The stinging sensation in your eyes strengthened, and you couldn’t help but let a tear slip. Though, not of your own despair, but of your love for König, and his apparent adoration for you. König could tell your tears were not of sorrow, and he pressed a slow, light kiss to your lips.

“Unless you’re planning on leaving me for another man, I suggest you only listen to me from now on.” His smile made his cheeks round and full, his eyes turn into half moons.

“And what makes you sure I could leave you for someone else?” you said, speculatively, jokingly. Inquisitively. König gave an honest chuckle, taking your face between his hands and squishing your cheeks.

“With a body like that, you could have any man you wanted.” His tone was light yet held a hidden weight, a seriousness, perhaps an insecurity, he didn’t want to address. “I’m just glad you chose me.”

He punctuated his claim with another kiss, deeper, hotter this time.

Soap:

You were turned over in bed beside Soap, who, despite your best efforts to conceal yourself, heard your soft chokes of tears.

His initial, instinctive reaction had been to envelop you in his kisses, slip his arms around your waist and pull you flush against him, to implore you to tell him what had made you so upset.

But, as he lay on his side of the bed, listening to your silken sobs into your pillow, he felt his chest break out into weighted feeling of dread, tree roots digging through the skin and into his very being, tinging his blood with a most negative sensation of blackened lightning.

Empathy, one might call it. He was feeling what you felt.

He couldn’t take it, your tears, your despair, and so he turned, gently, onto his other side and faced your back.

He placed a hand on your shoulder, and you flinched.

“Oh!” you said, patting your face with your sleeve. “Sorry, Johnny– I didn’t mean to wake you,”

Your voice was deceivingly light, airy - a front to throw Soap off your scent.

Soap didn’t bother with the formalities. His only priority now was you.

“What’s wrong, darlin’?” he said. He pulled your shoulder back, willing you to at least look at him.

You didn’t move.

You refused to.

“Nothing, love,” you said, hushed beneath the tension in the room.

You turned, offering only a peak of your facial silhouette, sacrificing it to the sliver of moonlight peeking through the blinds.

It was wet, despite your best efforts to conceal any evidence of your upset.

Soap restrained a sigh and watched you try to burrow your way back into your pillow before he started asking any more questions. Without warning, he forced you to look at him, pulling you so you lay on your back. He sank down on top of you, knees bolted to your sides - one of which sat dangerously close to the edge of the bed, threatening to slip off at any moment.

His gaze was direct and impenetrable as he searched your eyes, hands pinning your wrists beside your head. His strength was unrelenting, unmoving. He wasn’t going to let you off easy on this.

“Now, then,” he said, voice low and dyed an erotic tone of resolution with his accent. “Are ye gonna tell me what’s upset you, or am I gonna have to force it out of ye?”

You knew he was joking, and you shared the knowledge that this was his way of trying to make you feel secure - that you could trust him. But of course, you already knew that.

You gaze drifted down to where yours and Soap’s thighs met, and the weight that had been pressing on you for weeks jumped down onto your chest again, urging a fresh set of tears to emerge. You looked away, off to the side, hoping you could hide the dried streaks your tears had left behind.

“Hey, Sweetie, look at me– look at me.” Soap’s voice grew stern, and, when you refused to cooperate, he took your chin between his fingers and made you look at him, grip decidedly firm yet gentle.

“Angel, baby–” his eyes pleaded with you for an answer. “What’s wrong?”

You couldn’t hold it anymore and burst into tears, trying to keep your sobs quiet. Soap remained atop you, caressing the side of your face. Your tears were thick, almost viscous with all that had caused them, as if they, too, bore the weight of what plagued you.

“My marks,” you said, your voice merely a sound rather than a sentence. Soap’s head tilted as he looked down at you.

“What was that?” he said, unsure as to whether he’d heard you correctly. You sniffed, fortified your voice.

“My marks,” you repeated, clearer now.

Soap looked at you as if you were speaking another language, and you mistook his silence for perhaps the oncomings of a laugh. Or worse yet, agreement.

Soap scoffed alright, but he didn’t laugh. Instead he rearranged so he sat further down your body. He lifted your shirt, which you tried to pull down. He growled and practically tore it off you. And you let him. He stared down at your abdomen, your thighs, and sighed deeply.

“Why on earth are you worried about your stretch marks?” he said, absolute and firm, as if it were the most obvious question in the world. You almost wanted to shrug and apologise for wasting his time, but you remained quiet.

“These marks,” he began, lowering his face to your stomach, “are part of you. You know what that means?” His gaze flickered from your abdomen to your face. When you shook your head, Soap gave a huff of a laugh, his breath hot and circling against your skin.

“It means that they’re not the burden you think they are; they’re not unsightly, or ugly, or anything else you can think to call them. They’re beautiful because they are you.”

Your tears were still welling, and Soap pressed a soft kiss to your stomach. Then another. Then another. He linked a chain of kisses, inching further down your body, reaching the band of your underwear. He looked up at you beneath heavy lids. He dipped his tongue beneath the band, making you jolt. He laughed.

“I mustn’t have been doing a good job of showing you how beautiful you are,” he said, lowly. His hands slid to your hips, hooking his fingers over the edge of your underwear and tugging them down.

“It’s time I changed that.”

Price:

He’d picked up on your off mood every day this week, but he’d wanted you to come to him when you were ready, rather than him chase you up about something you didn’t necessarily want to talk about.

You never cracked, though. Not even once.

You’d kept your thoughts to yourself, yet your body betrayed you.

Whenever Price had initiated something in the bedroom, you’d shied away, putting your hands against his chest and giving a weak, watery smile.

“Maybe another night?” you’d say, and Price respected your wishes.

But, he was growing agitated.

It wasn’t his sexual frustration which urged him to act, but his frustration at himself for not being able to tell what was troubling you.

He was your protector; it was his duty, his pleasure to look out for you in any way you needed him.

And he felt like he was failing.

Eventually, he asked you outright what had gotten you so upset, and when you reluctantly told him it was your stretch marks, Price sat there. Flabbergasted.

“That’s it?” He couldn’t help himself saying. But when he saw how much the topic meant to you after you gave him a stormy look, he changed his tune.

Consoled you well into the night, holding you, burying kisses into your skin, drawing lines against your marks, saying how he found them beautiful because they were “Part of you.”

Never lets you go a day without feeling appreciated - more so than he did prior to this discovery.

“You know, Darling,” Price began, laying in bed with you in his arms, “I can’t remember what my life was like before you came.”

You looked up at him. He nuzzled the tip of his nose against your hair.

“And I can’t imagine what it would be like without you in it.” The smile in his voice was more than a mere tone, but a feeling, deep and sincere, the epitome of love itself.

Your face broke out into a grin, beams shining through the clouded sky. “Oh?” you said, bringing your thigh over his middle. You slid on top of him, knees either side of his waist. You planted your hands on his chest, rubbing slowly. His chest rumbled, the beginnings of a purr. His eyes gleamed, his lips curled up beneath his moustache, pinched as raised theatre curtains

“How about I show you how much you mean to me?” Your request was more foreshadowing than anything else, but, in a plot twist, John gripped you by your thighs and rolled so that he was now on top of you, your wrists pinned beside your head.

He brought his face down beside your head. “Last I checked, that was my job,” he rasped, his beard scratching the side of your face. He slid a hand down to the hem of your night shirt, raising it over your stomach. “And I don’t plan on retiring.”

Alejandro:

Is on the offensive immediately.

Thinks somebody’s said something to you that made you upset.

“Who was it, mi amor? Who do I have to kill?”

It would take all your strength to keep him from storming out the house and popping a cap in the first person he suspected as being the perpetrator.

You’d have to explain to him that nobody’s said anything to hurt your feelings, and that your insecurity about your stretch marks has been with you since you were young.

“It’s just the way I am, Love,” you’d say, casting a diluted smile Alejandro’s way. “‘Ts just the way things are.”

This shocks Alejandro; sends him into a catatonic state, even.

Not once had he even considered your stretch marks a point of insecurity: not for you, or him.

In fact, he thought they were cool, and whenever he’d show you his scars, he’d smile. “Now we’re matching!” He’d say.

After you’d expressed your insecurities about your marks, he’d never let you go a day where he’d remind you you’re beautiful (though, that isn’t saying much; there isn’t a day that goes by where he doesn’t make you feel worthy and loved. He just tries even harder).

Man’s a body worshiper if ever I saw one (and I have seen many).

When you’re laying down together and he has his head on your thighs, he’ll randomly turn around and start kissing your marks.

Only does this in private, and with good reason.

Definitely the type to use tongue, even if it’s on the surface of your skin.

Will not let you leave until he’s convinced you’re feeling better about yourself.

Tells you that his mission in life is to “Make you realise how beautiful you are in everyone else’s eyes, even if you don’t see it yourself.”

You can definitely use the insecurity card to request - ahem - ‘snuggle time’ with Alejandro.

If you say to him in your whiny voice: “Baaabe, I’m not feeling too good about myself today,” he’ll be on you like a rash.

You may think you’ve got one over on him, but don’t be fooled.

He knows what you’re doing, but he’s not going to stop you.

After all, why would he ever pass up the opportunity to show the person he loves most in all the world how beautiful they are?

“There will never be a day where I will not worship you, mi corazón,” he panted, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your thighs. “You are my god - my religion.”

His eyes gleamed as he looked up at you from between your legs. “My life.”

You screwed your eyes shut and whined when he licked a stripe against your underwear, catching you where you needed him most.

“Alejandro,” you whispered, his name a prayer on your lips. “Please,”

“Say it.” He slid a hand over your stomach, feeling your skin, your marks, beneath his warmth. “Say what you want me to do and I’ll give it to you.” There was no hint of a lie in his words, only the inescapable truth of his undying love for you and everything your body had to offer.

Between glistening eyes and an open mouth, you let him in. “You.”

Alejandro left many bruises and bites on you that night, all borne out of love. And, afterwards, as he looked upon your sleeping form, all he could think was of how ethereal you looked, and how lucky he was to have managed to find someone like you.

Valeria:

She simply won’t hear of it.

