#drenched the sheets in love and opened himself up in a way he never had before and no do not even

[suchawrathfullamb]

no I will not give you a serious "no" answer because please are u kidding me?

#the bird scene is about sucking dick hello “cock in mouth” hello #anyway #I'm super neutral about this #except I'm not and they were fucking hard every dinner night and every “session” #PLEASE #Hannibal's face when he says “I let you know me see me” that was the face of someone who #drenched the sheets in love and opened himself up in a way he never had before and no do not even #start with the stupid “they don't need sex to be deeply intimate” stfu let them fuck jfc #leave us alone #nbc hannibal #hannigram #hannibal #will graham #murder husbands #hannibal lecter

[slvttyplum]

suguru hated how infatuated you were with satoru, even though he knew you meant no harm whenever you spoke about him, it still made him upset. you were supposed to be paying attention to him not satoru and the more you spoke about hm, the more suguru went out of his way to prove to you that he was better than him in all aspects.

including sex.

there was no better way to prove that you were better than someone than to prove how good you were at sex, and that's exactly what suguru did. was this petty? yes, but he wasn't going to have you drooling out the mouth about satoru so he did the only thing he could think of.

“do you want to fuck satoru?” bouncing his leg while you were on his lap, this wasn't a joke or a trick, he wanted a genuine answer. horror coating your face as you look at him, no smirk or sadness on his expression, just his regular resting face, his arm wrapped around your waist, his thumb rubbing over your hip.

“no.” just a one word answer hoping he won't dig deeper into it, and he didn't, instead he did what he had to do to prove to you that he was better than satoru, the no showed him everything he needed to see. taking the rubber band that he had resting on his wrist and tying his hair back and grabbing you by the neck, giving you a kiss.

his hand sliding to the back of your neck, resting as you fully emerge into the kiss, his sweet taste on yours. once you closed your eyes to kiss him, the next time you opened them you were on the bed and holding up your legs for suguru so that he could fuck you.

“i want you to know… that you'll always be mine okay?” and with that he lined himself up and pushed into you, letting out a groan of pleasure, your walls wrapped around him and squeezing him.

suguru proving to you that he was the overall better choice than satoru went on for two weeks straight, him beating your pussy in until he was physically tumbling over from how weak your pussy got him. you didn't know why he was fucking you the way he was, but you weren't complaining, it was like getting a reward every time you came home to suguru bending you over the counter and sliding down your panties just to eat your pussy from the back.

he knew he shouldn't have been jealous but the line of you going out to actually fuck satoru was too thin, so he had to make you fucked out for you not to do that and he succeeded. by the end of every night, the sheets were drenched with three different fluids, and you were asleep beside him as he cleaned you up, mumbling to yourself in your sleep his name.

maybe this wasn't about satoru but more about him wanting to fuck you to sleep every night, either way he loved to please you so that's what he was going to do.

“no one else can fuck you the way i fuck you… say it.” while pushing your thighs into your chest and kissing you, tears in the corner of your eyes as he pushes deep inside of you, the tip of his dick pressing on your sweet spot making your heart beat faster and pleasure jolt throughout your body. that's all suguru wanted, he wanted to hear you say those words.

to hear you say that his dick was better than anyone else's and that he's the only one who could make you cum, and all of that was true, so he wanted to hear you blabber that while he pushed his dick inside of you with no mercy.

“mm, no one else can fuck me like you suguru.” the way you said his name sent tingles throughout his spine, he didn't want to slide out of you. he wanted to stay buried deep inside of you until your pussy remembered his shape, and only he could slide into you with ease.

“there we go. that's my good girl.”

after two full weeks of fucking you nonstop with no breaks, you never brought up satoru again, suguru knew all he needed to do was fuck him out of your mind.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk x you #x reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jjk suguru #jjk geto #jujutsu geto #geto suguru #geto x reader #geto smut #suguru #jujutsu kaisen suguru #suguru geto smut #getou suguru x reader #geto #suguru geto #getou suguru

[crimsonvictory]

HELP

MINORS DNI

Word Count: 3.3k

Tags: Simon Riley x Reader, Ghost x Reader, Ghost smut

Warnings: Overstimulation, pussy!drunk Ghost, tipsy!Ghost, CONSENT IS IMPORTANT

Notes: I’ve never wrote anything about Ghost so please be kind :)

———————————————————

You don’t know exactly when the troubled soldier began stopping by your barracks when the voices of the dark recesses of his mind wouldn’t quiet down.

It wasn’t uncommon. Mostly everyone in your unit was accustomed to night terrors. In a sickening way, it made you feel a bit better about yourself, knowing that you weren’t alone. Everyone had their demons. Yours had been especially bad lately.

Everyone kept to themselves. Seeing as asking for help as a sign of weakness. Typical stigma. Riley especially kept to himself, only appearing when he was needed. Although, he thought he wasn’t worth a damn.

You had been made aware of Riley a few years ago, fresh meat thrown to the wolves. You were nervous, a new environment, a new team, and you immediately noted him as a pain in the ass once you made eye contact with him.

Riley was a cocky sonofabitch. All bark and bite when necessary. He was full of snarky quips and loved smoking cigarettes. To be honest, he liked the burn of the smoke - the way it would curl around in his lungs and leave him breathless - a reality check. As if he didn’t have them every damn day of his career.

He was a mystery and liked to keep it that way. No one questioned and those who did got their asses handed to them. You didn’t work with him very often, but when you did, he watched your six, kept you safe, and you did the same for him.