She’s quite an aggressive woman, and she expresses her love and adoration likewise.

Therefore, when you end up confiding in her that there is even a single part of yourself you’re insecure about, she flips her lid.

Not at you, of course. At who or whatever has made you feel this way.

She throws her hands up and curses in Spanish, saying how only she’s “allowed to make you feel that way.”

And she means it.

She won’t let you feel bad unless she wants you to (and even then it’s because you’ve whined and moaned for it).

Trust that she’s watching you like a hawk 24/7 after that.

If she finds you looking at your marks with anything less than adoration, she’ll drag you into the bedroom and force you to say you do, otherwise she’s not relenting with that ten inch strap-on.

She’s sensitive, however.

When she can tell that a quick therapy session isn’t going to change your mind, she’ll just sit with you and listen, make you a drink and hold you when you cry.

She’ll come up with the idea to name them - so they “feel like friends rather than enemies,”

Places warm, soft kisses along your marks, christening them with her love when you’ve decided on a name.

If you name one after her, she’ll be honoured.

“Now I’ll be with you forever,” she’ll say, wrapping her arms around your waist. “On you forever, I should say.”

Valeria dragged you into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. One of her men guarded the other side, frightening off other club-goers.

Valeria’s eyes were heavy, dark and all-consuming with a feral rage that only occurred under rare circumstances, those being her jealousy. She gave you little time to protest as she hiked you up onto the counter, the tap digging into your back.

“I’ll murder him,” she said, voice rasping with drink and the need to mark you - to take you. “I’ll kill them all - all those bastards that looked at you.”

“Valeria, please,” you gasped when she cut the lining of your jeans open, making the button pop and recede into a dark, grimy corner of the tiled room. Valeria brought the knife to your throat, her voice snarling and serious as death.

“I am the only one who can look at you.” The tip of her knife began its slow descent to the collar of your shirt, which she separated from your body with a long, ripping tear. Now, chest exposed, you yelped. Valeria forced your legs apart and crouched between them. Her knife sat at the waistband of your underwear.

“You’re mine,” she promised. “And if I need to mark you myself–” she trailed the tip of her weapon along the marks on your hips, “–then so be it.”

Gaz:

Will look at you like you’ve just asked him to recite Pi.

What???

What do you mean you don’t think your stretch marks look good?

Gaz thinks they look perfect!

He can’t imagine you without them; he’s genuinely emotionally attached to them.

You should’ve guessed as much when you felt him tracing them as you lay in bed.

Fr though, Gaz understands why you feel insecure, but he doesn’t understand why, if that makes sense.

He knows certain things get to you, thus making it plausible that you would become upset with something you found on your person, but he doesn’t understand why you’re insecure.

He can feel himself getting angry whenever he hears you talking - or even thinking - bad about yourself.

He’s not mad at you! Not at all.

He’s simply aggravated by the fact that something or someone has made it so you can’t see yourself the way he sees you.

To cheer you up, he’ll start relaying extremely specific compliments to you.

“I’d love you if you were a two foot tall worm with a receding hairline.”

“Uuuh…thank you?”

Though, if he found those didn’t work or, God forbid, made you feel worse-

“So you’re saying that you only find my personality attractive and not my body.”

– He’ll find another way of lifting your spirits.

“I would commit arson if you ever tried to get rid of your stretch marks.”

“...Why?”

“Because I love them and they’re my friends 🥺.”

Btw he’s fr about that - he sees your stretch marks as individual, sentient beings.

And he begins to tell you the backstories he’s made up for them.

And you can’t help but get attached to them, too.

“Hold on, why does Antonio get to be seen today and not Felicity?” you asked, holding the sleeveless vest to your torso. Gaz returned, throwing a pile of yet more sleeveless shirts, vests and other variants onto the bed.

“Because I haven’t seen Antonio all week and I’m starting to think you’re playing favourites.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Poor guy’s probably suffocating under all those jumpers you wear!”

“Oh?” You raised and eyebrow, looking at Gaz in the mirror. “And what are you going to do about it?”

Gaz threw you a devilish smile, the corners of his lips pointing up like horns, sharp and curled. He came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist, holding the vest against you.

“Put the vest on and you won’t have to find out.” He pressed a constellation of kisses to your shoulder, up the connecting junction of your neck and shoulder, until he reached your jaw. “Unless you want to.”

Graves:

When you initially told him, he wasn’t sure how to respond.

Genuinely thought money would make all your problems go away.

He threw a wad of rolled-up George Washingtons at you and told you to “Buy something nice - do yourself up pretty.”

Obviously, not the best thing to say to somebody who’s insecure.

And when you didn’t talk to him for days afterwards, he realised where he’d gone wrong.

You wanted reassurance, not a solution.

See, he’s so used to using money to make his problems disappear that he thought it’d be a quick fix for you, too.

Pokes his head round the bedroom door like heeeyyy~ before taking a seat beside you on the bed.

“Look, I’m sorry for what I said. I didn’t realise you just wanted to talk rather than have me fix the problem.”

His wording’s still very off, but he’s working on it with gentle guidance from you.

He genuinely never realised your stretch marks were an insecurity for you, though, hencewhy he’s not so good at the whole ‘reassurance’ thing.

He learns quickly, though.

It starts off with small gestures; putting a hand over your marks, looking at them fondly, telling you how gorgeous you were every single day.

And, eventually, when you’re being more…intimate, he’ll refuse to let you cover yourself up (unless you really want to, ofc).

Trying to hide your marks? Not for long - Phillip’s got a PHD in cloth tearing, and you’re his first job.

“I don’t remember telling you you could do that.”

Aggressive love. Full-on laving his tongue over your marks.

“Just markin’ what’s mine, Angel.”

Doesn’t give you even a second to feel insecure anymore.

Encourages you to wear clothing that reveals your marks if he thinks it’ll make you feel better.

Again, won’t force you to; if you don’t like revealing clothing overall, he’ll make sure to find other ways of empowering you.

Gets very territorial whenever he catches someone staring at you because he firmly believes that, 100% of the time, it’s because they’re checking you out.

Will glower at them with his eyes until they look away, cowering.

And all the while he’s looking at you, thinking God damn, I can’t believe I managed to pull you <3

“Love, why did you stare at that man in the bar earlier?” You asked, not looking up from your book. In the dim light of the bedroom, you saw Phillip’s head turn, looking at you. In your periphery, you saw his cheeks lift. He crept closer.

“Ain’t it natural for a man to want to protect what’s his?” His voice carried with it a weight you recognised as rhetorical. You put your book down on the bedside table and resisted a knowing smile.

“I don’t know,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest. “Is it?”

A sly smile crossed Graves’ face, and, in an instant, he was on top of you, his weight definite and promising of something. He wrangled your arms, pinning them above your head. And you only smiled up at him as he beamed down at you.

“Oh, I think you know it is.” His eyes gave no way to humour or jest, possessing within their oyster shell colour a pearl of the rarest, most valuable material: love.

Graves leaned down, and, biting the shell of your ear, pressing a kiss beneath it, whispered.

“And you know how much I hate sharin’.”

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

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soundsfaebutokay · 1 year

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The Amazing Devil moments that made me wonder how Joey Batey is even real

those album credits on Bandcamp where it's just Joey Batey's name listed repeatedly for a ridiculous number of instruments

the beautiful tongue-twisters in Love Run (reprise)

his voice around 5:50 on New York Torch Song: "It starts off like a pin prick, a trick of the light oil slick"—that. was. obscene.

the stunning simplicity of his performance in Elsa's Song

his character work in Two Minutes. His singing is brilliant, yes. But also the acting.

This man really just said with his whole chest, "Sex is better when you're unemployed" and refused to explain anything. Iconic.

wearing a dress and looking absolutely fantastic in it. Case in point: THATW album photos

"Welcome to the storm, I am thunder. Welcome to my table bring your hunger." CHILLS. The very best kind of chills.

the instant serotonin hit of "Could be ghosts or monsters or a robot vampire, I dunno!" Incredible.

Welly Boots and the number of times he's made me cry with it. This man is a hazard.

That part of Farewell Wanderlust. You know the one.

How dare you make me equate romance and tenderness with a that's what she said joke, Joey. How very dare you. The worst of his many crimes, surely.

the exquisite menace of "No no, not I."

burning Nicholas Sparks' entire filmography to the ground with just one (1) love song that lasts all of 6 minutes and 15 seconds

that quiet little "I’m doing fine" that sends me wailing into the wind

"Welcome to ruin." I would keysmash, but that's far too civilized for how that line made me feel.

laughing at himself for making three mistakes that no one else can hear in Drinking Song for the Socially Anxious

the powerhouse musical theater performance of Blossoms. You can hear his facial expressions. HOW.

all of The Old Witch Sleep and the Good Man Grace. Just. All of it.

"I will be the man my father never was." SIR.

Just. How are you even real, Joey Batey?

#haberdayyyyy Joey!!!#Joey Batey #The Amazing Devil #music #my faves #my TAD obsession #from right now until it hits midnight in the UK time zone (and maybe past that) it will be all Joey posts on this blog #it's Joey day #!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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peachesofteal · 7 months

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Dead Disco / Chapter 8

Dead Disco masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 3.7k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI, explicit sex. Top Simon Riley. Bottom Johnny MacTavish. Barebacking, oral sex - fem receiving, anal fingering, rimming. Anxiety, crying. Caretaking. Comfort. Relationship issues. Established throuple. Angst. Darling is her/your own tag and warning. The guys get back.

“Two weeks?”

Simon steps closer to where you’re stalking around in the kitchen, working a circular pattern into the floor with your pacing. “It’s not ideal-“

“Not ideal? It’s… it’s about to be Christmas.” your voice squeaks with disbelief, misery, heart squeezing in your chest uncomfortably. “You just got home.” The idea of facing two more long, cold weeks in the dead of winter makes your bones rattle inside your body, worsened by the fact that you’ll most likely be alone for the holidays.

“Ah know, we know, love. But we cannae control when we’re needed. Ye know this.” The words strike true, and instantly deflate you. You do know.

You know too well.

“We’ll try to be home before Christmas.” Simon vows, but you shake it off. It sounds, it feels, like too much of a promise. Too much like the bitter pill of disappointment.

You shove it down as far as you can. Try to patch over the rip in your soul that’s turned into a pit, devolved into a galaxy ending black hole in your heart.

“It’s fine.”

“Darling.” He reaches for you, fingers moving into your line of sight, but you duck it, opting to turn back towards the cabinets, picking up the clean glassware that you were in the middle of putting away.

“I’m fine.” Your tears lie in wait, stinging up your nose, forcing you to swallow against a shallow breath.

“We don’t want to be away from you, you know that.” He tries, and Johnny sidles up next to you, watching with concern. You ignore them both, counting your breaths, arranging the glassware one by one, opting to focus on the task instead of the storm that’s brewing in your head.

“I know. It’s fine.” You huff, last glass going up inside the cabinet with a rattle. Your hands are shaking, everything overwhelmed by trying to keep yourself together.

“Darling.” Simon says again, and you brush him off, pulling the silverware caddy from the machine. The utensils jangle together, loudly, and Simon tries to get your attention again.

You pull the drawer with a jerk, hard and fast. Smooth.

Too smooth.

It jumps the track and flies towards the ground, silverware and odds and ends falling to the floor, both you and Johnny lunging to catch it without success.

It crashes across the kitchen, like thunder cracking across a night sky, a firework in the dark.

Johnny flinches, jolting from where he crouches with a hand outstretched for the runaway drawer. Simon doesn’t startle as bad, but he squints, before relaxing.

And then you burst into tears.

“Fuck!” you blubber. “Fff-fuck. I’m so-sorry.” You turn with blurred vision into a thick wall of mass, Simon, who’s arms go around you immediately, strong hand on the nape of your neck.

“It’s alright. You’re alright. We’re here.” He’s soft with his words, lips pressing to the top of your head. He holds you there, murmuring in your ear, coaxing your breaths slower, promising that everything’s okay. “Bedroom lights.” He instructs Johnny, still holding you tight.

“Rog.” Johnny replies automatically, and you shake your head in teary denial.

“The mess.” He rebukes your protest.

“We’ll clean it up later, darling. Let’s take care of you first.”

You hear the helicopter before you see it.

The blades whirl, cutting through the air effectively, and you try not to bounce on your tiptoes as the figures in the far distance disembark from the giant machine.

You can’t help it. You’re really excited.

There’s been something about being here waiting for them, being one of the first faces they see after they land, that absolutely delights you. It sings in your heart, making you smile and sigh, drawing you to the hangar to wait for them to come through the big, wide opening.

Johnny is first. He’s walking beside Simon, but actively looking, searching the faces that are milling about, some who are more stationary, like you, obviously waiting for something.

When he finds you, his mouth moves, body jostling into Simon’s side, and then he’s running. Sprinting.

He’s on you before you can blink, scooping you up, arms like steel curling around your thighs and hoisting you in the air hard enough that your hands come crashing down on his shoulders and his face is buried in your cleavage.

“Put me down!” You shriek with a little bit of laughter, a little bit of fake outrage.

He drops you a bit, but he doesn’t let go. Just keeps his grip around your waist, pulling your body into his, chasing your mouth with his own.

“Missed ye, darling.”

“It was only three days.” You chide, but your heart glows.

“Three days too long. Wonder if the boss‘ll let me retire. Take care o’ ye instead of doing this.”

“Oh, stop.” The protest is halfhearted, the smile that graces your face too much of a giveaway.

You half push him off playfully, still holding onto his jacket, and peek around, looking for the other piece of the puzzle.

He’s standing there, watching. The grey skull that’s pulled over his face sobers your glee, and you move to step forward, but Johnny holds you tight, mouth above your ear.

“Wait, darling. We’ll all go back tae the room, aye?” Simon nods, like he knows what Johnny is saying, even though you’re sure he cannot hear him.

“Okay.” You stay tucked up under his arm, Simon walking in lock step behind you both.

“This was suppose’ tae be a nice dinner.” Johnny grunts, and you gurgle a response around his cock, length stuffed deep in your throat. The edge of the table pinches against your skin, reminding you of exactly where you are, laid across the dinner table on your belly, bent at the waist with Johnny in front of you, Simon on his knees behind you, thumb spreading you wide for his tongue.

“It was.” Simon assures him. His breath heats the skin of your backs of your thighs, a wet finger swirling around the tight ring of muscle between your cheeks. There are mashed potatoes on the floor next to his knees, splattered on the hard wood near the spot where the gravy is slowly trickling over the edge of the table. You feel… a little bad about it. A little guilty. Johnny worked hard on this dinner, and you truly did appreciate it, you just didn’t anticipate being the dessert.

“Until someone called me a liar.”

You try to protest, but your mouth is too full.

That’s not what you meant. You weren’t calling him a liar. You just… don’t know how to process this. How to believe.

“We,” Simon presses a kiss to the swell of your ass, “want to keep you, darling.” Another drag of his lips, this time on the crease of your hip. “We want to take care of you.” Teeth graze along your inner thigh, tongue slicking along your skin. “We want to know you.” Fear cuts through the lovestruck, lustful haze that’s penetrated your mind, and you curl your fingers into your palms until the pressure sears with a bite. You focus on that feeling, and not the wariness that’s spreading through your body, the overthinking, the worry that grows from that one sentence: we want to know you.

A part of you wants to float away, wants to drown in the feeling of them, disappear into the toe-curling pleasure, dip beneath the surface and never come back.

But something winds you too tightly to let go. Something lurks in the back of your mind, whispering half-truths, half lies.

It’s not real. They don’t want you. They don’t mean it.

“Why don’t you believe us?” He knows you can’t answer, he must. You groan around Johnny’s cock, hot length pressed against the back of your tongue, and he blows a breath from his nose.

Simon pushes a thick finger against your rim, feeling how you flutter for him, before going deeper, up past his knuckle, and you choke on a gasp, throat constricting around Johnny’s cock. It’s good, sinfully delicious, and you relax to allow him more, a second finger joining the first, stretching you with a sting.

“Johnny.” Simon says his name like a command, and then Johnny’s pulling away, sinking to his knees in front of your face and cradling your jaw with a gentle hand.

“Tell Johnny how it feels.” Simon coaches, and replaces his fingers with his mouth, tongue dipping inside of you with unrivaled skill. You melt into a heap of buttery sweetness, bones nearly liquid, legs trembling.

“Oh, is it good? Tell me darling, use your words.” It’s a little bit mocking, a little bit sincere, with a heaping amount of adoration and lust, and he rubs a thumb across your cheekbone, soft eyes watching yours.

“Ye-eah.” You stretch the vowels, tongue leaden between your teeth. Simon is feasting on you, like he didn’t just eat an entire dinner, like he hasn’t eaten in weeks, big hand spreading one of your cheeks wide so that his entire face is buried in you. “Fuck.”

“Can ye come like this?” You garble out the word yes, then no, then there’s nothing, just your slack jaw, Johnny disappearing from your line of sight.

His mouth is on your cunt a second later. You pant, twisting to try to look, catching a glimpse of him under the table, opposite Simon, bent at an odd angle, tongue lapping at your clit, and his hand inside Simon’s jeans working his cock in long strokes.

It’s circuit overload. Every connection surges to full power, lighting up your muscles, your bones, every hair on your body. You practically vibrate with it, and your knees wobble.

“I- I… can’t!” you cry, a thumb pressing down on your clit, applying pressure in a circular motion, stroking the swollen bud in rhythm with the tongue that dips into your hole.

“Yes, you can.” Simon pulls away, kneading your cheeks with thick fingers. “You can, darling.”

“I can’t-t stand. My-“ You don’t get to finish before you’re being pulled from the dinner table and heaved into someone’s arms, jostling against a chest before your back hits the bed.

Your knees are pushed back, up towards your ears, and heat crawls through your belly when you glance up at where they both stare at your fully exposed cunt.

“Better?” The Scottish accent rasps, and you nod desperately. “Words, love.”

“Yes! Yes, please.” You’re asking for them both, desperate for them both. You’re frantic with it, your need, your desire to be ruined by them. Possessed by them. Loved by them.

You don’t know how to say it, can’t get the words out. They get stuck, hung up on your anxiety, your fear.

“Darling.” Simon reads it, reads you like he always does, pulling you back towards them, grounding you.

Your lungs shudder with a deep breath.

“Please.”

Johnny hits the overhead light off in the room as soon as the three of you get inside.

He sits you on the bed, gently. Kissing your forehead, your temple, before pulling away and flicking the bedside light on, casting warm yellow tones around the concrete blocks.

Simon keeps his back turned, things on his body shifting, being shed, being moved, until the grey skull is being placed on the little table, and the balaclava is being shucked to reveal a scruff of hair and his wide neck.

“Simon?” You whisper, but he still doesn’t turn to you. Johnny strips his gear off as well, but watches, eyes keen. Observant. “Simon…” His shoulders loosen, tension deflating from his muscles but he doesn’t turn, doesn’t move towards you until; “I need you.”

It’s fluid, the steps, the bend, the grace of such a large body sinking to his knees in front of you, arms wrapping around your hips and then his face, smashing into your belly.

“Missed you too.” He murmurs into your skin, and you stroke your fingers through his hair delicately, careful to be slow and deliberate with your movements. You know, Simon is different for work. The grey skull. The ghost.

It can be hard on him. Hard on Johnny. Difficult for them both. For you.

The bed dips, and Johnny’s sitting at your side, leaning you into his chest. A bridge, between two. A web, connecting three.

Yours. Your family.

Hope blooms across your heart, gardens of flowers thriving under the sun of their affection, their care, their love.

Your nose, your eyes begin to burn with the promise of tears. Fuck.

You blink them away, sniffling. The sound causes Simon to jerk, leaning back to peer at you, but your hide your face, and he hums, stroking the back of your neck.

“We’re here, darling.” You nod into him silently, basking in the overload of it all. The sweet. The bitter. The two, together.

“Ah love ye both. So much.” Johnny hums, and it makes the burn worse, the emotions rising inside of you like a tidal flood, waiting to burst through the dam.