He was reliable. And you tolerated him for that. That night, you had awoken with a shout, gasping for air as you fought your way out of your mind. Your sheets were drenched with sweat, clothes clinging to the small of your back, pulse loud in your ears. You took a deep couple of breaths, re-orienting yourself in the living world. Your lips were dry and parched. You groan, throwing your covers off of your body and looking at the clock through bleary eyes.

2:27AM

You slid to the edge of your bunk, bare feet pressing into the cool floor. Standing up, you padded over to your door and snuck down the hallway into the kitchen. There, you grabbed a glass of water and a cigarette.

As far as you knew, no one knew you smoked - not your proudest habit. But when you dealt with the scum of the earth for your daily job, a cigarette wasn’t that bad in your opinion.

You chugged your glass of water before lighting your cigarette. Not wanting the smoke to fill the room, you open up one of the windows. You take a drag, inhaling the smoke into your lungs and holding it for a good twenty seconds before exhaling; watching the smoke slowly spiral out the screen in the window.

“Fancy a share?”

You nearly jump out of your skin, whirling around quickly and squinting in the direction of the voice. Your eyes are darting back and forth, trying to adjust to the darkness.

A tall, looming figure steps out of the shadows.

Riley.

“You fucking scared me!” you whisper-shout.

A shrug for a reply.

“You gonna share or not?” he asks again, a smirk in his voice.

You roll your eyes, holding out the cigarette and flicking ashes in his direction. He steps up closer to you, taking the rolled tobacco from your fingers. You turn away, giving him his privacy.

No one has ever seen Riley without a mask. Ever. No one questions it.

He takes a few puffs, blowing the smoke out and through his mask. The cigarette is passed back and forth between you two until it is nothing but ash. No talking, just silence. It’s comfortable.

You put the cigarette in the ashtray, grab a glass of water, and nod goodbye. One is returned to you.

Walking back down the hallway, you make it to your door and slip back inside. You know you are not able to go back to sleep, so you wash your face with cold water, brush your teeth, and fluff your blankets.

You lie on your bed, enjoying the cool night air that is cooling the sweat on your skin. Although you are not going back to sleep, you close your eyes. A smile spreads across your face, enjoying the moment that happened in the kitchen not too long ago.

Riley was a mystery card. He was starting to grow on you though. You were naturally curious about what he looked like. The only part of him you had seen were his eyes. They changed, sometimes dark and stormy, a cloud of black swirling in with the amber - usually after a mission - processing the day's work. Sometimes, when the sun would hit them, they looked like molten honey, flecks of gold peeking through.

A knock at your door startles you out of your thoughts.

You sit up warily, throwing your legs on the side of the bed and placing your feet on the floor. Walking over to the door, you stifle a yawn. You unlock the door and your eyes widen when you see him.

Riley.

Your brows scrunch in confusion. As you’re about to ask, he cuts to the chase.

“Can I come in?”

You’re taken aback, mind-reeling. Why in the world would your lieutenant want to come into your room? Had you done something wrong? You blink a couple of times, widening the opening in the door and stepping back.

He takes the opportunity, squeezing in through the opening of the door. He’s fucking huge, filling up your entire doorframe. You take a step back behind him before closing the door. Still trying to process, you turn back around. He’s looking around your room, silent and stoic.

You clear your throat, grabbing his attention. He’s standing there awkwardly, a bit like he has regretted his decision in coming down here.

“‘S Nice,” he murmurs, accent thick.

You hum, nodding in agreement. Your room was one place you wanted to feel safe in at the end of the day.

The silence is awkward now, not like the comfortable one you had shared earlier. You hadn’t really taken a look at him earlier, so now you do. He’s wearing black sweats that sit low on his waist and a form-fitting black t-shirt.

He looks good.

This is the least amount of clothing you’ve ever seen him in. You have never thought of him in that way. Your job was too stressful, too busy - and the fact that he was your superior was another daunting if.

You hadn’t noticed his eyes on you. You snap out of your reverie, only to find him staring at you. Your heart lurches, meeting his gaze. A predator and prey. You swallow a gasp as he lurks towards you.

His eyes are dark, troubled. You can see the pain in them as he gets closer. The white of his mask contrasted with the darkness swirling in his irises.

“L-Lieutenant?” you whisper, stepping back towards the door.

He’s silent, stalking forward until you are pressed against the cool, metal door. Your gut lurches, telling you that this was a mistake. Your heartbeat quickens and your mouth goes dry.

Why did you, not even second guess on letting him in?

He towers over you, leaning an arm above your head and resting on it. He’s close now, and you can smell the whiskey on his breath.

“Don’t be afraid,” he whispers, reaching a hand up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

You’re breathing heavily, chest rising and falling with panic. Your throat is constricting, and a cold sweat forming on your skin. The heat radiating between your two bodies is almost unbearable.

You don’t know what to expect from him. Riley is not predictable, which is what makes him such a force in the field. Your mind goes to a dark place involuntarily - a part of the job, prepare for the worst. You close your eyes, you can’t look him in the eye, not right now.

It’s embarrassing how affected you are. You try to calm your breathing. This cannot be real. You’re panicking, spiraling, letting the inky tendrils of despair grab you tight and pull you down into the depths.

“Look at me,” his voice is as clear as a bell, you oblige and open your eyes.

He’s looking down at you, and his eyes have softened a bit, could that be - concern?

You clear your throat, embarrassment flushing from your ears down your neck. He was never going to let you live this down. He grabs your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting your gaze up to meet him.

“Breathe,” he whispers, petting your chin with his forefinger.