“I love you too.” You choke, and Simon grumbles something in response, something that sounds like the three words, before he’s up on his feet, notching his mouth against yours fiercely. He clutches the back of your skull, touching his forehead to yours before moving to Johnny, kissing him sweetly and then pulling away.

“Gotta shower.” He grunts, and you flop onto your back without preamble.

Johnny sighs, curling up next to you, tugging your body into his.

“We’re gon’ to a pub tonight, Kyle, and Price. The three of us tae, ‘course.”

“M-me?” you stutter, eyebrows raised, and he smiles.

“Yes, darling. Ye too.”

The pub is extremely dark. It’s dark enough that Simon seems to be comfortable in just the black mask and hoodie, and Johnny is relaxed, nonchalant with a shoulder leaning against you, head occasionally dipping to whisper something in your ear.

You however, are not relaxed.

Your body is tight, muscles practically iron against the straight-backed chair, mouth dry. You’re out of place, out of your depth. You feel like an ornament of some sort, an adornment. It’s selfish, but you wish you still in the room with the guys, just the three of you. Together, still in that sweet, hazy in-between, floating on admissions of love and adoration.

Conversation flows around you like water, ebbing and flowing as you sip your drink, and Simon’s hand settles on your thigh, thumb stroking a semi-circle into your skin, nodding to something Kyle is saying.

“- and I just don’t want one, but she does. So, I guess we’re getting a dog.” He sighs into his beer, and Johnny snorts.

“Better than a bairn, ah suppose.” He quips. Simon tenses on your other side and then shakes his shoulders out, turning to look at Johnny before leaning in and pressing clothed covered lips to your forehead.

“Alright?” You hum, nodding your response. You’re a little anxious, sure. But otherwise, fine, besides probably needing to use the restroom. You don’t want to take away from this time they have with their friends, their coworkers.

They carry on, talking about something that sounds like work, going back and forth about some finer detail that you can't distinguish, and you drain the rest of the drink, hopping down from the bar seat to go to the bathroom.

Johnny pulls you into him, mouth bumping along your temple to whisper in your ear. “Dinnae take too long, or Ah’ll come lookin’ for ye.”

“Hey, do we still want to do-“ your sentence dies in your throat when you turn corner into the bedroom, where Simon’s got Johnny beneath him on a pillow, an ankle thrown on his shoulder, the lines of both of their bodies, flex of their muscles making your mouth water. “mussels for dinner.” They both turn to look at you, blissed out euphoria on Johnny’s face, while Simon gives you the teeniest smirk, before reaching for you with beckoning fingers.

“How was work?”

“Simon… fucking hell.” Johnny blurts, brow furrowed. Simon hasn’t stopped his ministrations, still slowly dragging his cock in and out of his hole, a teasing pace that has Johnny panting.

A tendril of worry snakes through you. They rarely start without you, why did they start without you? Are you interrupting? Is this-

“Darling.” Simon breaks through your distracted thoughts, hand still outstretched, waiting for yours. When you look up into his eyes, he nods to encourage you, and pulls you closer, thumb stroking over your knuckles, hips still sawing back and forth. You bend a knee onto the bed, pressing your fully clothed body into Simon’s side, the heat of his naked skin warming you through your shirt, and Johnny’s mouth snaps shut, eyes falling dreamily on yours, sly smile scrawling across his face.

“It was good.” You finally answer, never looking away from Johnny, glancing from where Simon’s cock is sliding inside him, to where his gaze is glassy with pleasure. Your own body responds in kind, the view of your partners loving each other making your knees feel kind of weak.

“Someone,” Simon thrusts a little sharper, a little harder, a soft moan sounding from Johnny in response. “wanted to wait for you to get home, but couldn’t.” He speaks perfectly clear, the vocal control something you’ve always been envious of, the fact that he can carry on a conversation while he’s fucking you or Johnny deep something you’ve never understood.

Two sides of your brain war against one another, unsettled fear and insecurity pushing to the forefront even though your body begs you to just get undressed already. You feel out of sorts, and it gnaws away inside your heart, a shadow of yourself slipping away while you watch the way Simon’s hand grips onto Johnny’s thigh.

You shove it down. You’re being ridiculous. You’re reading too much into things, like always. You’ve had this conversation dozens of times. Sex is not exclusive to the three of you at once. Why are you getting so out of sorts?

Simon’s mouth finds your cheek. “Where are you, darling?” He’s stopped moving, fingers stroking along the nape of your neck, the pressure soothing your raw edges, and Johnny props himself up on his elbows, face creased with mild concern.

“I- I’m here.” You try to assure them both, desperate to keep the mood intact, but it comes out a little squeaky, a little off pitch.

Everything grinds to a halt immediately. Simon pulls out slowly, and Johnny reaches for you without a word. You go without complaint, falling into his arms with closed eyes, trying to beat back the nonsense that’s brewing in your mind.

Guilt roars inside your head. You ruined it. Ruined their fun. Ruined the moment.

“I’m fine.” You protest, cuddling in close, nosing along his skin, sticky summer sweat dotting his skin like dew. “Swear.” Simon arranges you so that you’re laying flush with Johnny on your side, and then the comforter is being brought overtop the three of your bodies, soft cocoon of down feathers being tucked around your shoulders.

“You’re a terrible liar.”

They’re not at the bar when you come out.

You catch sight of Simon's out front through the only window in the entire pub, his boss, Price, holding a cigar between his lips, nodding his head thoughtfully at whatever is being said. Your jacket is gone, along with your little purse, tucked underneath Johnny’s arm, half of him visible through the same window. He’s closer to the parking lot, laughing at something with Kyle, face full and happy, so handsome it winds you, tugs a little smile onto your lips.

You’re still smiling when you slip out the front door, making your way towards the side of the pub where the four of them are loitering, no doubt waiting for you to be finished.

When you hear Simon’s voice, you stop dead in your tracks.

“It’s just hard on her, takes a toll.” Simon is talking to Price, who’s got his arms crossed and head cocked, listening intently. “And it’s hard on us too, bein’ away from her for too long. It starts to chafe us. We miss her, and she misses us, and sometimes I worry… about it being the right thing.” Your stomach drops out.

The right thing? The air suddenly feels like ice against your skin, and you hold your breath. Your relationship? He worries if it’s the right thing?

“You’ve made it this long, it’s clear three of you love one another.” Price counters, and you can hear the depressurization of Simon’s lungs, long sigh whistling free.

“She suffers for it, for us. It doesn’t feel fair.” Your eyes go as round as globes, mouth pooling with saliva from the nausea that swamps your stomach.

You should go back inside. You shouldn’t be listening to this, eavesdropping.

You shouldn’t be doing any of this.

You shouldn’t be here.

You turn away, heel crunching against the little rocks that are scattered across the asphalt, and you swear it’s louder than a gunshot.

Simon tenses, shoulders flexing as he turns, eyes wild when they land on you.

“Darling-“ He takes a step forward, and for the first time in so long, you feel like you can’t trust him. As if doesn’t truly see you, like he always has before.

Fair? Fair? Nothing about this was ever fair.

You want to cry. You want to scream. You want to run.

“Darling, listen.” He’s closer now, voice sharp, insistent with command, and you glance past him to where Johnny is practically jogging to your side, confusion rippling across his face.

“I want to go home.” You whisper, not sure if he hears it. Not caring if he does.

You can feel a gaping hole ripping wide in your chest, in your heart. It’s tearing apart all the repairs you’ve made, destroying the effort and love that’s been painstakingly built up, and the hope that’s been fostered inside of you slowly starts to die when you look up at the two of them.

Simon’s eyes are hard with something you cannot name, Johnny’s expression rife with concern, with worry.

“Take me home.”

#peaches writes #dead disco #ghost x soap x reader #ghost x reader x soap #soap x reader x ghost #john soap mactavish x you #simon riley x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghoap #ghoap x reader #cod mwii

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junkdrawerfics · 10 months

Text

Game On

(one of my favorite clips, lowkey)

Jasper X Reader

Summary: A little snippet of wolf!reader playing baseball with the Cullens. You and Emmett have a little rivalry going, and you'll do anything for some Jasper scratches.

Word Count: 1021

---

“You sure you can keep up with us, wolfie?” Emmet calls from the batter’s box with an absolutely snarky grin.

You cock a brow at him, settling into a crouch with an equally vicious smile, “Just you watch me, Em, you won’t make it to first base.”

“I’d like to see that,” he taunts back, twisting his grip on the bat and posing it over his shoulder.

Jasper chuckles from across the field, the sound easily reaching your sensitive ears, “Take it easy on him, darlin’.”

“No can do, Jas.” Your friendly rivalry with Emmett started as soon as you and Jasper got together, only made worse by you being a shifter. Competitiveness runs deep in your blood. “Someone has to put him in his place, and you pansies sure aren’t going to.”

“Ooh-” Emmett hisses through his teeth dramatically. “-you gonna let her talk to you like that?”

“I’m not one to get offended by a few words,” Jasper shoots back, smirk all too cocky, “Not like when you whined a full week when she called you a cream puff.”

“Hey-”

“It’s time!” Alice chimes before Emmett can stand up for himself.

You snicker and he throws a glare your way.

Game on.

With your enhanced speed and strength, you put up a good fight against the vampires. It’s almost unfair, you and Jasper working perfectly in sync, getting them out one at a time. On your turn to bat, the feeling of smashing the ball, brutal and unrestrained, makes your whole body spark to life, driving you through the plates like a flash of lightning. It’s exhilarating.

Nearing the end of the thunderstorm, the game is close, your team up by one run. Emmett is back up to bat. Chest heaving, heart pounding, you make eye contact with him and, with the most wolfish smile, mouth a silent, ‘Bring it.’

Emmett scowls, eyes focusing back on Alice, and you hear Jasper chuckle softly.

Alice winds up, moving with practiced ease, and launches the baseball straight down the line. A crack of thunder overlaps the loud ring of the bat slamming into it, and it goes flying. You go flying after it.

You tear through the trees, eyes bright with glee as you follow the ball. The wind whips your hair around wildly, the damp ground giving way under your feet. You feel free. Out of breath, every muscle aching, but free. The moment right before your feet leave the ground, adrenaline surges through every cell of your body and you explode into a mess of fur and snapping teeth.

You jump, far too high, far too fast. But your teeth clamp down on the baseball, practically ripping through the leather, before you go crashing to the ground in a flurry of dirt and grass. The earth shakes at your impact, the sound louder than the storm’s thunder.

“(Y/n)!”

The family of vampires freeze, eyes wide. Jasper races after you. Worry burns through his veins as he comes to a stop at the crater’s edge. Gold eyes narrowed, he desperately searches through the haze of dirt for a sign that you’re okay.

Then you pop back up, and all his concern dissipates. You, in wolf form, look up at him with happy, squinted eyes, the ball still clamped firmly in your jaws. Your whole body practically shakes with how hard your tail is wagging.

“Well look at you,” the blond sighs, shaking his head, “I didn’t know wolves could fly, darlin’.”

Shaking off the dirt clinging to your fur, you scramble out of the hole you created. Without hesitation, you push into Jasper’s open arms. He chuckles as you wiggle in his grip, letting out little happy huffs as he scratches your head. You love it when he gives you scratches in wolf form, it’s like getting a massage in human form.

“You know-” You perk your ears and pause to look up at his slanted, mischievous grin. “-Emmett won’t like this.”

You let out a muffled ‘woof’. He better not like it, because he just signed his defeat. You won. The thought makes you growl happily as you adjust the ball in your mouth. Time to show off your victory.

Jasper sticks by your side and you trot back to the field. The moment you reach the tree line, Emmett lets out a loud, rumbling groan.

“That has to be cheating!”

“Umpire?”

Everyone turns to Esme. Emmett looks so hopeful, but then she looks at you and winks. You’ve never been so happy to see someone’s face plummet.

“You’re out, Emmett.”

You drop the ball and let out a small victorious howl. The man glares at you playfully, but you catch the smallest glimpse of a smile when you do a few happy stomps and throw yourself at Jasper. The blond grunts as your full weight takes you both to the ground.

“Darlin’,” he wheezes out a bright laugh, “you’re crushing me.”

You huff, not caring even a bit as you drop your head on top of his chest. More scratches. You deserve more scratches, you won the game! Jasper can feel your insistence, having grown accustomed to reading your more chaotic emotions in this form, and gives in when you nudge him with your nose, licking his face. He curls his fingers through your thick fur, earning a happy grumble from you.

“We’re going to head back to the house,” Carlisle announces, voice ringing with amusement, “Feel free to join us when you would like to.”

Which ends up being far later in the night because there is something so lovely about just curling up with your vampire and watching the stars come out. He eventually goes and retrieves your extra clothes (he started keeping some with him after several phasing accidents) and you return to the Cullen household, where you mercilessly mock Emmett.

“How does it feel to lose to a wolf, cream puff?”

“(Y/n), I swear to God I’m gonna-”

You dash up the stairs, giggling wildly. Jasper follows behind slowly, tossing the bigger vampire a smug grin.

“Next time, you shouldn’t underestimate her.”

---

This idea came to me at like midnight and I wrote down the idea and I love it. I hope you guys enjoyed it too!

#reader insert #x reader #reader #jasper hale #jasper whitlock #twilight saga #twilight #jasper hale x reader #jasper whitlock x reader #jasper x reader #wolf reader #baseball scene #wrote this listening to super massive blackhole

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jinwoosungs · 2 months

Text

{ 125 }

why'd you let me let you go?

formerly entry 61

ex!megumi fushiguro x fem.reader

{ bullets in the dark | shooting through my hesitating heart | we were never gonna go far, 'cause i'm no good at loving someone else as good as you... }

megumi swore that he would never forget your expression the day he ended it with you, one that warped your beauty into one of melancholic pain.

just seeing the light dying from your eyes while tears cascaded down your cheeks was enough to put a bullet through his chest. megumi knew that his heart was breaking, but he had to do this-

he had to do this for you.

"megumi... please, tell me what i did wrong? w-why are you breaking up with me so suddenly?"

"isn't it obvious? i fell out of love with you, simple as that." megumi forces his voice to drip with absolute venom, willing his heart to harden as he wanted nothing more than to have you hate him; to have you completely lose all feeling for him so that letting you go wouldn't feel as painful.

he refuses to feel the remnants of regret beginning to form within the depths of his heart.

he refuses to allow the devastating expression of heartbreak that fills your expression stray him from the fact that you deserved better-

that you always deserved better.

he couldn't stay with you any longer, because if he didn't move at this very second, then all of his walls would completely crumble. he would see your tears and break down himself, falling to his knees as he begged you to come back to him.

that he didn't mean it.

that he never once stopped loving you.

with his back turned, he hears the sounds of your broken sobs, clenching his fists in response the moment your footsteps seem to pound against the pavement as you ran away from him.

not wishing for you to hurt yourself, megumi takes one last glance at you, watching as your quickly retreating form disappears into the crowd. a single tear was felt falling from his eyes, but megumi refused to pay any mind to it, convincing himself that it was just the rain.

ever since that day, he had a hard time focusing. his sleeping schedule was non-existent. each time he closed his eyes, he would be bombarded with memories of you.

and tonight was no different.

it has been three months since he had broken up with you, yet megumi had not been faring any better since that fateful day.

unable to stand sleeping in your once shared room while accepting the fact that your scent was beginning to fade, megumi spent another long night on the couch. his arms were thrown over his eyes, with his mind feeling hazy as he brings up yet another particular memory pertaining to you; one that he cherished deeply...

it was a stormy night that painted the skies in a dark hue, blocking out the sight of the moon and stars as only flashes of lightning served as a sole source of light. thunder rumbled in response to each flash, causing powerful reverberations to be felt across the dorm room.

megumi never once minded the sounds of the violent storms, actually managing to find comfort within the turbulence. after all, even at such a young age, megumi knew that he had dealt with far worse events than a mere thunderstorm.

his back was turned, with only a single blanket covering his form. megumi was simply basking in the sounds of the pelting rain, ready to fall into a deep slumber when he felt the hairs on the back of his neck beginning to stand.

megumi frowns, keeping both of his eyes closed to feign sleep as he strained to hear what was going on outside of his dorm. his body remained unnaturally stiff, with his hands already going into position just in case he needed to use his technique.

a few gentle knocks could be heard from the door, but he had a difficult time discerning the voice that was currently whimpering from outside. another flash of lightning was seen and when the thunder rumbled once more did the person let out a squeak before barging into his room.

frantic footsteps were heard going across his floor until he felt a lithe weight being shoved against his back. he opens his eyes, stiffening when he felt his bed dip with a strange added weight-

but when he smells the familiar scent of your shampoo, megumi visibly relaxes, facing you with the best of his abilities. he calls out your name and asks, "what's wrong?"

"'gumi, i'm scared... i really hate the sound of the storm."

megumi lets out a tsk while asking you to let go of him. he didn't mean for it to come off as cold or anything, but he could tell that he had inadvertently hurt your feelings when you relinquished your embrace within seconds.

being able to read you like a book, he grabs a hold of your wrist, preventing you from running away. with an almost uncharacteristic amount of gentleness, megumi settles you back down against his chest.

"relax, i didn't mean anything by it... i just wanted to hold you properly." he purposely places your head against his chest, entangling you within his embrace.

being surrounded by his warmth (and how the sounds of thunder were muffled thanks to his embrace) you willingly fell slack within his arms. the fear was slowly disappearing into thin air, with you even letting out a yawn in response.

"thank you... megumi..." your voice trails off before only soft breaths could be felt coming out in gentle puffs from your parted lips, making megumi smile in response.

knowing that you were asleep, megumi whispers your name, placing a kiss against your hair while silently confessing his devotion to you...

a low hiss escapes from megumi at the memory, recalling your warmth and how much he couldn't sleep without it.

the day you confessed to him, admitting your feelings long before he did, megumi swore it was the best day of his life. there was a happiness felt coursing through him, and he didn't think it would ever be possible to achieve such feelings of light.

even though it was difficult for him vocalize and tell you his feelings for you, never did he ever stop trying to show you his love through his actions alone. words never did come easy to him, but sometimes, he felt like you needed such words of affirmations in order to feel confident in your relationship with him.

each time you would tell him how much you loved him, megumi found the words stuck within his throat, nearly choking him as something akin to anxiety courses through him.

did he really deserve your love?

was he even capable of cherishing you like you deserved? or would he just simply abandon you when things got too hard?

these were the thoughts that plagued his mind throughout the two years you began dating. his self-deprecating thoughts would constantly keep him from truly opening his heart up to you, only being able and brave enough to love you from a distance.

he knew that his distance hurt you. he knew that each time you would get closer to him, to try and deepen your bond with him in your relationship, only to fail the moment megumi became closed off that it hurt you a great deal...

"ne, megumi, do you feel like going out with me?"

he stops looking at his phone, still settled on the couch when he sees you standing in front of him. a bored expression was seen on his face, and he felt too tired to do anything if he was being honest.

"not really..." megumi was never the type to lie to you, hence why he was honest with his feelings when it came to going out of the apartment. he ignores how his chest seemed to squeeze in pain with your defeated expression, almost changing his mind to tell you that it was okay to go out if that's what made you happy.

but you beat him to it, masking your sadness with a wide grin and a clipped laugh. "that's okay! let's just stay in and watch some movies. we can order some takeout at our favorite place and just relax here."

you disappear for a brief moment, going to get something in the closet. when you came back, you held your phone and blanket in hand before joining him on the couch. as you were cuddling closer to him, megumi could feel the guilt eating away at him, yet all he could do was continue holding you close.

megumi watches as you grab your remote, flipping through the channels while keeping the fake smile plastered on your face. he slides his eyes shut and gently places a kiss against your hair, knowing at that exact moment that it was high time for him to let you go-

to allow you to find your own happiness that wasn't with him-

because you deserved something far better than what he was willing to give...

unable to handle the sharp pain that was settled on his chest, making it difficult for him to breathe, megumi stands up from his spot on the couch. he grabs his keys and puts on his hoodie over his plain shirt and sweatpants haphazardly. he didn't care that his hair was a mess, or the fact that he had deep circles beneath his eyes from his lack of sleep

all megumi wanted to do now was forget.

and all he could taste was the bitterness of regret, his mind filling with scenarios of what could have been.

he should have taken you out each time you got bored of spending time in your apartment.

he should have appreciated all those times he came back to you, exhausted from his missions as you willingly cooked all of his favorite meals for him before spoiling him with a bath.

he should have loved and given you so much more.

yet due to his own stupidity and lack of emotional intelligence, all he did was distance himself away from you, further damaging your heart.

so he heads out into the city with no clear destination in mind. his thoughts were running haywire, and all he could think about was how much he missed you-

how, if given a second chance, he would do better and give you the love you had always deserved-

making megumi scoff at the thought.

it's far too late for that. i'm sure she hates me by now, and nothing is going to change that.

his thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a shrill scream, one that made him respond almost immediately as he stood frozen on the spot.