His hands are covered with his signature gloves, hands that have killed in cold blood, hands that had you in between them. Your breathing starts to slow, you close your eyes for a moment before opening them again, peering up through your lashes at the man before you.

“Fucking Christ,” he curses, turning his head away for a moment.

He turns back to you, his eyes have darkened again. But this time, it’s something different - his pupils are blown wide - desire. His eyes are nearly black with lust. Your stomach flips, confused about all the signals you were getting.

“I need help,” he comments, looking up towards the sky. “Lord forgive me.”

Riley was not a religious man. You find it a bit funny. A smile threatens to break out on your lips. You are watching him silently, your teeth tugging on your bottom lip. He meets your gaze again before asking,

“Would you oppose me on my knees?”

Your brain short circuits, not fully understanding what he is asking. You are sleep deprived, still in shock that he was even in your bunk. You blink, looking up at him. Your mouth opens to ask,

“What are you askin’ me, Riley?”

He sighs a heavy, tired thing. He’s exhausted.

“I fancy your taste,” he slurs a bit. “Can’t stop thinkin’ about that little cunt of yours.”

Your mouth drops open, shock clearly evident on your face. You cannot even begin to wrap your mind around what he has just said. He doesn’t even give you a chance, just drops to his knees in front of you. He looks up through his lashes, eyes sparkling with desire.

“You gonna deny a man who is on his knees for you?”

Oh fuck.

Warmth spreads involuntarily down to your clothed pussy. You choke out a gasp. He looks so fucking pretty like this. Your mouth opens and closes and he just sits there, silent, waiting for your okay. How drunk was he? Would he even remember coming down here? Oh, you did not want to take advantage of him.

“L-Lieutenant-“ you start.

“Please,” he begs, almost a fucking whimper. It’s pathetic.

How could you tell him no? He was asking so nicely. You had been single for so long, and hadn’t had an orgasm in God knows how long. Your panties were already soaked. Fuck.

“Yes,” you whisper.

He’s on you immediately, grabbing your legs and yanking you forward. You yelp, stumbling closer to him. Riley quickly removes his gloves and steadies you by placing a hand on the back of your thigh. He slides it across and loops back near your inner thigh, grabbing a hold of you. No going back now. You steady yourself, not really sure where to put your hands.

He taps your right thigh and then taps his shoulder, wanting you to set the hinge of your knee over it. You oblige, grabbing his shoulder to steady yourself. He leans forwards, up towards your core and fucking inhales, taking in your scent. You whine, squeezing his shoulder.

He rolls the bottom of his balaclava up, exposing his mouth before placing kisses along your inner thighs. His lips are soft, you feel a scar on his upper lip. He licks a stripe of your skin, tasting you. A low hum comes from him, pleased with your taste. You are burning hot with a flush, it spreading from your ears and down your chest. Your body is arching into his touch, desperate for any attention.

You wish you could run your hands through his hair. You pet the top of his head gently, a repeated motion to soothe your nerves. Riley reaches up into your sleep shorts, tracing your folds through your underwear, Your knees nearly buckle and he tightens his grip on you. His bare hands feel good on your skin, erupting goosebumps along your thighs.

His index finger loops around the bottom of your panties and pulls them to the side, exposing your dripping folds.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Look how wet you are.”

You blush again, turning your head away in embarrassment. He leans up, making his tongue flat and licking a stripe up your folds. You gasp at the sensation. He repeats this again, getting your taste ingrained on his tongue.

“O-Oh,” you gasp, loving the feeling of him exploring the most sensitive part of you.

He growls, tightening his grip and picking up the pace, swirling figure eights through your folds and around your clit. It feels so good. Your chest is heaving as you struggle to catch your breath. He’s like a man starved, lapping at your pussy like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do.

You are making an absolute mess, dripping down his chin and onto the front of his shirt. It’s taking everything in you to keep quiet, biting back your moans into your hand. You involuntarily grind down against his face and he goes fucking feral.

“Fuuuuuck yes, use my fucking face,” he grunts out in-between devotions to your cunt.

You are near tears, it’s so overwhelming but in such a pleasant way. You have never ever received pleasure like this. He was fucking devoted to you, making sure to milk every last drop.

The noises his mouth and your pussy had been creating were obscene. The smell of your arousal had filled the room and you didn’t even care. He was thriving on it. Your first orgasm was approaching, white-hot pleasure building in your lower stomach and taking you by surprise. Your knees start to buckle as it sweeps over your body, Riley not even stopping as your brain goes into overwhelming pleasure.

You cry out his name, sobbing around his tongue in your folds.

“S-Simon!”

It’s fucking euphoric, your body floats up, up, up, and then comes back down to reality. You slam back into your body, aware that Simon is still continuing his ministrations. You gasp at the overstimulation, pushing his head until he finally pulls away.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen anything prettier.

Simon, on his knees, absolutely drunk off of your pussy. His pupils are blown so wide that his irises are completely black. He’s not even here with you, he’s fucking gone. Your slick is painted on his lips and down his chin. His chest is heaving.

He makes eye contact with you, licking his lips and sliding his hand down to adjust himself. He’s nearly straining through his sweatpants, erection ever so present. Such a people pleaser.

You moan at the sight of him.

“I’m not done with you yet.” he drawls, getting up onto his feet and towering over you again.

You blush, line of sight dropping down to your feet. His finger tilts your head up, bringing your lips mere inches from his.

“Have a taste,” he whispers before crashing your lips together.

He’s overwhelming, a clashing of teeth and tongue as he explores your mouth, not wanting any part to go untasted. You moan, tasting remnants of whiskey, your shared cigarette, and your own pussy.