"let me go! i told you to leave me alone!"

he frowns, unable to comprehend how no one else could hear the sounds of your distressing cries, passing through the crowd as he followed the sound of your voice.

even if megumi hadn't heard from you in so long, it didn't change the fact that he could detect your voice from a million miles away. that he would always come to your side if you ever needed him-

and somehow, he knew that you needed him at this very moment.

he allows his legs to take him to where you were, finding you trapped against an unknown man as he forces you into the alleyway. fire was felt burning through his veins, and he thought about summoning his divine dogs, but ultimately decided against it.

after all, it would feel much more satisfying to rip this bastard to shreds with his own bare hands.

taking advantage of the bastard's distracted state, megumi gains up on him while putting his fist down against his head with as much force as possible. the sheer amount of strength that he had placed in such a punch was enough to make the asshole fall back with a groan, leaving your shocked form still pressed against the concrete walls.

"what the fuck-"

megumi doesn't give the bastard a chance to recover, coming back down on him when he shoves at his chest. he lands with an audible groan when megumi continues to beat the living hell out of him, allowing the memory of your distress cries to fuel his anger at this prick who dared to take advantage of you.

"megumi, stop, you're going to kill him!" your familiar scent was what finally makes him stop throwing his punches, making him look down at the bastard only to see him bloodied, bruised, and knocked out.

megumi finally steps away from him, feeling your arms wrapped around the front of his chest when he stands to his full height. he looks behind you, nearly melting as he basked at your familiar warmth seeping into him.

wishing to take you away from such a violent sight, megumi wraps his arms around your trembling form, walking off to the side while completely ignoring the bastard that was still passed out in the middle of the alleyway. he feels your shivering and stops walking, taking off his hoodie while pressing it to the front of your chest.

"wear it, you need to warm up."

your eyes were still stained red with tears, simply nodding at him as you took his hoodie and put it over your form. you end up cuddling into the sleeves, letting out a shaky 'thank you' before crying once more.

megumi frowns before wrapping his arms around you, holding you tightly against him as his fingers gently strokes at your hair. "you idiot, why did you even go out with such a moron anyways?"

you cling to him, feeling your nails dig into his back as you buried your face within his chest. "i did it t-to try and forget about y-you!"

you loosen your hands from its embrace, now clinging to the front of his shirt as your head was now bowing down to him. "you have n-no idea, how much it hurt when you ended it with me. i-i never wanted to leave your side, megumi, yet... you told me that you fell out of love with me, and all i wanted to do was die-"

unable to stand your pain anymore, megumi calls out to you, his voice breaking when says the syllables of your name.

"look at me."

you refused to heed his command, and with a click of his tongue, megumi places his hand on your chin, forcing you to face him before placing his lips over yours in a searing kiss.

he could taste the saltiness of your tears against your chapped lips, letting out a groan as he tried to convey all the emotions he felt for you- how he still felt for you. when the need for air proved to be too much did he finally pull away from you, breathing heavily as his chest moved rapidly with his slight hyperventilation.

"that was a lie, i never stopped loving you." megumi frames at your face with his two hands, basking in the love that was still seen shining within your honest gaze. "the only reason why i broke it off with you was because i thought you deserved better than me... far better than what i was giving you. and it just-"

you end up interrupting him, placing your hands on the collar of his shirt to pull him down as you gave him your own kiss, slotting your lips together with his. the sensation was just as perfect as megumi remembered it, with you and him both seeming to come together as each other's missing puzzle piece.

"you truly are an idiot, megumi. if you payed even a speck of attention, you would have known that i loved you regardless of what you did or didn't do."

"but-"

you place a finger against his lips, stopping him from speaking any further. "you just admitted to me how you broke up with me because you thought i deserved better, but what you failed to see was how no one could have ever been better than you, 'gumi."

megumi swore that he felt his heart beginning to melt when he heard your usual nickname for him. and the relief he felt was so staggering that he ends up resting his head on your shoulders, allowing his tears to freely fall.

"it's true that you were never quite vocal about your emotions, but that never meant that you didn't love or cherish me. i know that you did love me, but through your actions alone."

"like how every time we would go out, you would always walk on the side closer to the street, protecting me from any incoming traffic."

"or how each time i got sick, you would constantly baby and care for me, forcing me to lay in bed as you made me some of your delicious rice porridge while wiping the sweat from my brow with a damp handkerchief."

you continue to list several examples of megumi showing his love for you, making his heart grow and respond to you. with you in his arms, he knew that he could not let this second chance squander; that there was no way he would let you go ever again.

unable to keep himself away from you, he calls out to you, pulling away to meet your gaze. using the pad of his thumb, he traces at your bottom lip while admitting, "i should have never let you go... i love you."

and with his confession hanging within the night air, megumi closes his eyes before pressing his lips against yours, his heart feeling like it was freed knowing that you accepted him for who he was-

that you had always accepted and loved him unconditionally.

a.n. - i have always wanted to rewrite this story, because i felt as though the original was too rushed, and the pain / angst and yearning wasn't quite as evident. so here, i hope you readers actually felt something akin to pain and heartache, with pinpricks of hope that your love would bloom and grow stronger with this second chance with megumi 🥹

all stories are written by rei; reposts, translations, and plagiarism are not allowed.

#fushiguro megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro x reader #megumi fushiguro angst #megumi x reader #jjk x reader #megumi fushiguro fluff #megumi fushiguro #megumi fluff #megumi angst #megumi fushiguro imagine #.stories

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lilislegacy · 1 month

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Ok guys this is somewhat of a controversial take on Jason Grace’s powers. You can tell I was nervous writing this out because I used capitalization lol. Please read till the end

I want to start by saying I love Jason Grace. He is such a cutie. I adore him. And he is a very, very powerful demigod. And he is totally capable of very evil things, just like Percy. This take concerns a certain ability that a lot of people seem to think he has, but I don’t think people realize how unrealistic is. (I mean people can still hc whatever they want, it just doesn’t mean it’s canon.) Okay, here goes

There is absolutely no evidence or reason that Jason Grace would be able to control the electricity in our bodies. And here’s why…

I know so many of you really love that idea, and justify it by using the logic that percy can control people’s bodily fluids, so since jason can control lightning, he could control neurons and action potentials. But here’s the thing: The reason percy can control bodily fluids is because bodily fluids, like saliva, blood, and tears are largely made up of water, so he can manipulate the content of those substances that is water. And water is water. H2O is H2O. Percy directly controls all water. That’s his power.

Jason, however, controls weather. Which means he controls clouds, thunder, wind, rain, and yes, lightning. But just because lightning involves electricity does not mean he controls ALL electricity. He controls rain, right? Rain is water. But jason does not control all water. Just rain. Because it’s weather. And before you completely ignore what I just said about rain, and argue “but if he can control the electricity that causes lightning, he could control the electrical signals in people’s brains and muscles,” I see where you’re coming from, but the electricity in lightning is NOT the same electricity in our bodies. Unlike water, not all electricity is the same. Water is a basic chemical compound, in all its forms. Electricity, however, is the flow of electric charge through conductive materials, which produces energy. And those materials and types of energy vary. There are different types. The two we are discussing here are static electricity and bioelectricity.

Static electricity is the accumulation of electric charge on the surface of an object. Did you ever do that experiment where you rubbed a balloon on your head and your hair stuck up? Static electricity causes lightning when there is a buildup of electrical charge in the atmosphere during a storm. When the charge difference between clouds, or between a cloud and the ground, becomes too much, it creates a sudden discharge of electricity, which we see as lightning.

Bioelectricity involves chemicals. It refers to the electrical signals and currents produced within living organisms. It works through the movement of charged particles, called ions, across cell membranes, which allows for communication between cells, nerve impulses, muscle contractions, and various physiological processes.

So here’s the thing. Even if Jason could control ALL static electricity, which likely is NOT the case, it’s not even the same type as the electricity that makes neurons fire. And like I stated, Jason/Zeus has control over weather and storm elements, which may involve electricity, but does not mean he controls all electricity.

Okay besties, now before you show up in my comment section aggressively defending jason and assuming I think he’s weak, let me clarify: I am not saying Jason is not powerful as hell, or that he could not do some creepy ass evil things. He definitely could. For instance, he’s shown through his control over wind that he can manipulate air currents in various ways. MEANING he could create a vacuum effect, and suck all the air out of a person’s body. Like… HELLO? He could collapse their lungs. Deprive their brain of oxygen. He could repeatedly suck the de-oxygenated air, aka CO2, out of their lungs, and then force it back in. Which would be torture. Death by slow suffocation. So using his control of wind and air currents, Jason could be terrifying as hell if he wanted to be, and could do unspeakable things to human beings. I’m simply saying that his ability to summon lightning has absolutely zero connection to the hypothetical ability of being able to control people’s neurons. They’re not even somewhat related processes.

Please don’t yell at me. I love Jason. I think he could be very very scary and evil if he wanted to. Him as a villain would be catastrophic, and I’m not doubting that in any way.