It makes heat flood your core again. He frames your face with his hands, exploring your mouth with his tongue. Riley leaves you absolutely breathless. He pulls away suddenly, putting his index and middle fingers to your lips.

“Suck,” he orders.

You oblige, taking his fingers into your mouth. You swirl your tongue around his fingers, bobbing your head up and down just a bit.

He groans, watching you through half-lidded eyes.

“Good girl,” he coos, pulling his fingers from your lips with a pop.

His hands make their way down to your hips, yanking your shorts and underwear down - leaving your bare skin vulnerable. You shiver, scooting closer to the man before you. He flips you around, walking you back until the backs of your knees hit the mattress. You sit and then lay back against your plush pillows.

He follows suit, laying on his left side. His arm snakes its way behind your head, providing a cushion. So caring, you think. The other trails its way down to your folds. He swipes his fingers through your slick, repeating this a few times before sliding back up and grabbing the bottom of your inner thigh. He yanks in an upwards motion, pulling your legs open for him. You spread them wide for him, nervous about his next move.

His fingers trail down, down, down to your entrance. He slides a finger inside and you gasp, the feeling unusual. He starts slow, picking up the pace when he feels you relax for him. You’re a hot mess, moaning around his long fingers. He’s got two into you now, scissoring and thrusting your walls open. You’re a writhing mess, wanting him in every part of your body.

He curls his fingers in a “come here” motion, finding that spongey spot that makes you see stars.

“Oh, fuck Simon.” you gasp, eyes rolling in the back of your head.

He chuckles, slowing his thrusts down. You whine, lip pouting out in disappointment.

“We’ve got all night, little one,” he says sneakily, dragging your second orgasm out of you.

It’s shorter than the second but more intense. It punches you in the gut, taking your breath away from you. You cry out, sobbing around his fingers. You sink down on them, milking your own pleasure. You’re gasping for air, slowing down as your pleasure settles.

You’re already exhausted, your body feeling satiated from your pleasure. Simon slinks down in between your legs, laying on his stomach. A whine leaves your body, he’s insatiable, ready to please you again.

“S-Simon,” you weakly protest.

His gaze catches yours, a glint of mischievousness in his eyes. He keeps eye contact with you as he slides his tongue up and down your folds before thrusting it inside of you. You clamp around his tongue, sobbing softly.

He thrusts in and out of your hole, lapping up your juices willingly. Not a drop wasted. You feel movement at the end of the bed and notice he is getting himself off by pleasuring you. He’s thrusting against the bed, groaning into your pussy. You hear his words of praise mix with the sloppiness of his mouth.

“Taste so fuckin’ good.”

“Such a good girl for me.”

“Atta’ girl.”

You sob, thrusting your cunt into his awaiting mouth. You’re fucking addicted to him. He willingly takes everything you give him. You hear him choke out a moan, hips stuttering into the mattress.

It sends you over the edge and you come again. Sobbing while you try to pull away and thrust into his tongue at the same time. You are in pure bliss, completely satiated. It takes a moment before you come back, you barely hear his words.

“One more, just one more for me sweet girl,”

You let him take from you. You give, give, give until you can’t anymore. Your body is spent, satisfied, and oh so loved. He spends hours worshipping your body. When you physically cannot give anymore, he cleans you up, tucks you into bed, gives you a kiss on the forehead, and slips out of your room.

When you wake the next morning, you are so sore, but there is no regret at all. You sit up, stretching and letting out a soft groan. You look over to your bedside table. There is a glass of water and a cigarette. You smile.

The next time he visits, you’re more than happy to help.

#simon riley #ghost x reader #simon x reader #cod simon riley #cod smut #ghost x you #simon riley x you

[kinokappe]

࿙֒͜࿚࿙֒͜࿚࿙֒͜࿚࿙֒͜࿚࿙֒͜࿚࿙֒͜࿚࿙֒͜࿚࿙ ⪩⪨ ࿚࿙֒͜࿚࿙֒͜࿚࿙֒͜࿚࿙֒͜ ࿚࿙֒͜࿚࿙֒͜࿚࿙֒͜࿚

Grandmaster's Favorite

Pairing: Bi-Han x fem!reader

Warnings: soft Bi-Han, slightly mean Bi-Han, P in V, unprotected sex, praise.

A/n: this is just a short fic I wrote to satiate the corners of my mind that are left unsatisfied with Bi-Han content, I'm filling my own void 😭

⚠️ NSFW UNDER THE CUT, MDNI⚠️

Bi-Han was known to be a cold and ruthless leader. Being the grandmaster of the Lin Kuei, he had to be strong and capable, relentless when it came to his enemies to ensure the safety of Earthrealm and to maintain the high position of his clan.

Being in this stressful position, he often found himself letting off steam deep inside your throbbing pussy, whispering sweet nothings into your ear as the sound of skin-slapping echoed through the room. The filthy display of your legs bent, resting painfully on his shoulders as he bullied his angry, needy cock into your cunt was obscene, not to mention how hard you were gripping the sheets to the point they would almost tear.

"Eyes on me, baby... Moan my name" he commanded coldly, his hair hanging loosely from his forehead. His thumb rubbed and circled your clit with such vigor and passion that you almost passed out, creaming on him again for the nth time and causing a white, creamy circle to form at the base of his cock.

He loved it, seeing your pupils dilate and your mouth hang open as loud moans of pleasure, curses and a repeat of his name spilled from your lips, turning him on even more. "Do you love it when I'm pounding into you, huh? Love it when I fuck you, fill your pretty little cunt?" He chuckled darkly. All you could do was nod desperately, your nails digging into his back as red trails followed, his hard dick pumping you full of his cum again.

"It's too much, Bi Han~!" You whimpered, eyes glossy and half-lidded, trying to squirm away from him to no avail. "You want me to stop, princess?" He mocked, "I know you can take more than this.. you're basically squeezing my cock, you sure you want me to stop?"

You opened your mouth to try and reply with some snarky remark when he suddenly pulls out, leaving just the tip before pounding into you again, going hard and deep, kissing your cervix with his dick and reaching all the spots your fingers never could.

The knot in your stomach tightens again much faster than you hoped. You grab at his arms, opening your eyes to look at him, desperately trying to warn him of your impending orgasm. But he's relentless, completely lost in the heat and wetness of your abused little cunt, loving the way you scream and moan for him.

"Fuck, princess..." He sighs into your ear, feeling you shake and tighten around his creamy cock. He slows down, still rubbing your clit in a more gentle manner to help you ride your high. "I love you.. you take me so well, make your grandmaster feel so good..." He praised, pressing soft kisses to your neck and chest.

Despite his soothing words, you still feel the aftershocks of how hard you came, his seed already leaking out from the corners of your pretty little hole, leaking down the length of him and drenching your thighs, it almost looked like porn at this point.

Bi Han gave you a few more thrusts before his hips finally stilled deep inside you. He sounded heavenly, letting out the most erotic of breaths and grunts, blowing his load hard into your cervix. He pulled out slowly, his dick starting to soften as he massaged your thighs, helping you lay your legs down from his shoulders.

"Are you alright, sweet girl?" He asked, softer than you would expect him to say. All you could do was nod, simply ruined by his gargantuan cock. He replied with a small chuckle, holding your hand and kissing your palm softly before he slid off the bed, the mattress creaking from the loss of his weight.

Before your eyes threatened to close, you could feel him cleaning you up, running a damp towel over your body and between your thighs, behind your legs and on your chest. "I think I went too hard on you, princess... I'm sorry". He looks a bit apologetic, but a smile creeps up his lips when he sees you lean into his touch. He leans in to kiss the corners of your eyes, rubbing soothing circles on your stomach and down to your thighs, helping you relax.

"I'm ok, you're just.. so rough" she chuckled weakly, opening her eyes to look up at him. He looks so soft like this, the moment so domestic that it makes her heart flutter. "And you were such a good girl for me.. taking me in so well, making me feel so good" he praised, squeezing her thigh gently.

Soon, the space beside her dips and he lays down, wrapping his arms around her to make her lay on his chest. She could feel his heartbeat against her chest, his hands rubbing up and down her back so softly it had her purring against him. "Love you.. I love you" you whispered to him, closing your eyes and feeling the heavy burden of sleep start to consume you.

"Sleep, princess.. I love you so much too, you did so well..." he smiles, kissing your forehead and burying his face into your hair, breathing in your scent before he starts to fall asleep as well. It was nights like this when he just wanted to let go of his responsibilities as grandmaster, yearning for her warmth and touch, loving the closeness and the feel of her breath on his skin. He loved it, he loved her.

#bi han x reader smut #bi han sub zero #mortal kombat #bi han x reader #bi han x you #smut #mortal kombat bi han #sub zero x reader #bi han smut #bi han mk

[jeongin-lvr]

thinking about a lazy sunday afternoon spent in overstimulating jeongin… </3 he’s laying on his back holding onto his pillow from the overwhelming pleasure you keep giving him again and again. at first he was all smiles, giggling while his hand was tugging on your hair, bc deepthroating him was literally all you talked about on the way back home (this boy needs to be reminded how precious and delicious he is multiple times a day). the way your face glows up at the thought of pleasing him, devouring him makes him so happy and excited!!! he cannot wait to display himself for you 🥹 and you look soo cute sucking on his cock so desperately and needy like it’s the most delicious lollipop you’ve ever had in ur whole life, he wants to have this view pictured in his mind forever..

but after two-three orgasms in a row all his hands are capable of are gripping on that pillow for dear life 😣 he’s whimpering while the pillowcase soaks his tears, and his teeth bite on the corners. he’s pressing it tight to his chest while his bright tip fills your mouth, and his whole body shakes uncontrollably. when you’re done you clean up the mess with your tongue, and praise him with compliments and hundreds of kisses …~

i need him… i need him really really bad 🥹

THIS IS WHAT I LIVE FOR

I GOT SO CARRIED AWAY WITH THIS HELP😭 ANYWAYS I NEED HIM SO BADLY ITS CRAZY

The day started with your constant praises and sweet remarks to him— leaving him blushing and red in the cheeks. When he two of you finally got some time alone, some real quality time, you finally had the chance to really show him how handsome and perfect he really is.

“Innie, love you so much,” You whispered against his skin while using your hands to undo his jeans, tugging them down swiftly in one go. He shivered as your delicate nails gently feathered against his burning skin. Jeongin was so practically drooling already by the time your hands reached his boxers; reaching inside of them to get a hold of his half-hard cock. Jeongin opened his mouth to respond with a returned “I love you” but all that came out was a precious moan as your thumb traced gently over his throbbing tip. You had to laugh at his cute expression; nose scrunched, eyes fluttering and damp, bottom lip jutted out sweetly.

It didn’t take long before he was releasing in his boxers and in your eager hands. But obviously you weren’t quite done yet, were you?

He was laid down now, back against the soft plush of the mattress as the sun was beginning to descend past the horizon, drenching the clouds in a ecstatic glow of orange hues. It melted onto your boyfriends pretty skin, glowing off of him radiantly. And, god, with the sweat that poured down his poor scrunched face, he looked ethereal.