#PLEASE DONT YELL AT ME #IM JUST STATING THE FACTS #jason could be very scary #i don’t doubt it #jason grace #percy jaskon #heroes of olympus #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians

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sugrhigh · 3 months

Text

ALL YOURS - ( roomie!matt pt 5 )

summary- you and your roommate matt have been sleeping together for a minute now, but neither one of you wants to ask the other what it means. feelings come to fruition one night at a party and the dynamics of your relationship change once again.

warnings- nsfw content ahead people so read at ur own risk, swearing, drug/alcohol use, dom!matt kinda, unprotected sex, it’s straight up smut at the end so fr don’t read it if u don’t want to!

roomie!matt x fem!reader

a/n: THIS IS TECHNICALLY PART 5 OF THE ROOMIE!MATT TEXT SERIES so if you haven’t read those you might be a bit confused. link to the master list is here.

strap in because it’s kinda long so i hope u guys love this final chapter as much as i do <3 inbox is always open xo

@sleepysturnss

rain patters against the windows mercilessly as the tv drones on, interrupted only by booming thunder every few minutes.

its late in the day now, and the cloud coverage makes it extra gloomy, even with interior lights on. not that this bothers you.

storms have always been a source of comfort in your eyes. something about them makes you feel safe, reminds you that the world is far bigger than whatever is worrying you.

“oh, i’ve been meaning to ask if you’re still seeing that guy. what’s his name again?” nick asks from beside you, scrolling mindlessly on his phone as he slumps against the couch.

you’ve been sitting like this for hours together, rotting in his living room while it continues to pour outside.

“it’s luke, and no, i’m not talking to him anymore.” you reply, trying to sound as casual as possible.

he looks up at you now, clearly a bit shocked to be hearing this. “please tell me it’s not because of my bitch ass brother.”

you bark out a laugh before you can stop yourself, mostly due to the fact that it’s absolutely because of matt. just not for the reason he thinks.

“as if. it was my decision, don’t worry.”

this is only half true. you did cut the poor guy off, but only because matt had essentially instructed you to do so before you guys had sex for the first time a month ago.

and then you hooked up again. and again. and a couple more times after that. neither of you could stop coming back for more apparently.

none of your friends know yet. as much as you want to be honest with them, you haven’t really talked about the details of this little situation. you’re almost positive matt hasn’t been seeing anyone else, but you also haven’t outright asked.

and there’s no use telling everyone about something that might not even be real.

“what made you do that? was the sex bad? is he an asshole?” nick interrogates further, clicking his phone off so his full attention is on you.

you can’t tell if he’s suspicious or if you’re just genuinely paranoid, but you don’t like this line of questioning either way.

“no he’s fine, he just wasn’t doing it. and his breath always smelled for some reason.” you’re lying through your teeth, but his face morphs into an expression of disgust like he’s buying it.

“ew, major turn off.”

“you’re telling me.”

nick sighs and snuggles further into the cushions, resting his head on your shoulder as he stares at the tv.

“well for what it’s worth, i’m sorry it didn’t work out. but who knows, maybe you’ll meet someone sexy at nathan’s tomorrow.” he says.

“yeah, maybe.” you feed into the hypothetical, even though you know that won’t be happening.

at least not if matt sturniolo has a say in it.

your music is playing softly over the speaker as you get ready, perched in front of your vanity like a doll. you’ve just finished your makeup when you hear a singular tap on the door.

“can you hurry it up in here?” matt calls as he pushes it open slightly.

you find it funny that he’s always sure to knock, ever since he walked in on you naked that fateful afternoon. even though you’re literally sleeping together now, he makes it a point to not invade your privacy.

“can’t rush perfection, matthew.” you taunt him as you put your palette and brushes back in their rightful place.

he moves further into your room, walking over to stand behind you. he’s dressed up in jeans and that black muscle tee you love so much, tattoos on display as his hands go to knead your shoulders lightly.

“you do look amazing.” he compliments.

“likewise.” you reply before meeting his searing gaze in the reflection of the mirror.

he increases his pressure slightly, digging his fingers into your neck in a steady pattern. you already know what he’s angling at and he hasn’t even spoken.

“you know, we could just stay home.” matt suggests with a smirk.

“c’mon, we can’t keep ditching our friends. they’re gonna get suspicious at some point.” you shake your head and stand up, because the massage is starting to feel a little too good.

“nobody cared when we left early last time.”

you cross your arms over your chest and turn to give him a pointed look. “because you convinced them that i was sick.”

“so i’ll just tell them a different lie.” he shrugs.

“oh my god, i am going to this party with or without you, so you better make up your mind before the uber gets here.” you say over your shoulder, headed out of your room toward the stairs.

“such a brat.” he grumbles, but you hear him following you regardless.

“only for you.”

two hours later you’re standing in the middle of nathan’s living room, dancing along with the typical crowd. nick and madi are on either side of you, both bopping around drunkenly to the beat.

you’ve had three shitty drinks at this point and your head feels a bit fuzzy. you’re positive your cheeks are flushed, which is actually kind of nice.

matt was with you minutes earlier, but he’s ventured off to get another drink. it’s selfish that you miss him every second he’s not around.

it’s just nice having him by your side. sure, it was kind of casual at first, and you didn’t think it was going to develop so quickly. but now whatever is going on between you means a whole lot more.

you like when he asks you to spend the night in his room, or when he saves the last can of redbull for you so you don’t go to work without caffeine. you like that he’s been replacing the flowers he got you every time they start die, the way he insists on driving you places even if it’s out of his way.

you just like him, and it’s more than casual. at least it is to you, and you can’t imagine that at this point he doesn’t feel the same.

but you don’t want to be the one to try and put a label on it. quite frankly, it scares the shit out of you, and you’re still not drunk enough to keep thinking about it in the middle of this party.

you see chris a few feet away against the wall, beer in his hand as he chats animatedly with nathan. you know he has what you’re looking for, so you shout that you’ll be back and head their direction.

they both smile at you as you approach, almost perfectly in sync.

“what’s up!” chris leans down a bit so you can hear him better.

“do you still have that joint you mentioned earlier?” you ask into his ear.

he nods happily, and nathan shoots you both a questioning glance. by the looks of his sleepy eyes, he’s probably already crossed.

“we’re going to smoke!” you fill him in, motioning toward the front door.

nathan nods and tells you he’ll stay back, so the two of you shuffle your way out of the living room, trying to avoid bumping into as many people as possible.

you pass the kitchen, and as your eyes scan the people you spot matt huddled in the corner. he’s talking to a very obviously enthusiastic girl, one that you don’t recognize. your stomach drops at the sight of them, and you hate it.

he doesn’t see you, so you turn your head and keep following behind chris. he’ll stop talking to her soon. he’ll probably even come looking for you instead.

right?

the crowd thins as out by the door, and the two of your step out into the fresh air moments later. the street is relatively quiet, and once the door is shut the noise of the party is muffled. there’s nobody else outside, and you’re grateful.

the other townhouses stare at you as chris crosses the short driveway so he can hide underneath the tree in the yard. you follow his lead, watching as he fishes the lighter and joint out of his front pocket.

“keeping it handy, huh?” you joke.

“you caught me at the right time, i just packed it upstairs.” he smiles before putting it between his lips.

the flame burns the end as he takes a hit, exhaling up toward the sky. you pass it back and forth in silence, both enjoying the momentary break from socialization.

chris clears his throat a minute later, nudging at the grass with his toe absentmindedly. “so, i have a question to ask you.”

he looks over so he can hand the joint back, and your hands shake ever so slightly as you reach out to take it.

“yeah?”

“i think matt is seeing someone. do you know anything about that?” he asks bluntly.

you try to remain calm as you shake your head at him, though it seems impossible. you aren’t prepared for this at all.

“uh, no?”

chris smiles just a little bit, like he’s already got you right where he wants you. “so he doesn’t bring anyone over? it’s just the two of you?”

your narrow your eyes at him. “just ask what you want to ask.”

“are you guys together?”

there it is. you were expecting it this time, and it still makes your stomach flip.

“no. i mean, kind of? we’re not like, dating. we’re just…uh…hooking up.” you’re trying so hard to figure out how to put it that it sounds horrible.

he just laughs. “no you’re not. that kid is in love with you.”

your jaw drops slightly in surprise, and this only makes chris chuckle harder.

“what the fuck are you talking about?” you ask him once he finally calms down.

“i’ve seen how he’s acting lately. so fucking goofy, like he’s got his head in the clouds. he only ever gets all dopey like that when he really likes someone, and i kind of suspected it was you.”

it’s hard to find any words. there’s simply nothing on your brain, no coherent thought to be found. chris gives you a playful nudge.

“it’s okay, i won’t tell anyone if you don’t want me to. but i think you feel the same.” he makes a guess, and he’s very accurate.

you look away as you take your final hit, trying to decide how you want to respond. you exhale the smoke and pass the remainder of the joint back to him.

“okay, you got me. i do want it to be like, a real relationship. and i’ll talk to him about it soon, i promise. just please don’t tell anyone until i do.” you plead.

he wraps an arm around your shoulder, pulling you into a side hug. you relax into him, and you have to admit you’re a bit relieved that at least somebody knows now.

“of course not. i’m here to support you both whenever you’re ready. everyone else will be too.”

“thank you. that makes me feel a lot better, seriously.” you say truthfully as he pulls away.

“good.” he nods in satisfaction, giving you a loopy grin.

“i’ve mooched enough, so i’m gonna go back inside, but thanks again. i owe you a blunt for the reality check.” you point a finger at him as you back up off of the grass.

“i’ll never turn that down.”

the high has taken over as you spin around to walk normally, and it’s nearly impossible to stop smiling. having confirmation that you’re not crazy for feeling the way that you do is wonderful.

you head back inside the house, almost positive that you’d find matt hanging out somewhere with your friends.

but as you pass the kitchen again, you spot him in the same place, leaned up against the end of the counter with a solo cup in hand. it seems like the girl is even closer than she was before.

your face falls immediately. it makes you angry that it’s been so long and he still hasn’t told her to get lost yet. if he wants to be all possessive over you, then you shouldn’t have to act so cool for him.

you’re certainly not feeling collected right now. and he deserves to know that.

you wedge your way around the people chatting and pouring themselves drinks without a second thought. matt sees you coming before you actually reach him, and he looks confused by your irritated expression.

you wrap your fingers around his arm wordlessly, right in the middle of the nameless girl’s sentence. he doesn’t put up a fight. in fact, he’s practically hot on your heels as you pull him back toward the hall.