Your lips were now wrapped around his cock, sucking on his tip as your hands worked the rest of his length. You made sure that your eyes never departed from his face because you wanted to capture every little expression he made— your ears already picking up on the little whimpers and tiny moans he let out.

Everything was sticky from your hands to his thighs and tummy, even the bed sheets below the two of you. But you didn’t stop, and Jeongin didn’t stop you.

“Fuck— f-fuck, don’t stop!” Jeongin was embarrassed at himself unraveling for you so easily. He had no courage to take control of you, being pampered by your mouth and hands was both a blessing and a curse.

You almost laughed at him, “I don’t have any intentions to, Innie,” you responded softly before reattaching your plump lips around his length, swirling your tongue around his cock head to elicit those deliciously loud groans he let out.

Jeongin let out sounds that you didn’t know he could make— orgasm after orgasm, each one seeming more and more intense than the last. Orgasm 4 was when he was really losing it. Irises blown out, lips swollen from biting them so hard, tears down the sides of his face. He was gripping the pillows beneath his head so hard and so tight you could see his knuckles turning white and his fingertips the same shade of burning red as his poor, overstimulated cock.

He was so close, thighs twitching for what felt like to him the 800th time. He let out a long mewl before clamping a hand over his mouth and hiding it from your willing ears. You watched as he struggled, chest heaving and the sounds that left his throat grew muffled. You pulled your lips from his cock and raised yourself up, hands still working his dick slowly.

“No, bubs, let me hear you,” You removed his hand from his poor face, his eyes immediately searching for yours almost erratically, “Last one, last one.”

Jeongin nodded, brain full of peach fuzz and mouth too full of drool and spit to even form a sentence.

“You look so pretty like this,” You flicked your wrist faster, his hands shooting up to your waist and squeezing it with all his might, moans flying from his lips and bouncing off the walls.

“I— oh f-fuckk, I’m gonna cum! I’m—“

And the final orgasm you ripped from his gorgeous cock seems to last the longest, his eyes shutting instantly as his lips pulled apart. Jeongin’s chest heaving as if he’d run a marathon, big hands taking a firm hold on your hips onto to find some kind of grounding surface. You watched his face in pure awe, adoring him as he whimpered like a dog, too cute not to bend down and kiss right on the lips. It was a short peck, he barely even realized it happened as he was too focused on how tired he felt.

You let his softening cock go and raised your fingers to your lips, seeing them drenched in his pleasure, dribbling down into a puddle on your palm, “Pretty…” You said before licking it up with your tongue, smiling once your palms were clean, “Such a good boy, Innie.”

Jeongin nodded, still barely comprehending the words being spoken to him, “Love, what about— what about you?” He finally managed as his breathing began to slow.

You shook your head, watching the once vibrant sunlight on his face now descend into a purple-pink shade, making the beads of sweat on his skin seem like a galaxy.

“Don’t worry about me,” You kissed his lips again, softly, as a silent reminder of how his pleasure is your pleasure, “Just needed to show my boyfriend how fucking gorgeous he is.”

look how pretty he is 😔 I’m losing it

#PHEWWWW SORRY I GOT CAREIED AWAY LMFOAOA #but this concept is sooooo jeongin I love it #mooties ! #skz smut #Jeongin smut #skz jeongin #i.n skz #skz imagines

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [2.3k] prompt: "Is that my shirt?" soft Steve, sleepovers, clothes sharing. Going to work on a Saturday morning was easily one of the most difficult things Steve had to do with his week. 

Going to work on a Saturday morning and leaving his girlfriend in his bed was fucking torture. 

He groaned when the alarm went off, beeping obnoxiously from his nightstand and the tell tale signs of the morning sun slipped into the room through the gap in his curtains. It painted lines of gold over your bare back, new freckles on your shoulders from spending the previous afternoon in the pool and Steve rolled into you, lips pressing kisses along your spine. 

You mumbled something into the pillow, voice sleep thick and when you finally rolled over, your boyfriend wasted no time in pressing his face to your naked chest, humming in content. You were bed warm, skin smelling like your mango body butter and leftover chlorine. 

By the time you’d run your fingers through his hair, nails scratching at his scalp, Steve was dozing again, cheek squished to your sternum and his legs tangled with yours and the sheets. You felt the soft puffs of his breath over your bare skin, his arms wrapped right around your waist, he shifted in his sleep, pulling you closer. 

It pained you to do it, but you dropped a kiss to his forehead, pushing your nose playfully into his wild hair, murmuring softly that he was going to be late. 

He groaned again, brows furrowed and lips pouting as he pushed them into your skin, butterfly kisses across the curves of your breasts, the dip in between. 

“No,” he mumbled and you smiled at the roughness of his voice, deep and scratchy with sleep. “Wanna stay w’you.”

You hummed at the thought, Saturday mornings with Steve were seldom but they were your favourite. The house to yourself, his parents naturally absent, in another state, another country, another business trip. 

But it meant you could spend the day being lazy with him, tangled in sheets, whispering his name as he woke you up with his head between your thighs, dark brown eyes shining as they looked up at you. You relished in his bed head, his hair soft and misbehaving all day ‘cause he couldn’t be bothered styling it if you had no plans to leave the house. 

You loved eleven o’clock showers, the morning turning bright, a hot Indiana summer outside but you shared the warm spray with Steve, the smell of his body wash filling the small en-suite. He took his time with you like that, morning stretching into lunch, bubbles and hands slipping over your skin, kisses lazy and languid, the tiles cold against your back. 

You ate in the yard, half dressed and legs in the pool, body stretched out over the hot patio floor, sun drenched and eating cheese sandwiches and bowls of strawberries. 

You loved the way he looked at you, like he couldn’t stop, like he never planned to. The static buzz of the radio would flood from the open kitchen window, pints of fresh lemonade on the garden table, hearts and smiley faces painted on both your backs with coconut sunscreen. 

You’d swap anything for one of those days. 

Steve seemed to have the same idea, his tall frame still stretched out across the bed, moving over you instead of into the shower. He pressed a knee between your thighs, a promise of something he didn’t have time to give you but he held himself over you, smile soft, eyes sleepy. 

“Shower with me,” he murmured, lips ghosting over your jaw, trailing to the shell of your ear and he grinned at the eruption of goosebumps across your skin. “Please.”

You groaned, both at the idea and the reality of knowing it would make Steve late. Again. You gazed up at him, wondering how you were ever able to say no to him. He was grinning at you, hair a mess, bare chested and still warm from where he’d been pressed against you all night. 

“Keith will straight up murder you if you’re not there on time,” you told him, sentence half gone as he leaned down to crowd into you, lips pushed to the corner of your own as if he could kiss away the logic. 

“You’d avenge me though, right?” He asked, lips sucking a bruise underneath your jaw, successfully doing everything he could to distract you and himself from his impending shift. 

You snorted, a smile on your lips and head tilted back to allow Steve more access, his teeth grazing over your neck in a way that made you wiggle against him. His hand found your hip, fingers flirting with the edge of your underwear, soft cotton and lace edges that made him feel a little weak. 

“Oh, of course babe,” you nodded, pressing kisses and sarcasm to his cheek, “Keith wouldn’t stand a fucking chance.”

He grinned at the thought of you going up against his boss, lanky as you were small, but god, you were fierce. Steve pulled back a little, nudge at your cheek with his nose so you met his gaze, lips melting together, lazy and slow.  

“I haven’t even brushed my teeth,” you whined, still chasing his kiss despite your protests. 

“Don’t care,” the boy countered, hands sliding up your sides, thumbs grazing the soft skin on the dip of your hip, his knee moving higher into the space between your legs, rocking into you. 

You sighed, dreamlike, blissed, the sun that slipped through the window bathing you both in warm and light. You could see the strip of blue sky through it, the top of Steve’s bed head as he moved down your body, taking the sheets with him as he kissed a path between your breasts, tongue catching the dip of your hip bone. 

“Steve,” you tried to chastise, but it came out softer, like a whine and it made him grin against you and the press of his teeth against the band of your underwear made you cant your hips into him. 

He pressed the bridge of his nose into your navel, hands on either side of your hips, drawing you into him and he tutted at the way your wriggled in his grasp. 

“Pretty,” he hummed, fingers finding the lace against your thighs, plucking at it delicately. “Y’know, if you came and showered with me, we could save water-”

His words were cut short as you shook your head, grinning, bringing one of your knees up and between your bodies. Steve pouted, but your pressed your shin against his chest and pushed him away, just a little, just enough. 

You raised your brows, tried to look stern when you said: “you’re going to be late, Harrington.”

Steve sighed, head tilted back to show off the strong column of his neck, faux exasperation painting his pretty features. You eyed the bruise you’d suckled on his skin, at the base of his throat where it was still pretty and lilac, proof of how good he made you feel the night before. 

He grabbed your leg in response, hands wide and strong as he gripped your ankle, pressing one more kiss to the inside of your knee before relenting, tumbling off of the bed and huffing. 

His gaze was dark and heavy when he looked back down at you, jaw a little slack and hair over his eyes, bed rumpled and half dressed. 

“Now that’s just not fair,” he told you, lips twisted as he held in a groan. 

You laughed, cheeks flushed at the effect he still had on you after all this time, looking at you like you were gold dust. You twisted in his sheets, hair mussed as you sunk further into the pillow, bare skin still on show, thighs rubbing together under the heat of his stare. 

“What’s not fair?” You asked, doe eyed and acting innocent but Steve knew you better than that, knew the husk in your voice meant you knew exactly what you were doing to him. 

You preened, sliding one leg up over the bed, knee bent and sheets shifting, flashing the cherry red of your underwear, cut high on your hips. You grinned when he moaned theatrically, a hand slapped to his chest as he bent at the knees, clutching at his heart. 

He beamed when you laughed, sunshine and softness. 

“Goddamn, what’s a boy to do?” He asked, voice dropped low as he stood at the foot of the mattress, hands wandering back up your calves, skimming over sun kissed skin, eyes on the red lace that was still peeking out from the mess of sheets and pillows. 

But you repeated your earlier actions, one leg extended long as your foot found the middle of chest, pressing firm as you pushed him away and towards the bathroom door. Steve pouted, pretended to bite at your toes but he turned, grabbing the towel that hung from the hook on the door. 

He threw you a look over his shoulder, still huffing at having to leave you for the entire day. 

“Succubus,” he muttered. 

When he finally reappeared, hair a little damp but dressed for work, wrestling into his Family Video vest, he stopped dead in the doorway, staring as you sat on the edge of the bed, shoving your feet into your shoes. 

“Is that my shirt?” He asked, voice a rumble. 

You looked up, plucking at the material that fell to the middle of your thighs. It was almost a dress, the tight material of your cycle shorts barely peeking out from underneath the hem. 

“Mmm,” you confirmed, watching in interest as Steve wandered back into the bedroom, eyes glazed, lips parted. “Mine is still wet from when someone threw me into the pool last night.” 