“uh—hey! we were talking bitch!” she shouts after you.

“don’t care.” you don’t even give her the satisfaction of making eye contact.

there’s really no point. matt is trailing behind you like a puppy, and that’s all that matters. he clearly doesn’t want to be there any more than you want him to.

“what’s going on?” he asks as you maneuver around the outside of the crowded living room, making a beeline for the staircase.

it’s taped off to everyone except your group, in case of emergency.

this feels like one, considering you don’t even care if anyone sees you together. you don’t respond, you just let go of his hand and step over the thin barrier, glancing behind you to see if he’ll follow.

there’s a curious look in his eye, but he does the same.

you continue up the stairs, making sure he has the perfect view of your ass as you go. you can literally feel him staring, which only stokes the fire.

“are you taunting me right now?” matt asks as you reach the second floor.

this makes you pause, and you turn around so you can wrap your hand in his shirt. you yank him into the bathroom, slapping the light switch on with your free hand.

you close the door behind you, which suppresses the booming sound of nathan’s music playing through the speakers.

“what the hell is this?” you uncurl your fist and shove his chest to put some space between you.

his eyebrows shoot up in surprise as he regains his balance and sets his cup down on the counter. you realize you probably spilled some of it by dragging him around, but that’s not your main focus right now.

“what do you mean?”

“don’t you dare play dumb. you can’t stand it when anyone else even breathes near me, so why would you think that i would be okay watching you flirt with some random girl for fifteen minutes? you either want me or you fucking don’t, matt.” you spit, crossing your arms over your chest defensively.

it’s shocking that you’re being this honest with him, but you’re faded and you’ve been pushed beyond your limit.

no use tip-toeing around it now.

“you think just because she came up to me that somehow means i don’t want you?” he asks, and there’s more of an edge to his tone now.

“how am i supposed to know? we haven’t talked about it, whatever this is.” you wave your hand back and forth between the two of you.

a look of understanding passes over his face. “oh, this is about labels, huh?”

this infuriates you more, because that’s not even the point you’re trying to make. he’s aggravatingly calm right now, like he’s so sure of himself.

“look, if you don’t want to be in a real relationship with me, then fine. i don’t care. but i’m not gonna keep exclusively sleeping with just you if that’s the case.”

matt is silent for a moment, eyes darting across your face. you can see him gazing at your lips, and it drives you crazy.

he takes one step forward, staring you down with those pretty blue eyes. even though your height different is relatively small, it still feels like he’s towering above you.

“are you really trying to tell me you wouldn’t care at all if i wanted to see other people?” he asks quietly.

his face is so close, and you breathe in his familiar smoky cologne. it’s dizzying, being this overwhelmingly attracted to someone.

“of course i’d be upset, but there’s not much i can do about it if you don’t feel the same.” your voice is hushed now too, and you wish you didn’t sound so weak.

matt cups your chin gently with one hand, forcing you to keep your focus on him. your heart is slamming against your ribcage now, begging for some kind of relief.

“i want to be with you so bad that it kills me.” he finally admits.

it’s your turn to be stunned, and you stay completely still as his thumb grazes over your bottom lip slowly.

“i had this whole thing planned, i was going to take you to a fancy little restaurant and ask you out like a gentleman. but you just couldn’t wait, could you?” his voice is husky, pupils blown out in lust.

“i…really?” you ask breathlessly.

“really. so what do you think? you wanna be mine?” he goads with a smirk, gripping your face a bit tighter.

it’s normally hard to swallow your pride, especially with matt, but you’re so vulnerable in this moment you can’t tell him anything besides the truth.

“i do.”

“good, because you already are.” he growls before closing the gap between you, lips crashing against yours.

he tastes sweet, like the soda he’s been mixing with vodka all night. it’s a pleasant mess of teeth and tongue as you deepen the kiss, passionate in a way that you’ve never experienced with him before.

his hands travel down to grab at your hips, pressing against you so your lower back bumps against the sink. you tangle your fingers in his hair, pulling enough to elicit a groan.

it vibrates against your mouth, and you feel yourself throb just from that little noise alone. he’s normally not very vocal, but you bring it out of him.

matt’s hands slide up your body, finding their way under the hem of your sheer lace top. his cold rings press against your stomach as he slowly inches higher, leaving goosebumps in their wake. you let go of him, throwing your hands upwards so he can peel the shirt over your head.

“so fucking pretty, just for me.” matt praises as he tucks your hair behind your ear, attaching his lips to your neck seconds later.

you tilt your head back to give him a better angle, sighing in pleasure as he nips at the soft skin. one hand is feeling up your chest as his teeth dig into your collar, tongue sliding over the marks he’s leaving in an attempt to soothe the irritated areas.

you move your own fingers down between both of your bodies, ghosting them over the crotch of his jeans, palming him just a bit. his dick is already straining against your hand, and he hisses a string of curses into your shoulder.

“no more teasing tonight, i need you now.” he grumbles, already out of breath as his hands travel to undo the button of your pants.

you take the lead and slide them down yourself, tearing your thin panties off with them because you want him just as much. it doesn’t seem fair that you’re the only one exposed, so you tug his muscle tee upwards in desperation.

matt doesn’t protest, he just tosses it to the floor with the rest of your discarded clothes. you let your fingers rake over his skin, down his abdomen and over his happy trail until your fingers meet the waistline of his jeans.

you glance up at him through your lashes as you unbuckle his belt, entirely naked now, and he swears he could finish just by looking at you.

the sensation of your hands skimming against his thighs as you drag his jeans and boxers to his ankles makes him twitch. nobody has ever turned him on the way you do, and it’s frightening how good you make him feel.

but you always enjoy everything just as much, because he’s the best dick you’ve ever had. perfect length, enough girth to stretch you out, and he knows exactly how to move to your liking. matt even keeps it trimmed nicely.

the tip glistens with precum, and you pull your hair back with one hand like you’re getting ready to put it in your mouth.

“no, stand back up baby.” he instructs, and the commanding note in his voice makes you push yourself off your knees, extending to your full height.

matt turns you around so you’re facing the mirror, one hand on your side and the other on your back as he forces you to bend at the waist. your forearms press flat against the cool marble counter, and the assertiveness of it all sends a jolt of excitement right to your core.

his palm comes down on the curve of your ass without warning, just hard enough to sting. you let out a whimper, arching your back more as you gaze at him through the reflection.

he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, smoothing his hand over the place he just hit. his eyes are so dark, so full of desire that it just solidifies the way you feel about him.

“you like that? you want me to be rough?” matt leans over you, cock pressed against you as he speaks into your ear.

“please.” you whine, shifting your hips to try and feel more of him, to feel anything.

he stops your movements immediately and smacks your ass again, this time on the opposite side. it makes you groan in delight, almost involuntarily.

“you’re gonna look at yourself while i fuck you, got it princess?” he says, backing up just a bit so he can take his dick into his own hand and pump a few times.

you nod as you feel him line himself up at your entrance, and you know that at this angle you’re perfectly on display for him.

he pushes himself inside of you in one fluid motion, and you gasp as his fingers squeeze your hip. matt doesn’t give you time to adjust to him like normal. instead he immediately starts to pick up speed, wrapping your hair in his free hand so you can’t look anywhere else besides in front of you.

your lips are parted as you moan, eyes fluttering at the stimulation. you can hear matt grunting behind you, a deliciously dirty sound.

“look at how pretty you are, taking me so well. all fucking mine.” he marvels, rocking your body against him even harder.

skin slaps together, and his pace is making your legs tremble. you can feel the party raging on underneath you, and it’s strangely even hotter in this setting.

“shit, you fill me up so good matt.” you tell him, catching his eyes for a second before he throws his head back.

“fuck.”

he’s hitting it so well, and you can feel yourself tightening around him with every stroke. it’s turning him into an even bigger mess.

“god, if you keep that up i’m not gonna last much longer.” he warns, bucking his hips into you at a slightly different angle.

you cry out at the new sensation, a guttural noise that you didn’t even know you could make.

“i’m so close, right there babe.”

matt listens perfectly, using the hand on your waist to guide you so that you bounce against his thighs in the same spot. you’re a whining mess, and you can’t keep looking in the mirror.

you feel the tears as your eyes screw shut. the fire in your stomach is growing, spreading throughout your whole body. he tugs your roots a little bit more.

“come all over my dick, pretty girl. it’s all yours.”

his words are what send you over the edge, and your body shudders as you feel yourself giving in to the high, releasing all over him.

“fuck, matt, stay inside.” you pant, and he groans loudly.

two more sloppy strokes and you feel him tense, filling you up as he finishes. matt lets go of your hair, dragging his fingers along your shoulders, you back. you look so fucked out, makeup smudged slightly under your eyes, and you both love it.

he pulls out slowly, giving you one last tiny pat on your ass.

you’ve both got stars in your eyes as you stand, and you can feel the wetness pool against your thighs. thank god you’re on birth control. this was a special occasion anyways.

you turn, and matt immediately pulls you in for a kiss. you smile slightly, because you can’t help it.

“come on, i need to get cleaned up.” you pull away slightly.

“fine.” he sighs, but he lets you go regardless.

you wipe yourself off with some toilet paper quickly and flush it while he redresses. you two have been missing for minute now.

you guess it doesn’t really matter. sure, you should probably be discrete about having sex around your friends. but you’re also together. officially.

“so, does this mean i can tell the other girls in your dms to fuck off?” you joke as you put your underwear back on, shimmying into your jeans next.

“you can honestly tell them whatever you want.” matt runs a hand through his hair, smiling at you like a fucking goofball.

you’re just situating your shirt into place when the door comes swinging open, revealing a very drunk nathan. you and matt freeze, completely unsure what to do.

his eyes go wide as he realizes what’s going on, mouth hanging open like he can’t believe it.

“woah. no fucking way”

#matthew sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut #nick sturniolo #chris sturniolo #fanfic #roommate au #smut

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