You stood, swiping at the strands of hair that had fallen into your face before walking over to your boyfriend, hands flat against his chest as you leaned into him. 

“Is that okay?” You whispered the last part, knowing fine well the only issue Steve had with you wearing his clothes was the fact that he wasn’t able to immediately strip you out of them. 

He let out a laugh, a little humourless, a little pained and he took his chance to wind his arms around your waist, spinning you both until he was able to back you against his dresser. He dropped a kiss to your cheek, chasing the corner of your lip. 

“You tryin’ to make me act up?” He murmured and at your silence, he hummed, a little breathless. “Succubus,” he repeated his statement from earlier, pushing kiss after kiss into your neck until you squealed and wriggled away from him. 

“You’re going to be late, Steve!” But you couldn’t help but laugh, stumbling around the room as you tried and failed to escape the boy’s wandering hands.

He caught you again, pulling you into a hug that you happily accepted, your own arms winding around his neck as you both swayed together, still sleepy and soft with happiness. 

“Don’t wanna leave you,” he told you again, bending to push his face into the crook of your neck, wondering how you always smelled so good, like summer and all his favourite things. 

“I know, babe,” you soothed, sympathising. ‘Cause you truly didn’t want to let him go either, but the clock by the bed was flashing angry, red letters telling you both it was almost nine. “I told Max I’d drive her to the skatepark but how ‘bout we pick you up some lunch on the way home, huh?”

Steve hummed at this, a happy sound from the back of his throat that led to his lips pressed against yours, a deep, warm kiss of appreciation. 

“You gonna give me my shirt back then, too?”

“You think Keith would appreciate it? A little flash of skin?” You mused, already grinning as Steve grumbled his protests, swearing as you laughed. “Maybe that’s how we can make up for your terrible timekeeping skills!” 

Your faux enthusiasm made the boy smile but he tried to hide it with a scowl, lips twisted and eyes dark at the idea of anyone else but him seeing you like that. 

“Absolutely fucking not, sweetheart,” he growled and he tapped at your ass, a little possessive, a little playful. 

You hummed happily, laughter still bubbling in your chest but you kissed the pout from Steve’s lips to make up for your teasing, hand grasping his chin to bring him down to meet you, the boy obliging without protest. 

He nipped at your bottom lip, making you squeal, another kiss pressed quick to your cheek and then your forehead before he grabbed your hand, leading you out of the door. 

“C’mon now, you’re gonna make me late.”

He grinned at your gasp, slipping out the way of your playful smacks of indignation and he got handsy with you as you both stumbled your way out of his house, sun beaming through each window you passed, Mrs Harrington’s crystal vases spilling rainbows over the floors and walls. 

Steve called out to you as you parted one last time, your hand already on the door of your car, keys jingling. He whistled, a flirtatious noise that always had you blushing and when you looked over the roof of the vehicle, you caught his eye. 

He already had his sunglasses on, arms tanned and flexed as he rested them on the top of his own car, lips curled into a smile that was just for you. He nodded his head at your chest, his shirt soft and too big against your body, and he called out, voice full of adoration. “It looks better on you.”

#steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington fic #stranger things fic #stranger things #steve harrington imagine

[chrollohearttags]

Armin Headcannon:

Us smacking Armin during missionary and laughing like a brat and he smacks us even harder and opens our mouth and spits and trails his hand down to choke us 👀👀👀

#armin headcannon

god, I just froze up thinking about this. 🥴🥴 got sum purring. one thing about toxic armin: he’s a trash person but the dick is most certainly not.

cw: hate sex, dirty talk, slapping, name calling, spit play

him hate fucking you after a heated argument or after you’ve kicked him out for the third time this week and he’s trying to earn his spot back. His hand around your throat..headboard banging against the wall, bed shaking from his hard pounding and you lying underneath him; not wanting to make direct eye contact at the moment. “G-ahhh!…you’re so fucking wet, baby. What’s the matter? I thought you hated me. But you can’t stop creaming in this dick, so what’s the truth?” That arrogant smirk and remark taunting you ever so cruelly as you came once more from the deep strokes and rough pace. It was a shame, really. That such a horrible man was the only one who could make your body have such filthy reactions. Quite possibly the only man who could make you nut so easily. If it wasn’t the dick making you drench his sheets, it was that slick ass mouth of his slurping on your clit and flicking his tongue ring around until you fed him a stream of those sweet juices. Oh, how you loathed it..despised it even that he made you feel this way. But it was a cycle you were trapped in regardless..destined to forever be intertwined! At the moment, the only thing you were focused on his words and how he used them to fuck with your mental as well. “Maybe you’re such a little slut, you can’t help it. Can’t even stay away from me..I gotta come give you dick to calm you down. How pathetic.”

and maybe there was a shred of truth behind that statement. But proving him right was something you’d rather drop dead than ever do! Armin was an asshole that only derived pleasure from your pain. That wanted to cut deep and never apologize for it. Even still, you couldn’t leave him alone. You’d fight one minute and the next, make aggressive love the next. Those cold, blue eyes and blonde locks dangling above you as your thick brown legs dangled aimlessly atop his shoulders. “F-fuck you..you’re nothing special. You’re easy. All you’re good for is a fucking nut.” Admitting so callously with pure conviction but your insults didn’t hold the same weight for him. He was a heartless bastard and nothing ever seemed to hurt this man. So when he doubled down on his thrusts, stuffing every inch of that big cock inside of you, he didn’t bother to be gentle. There was that intensity that you craved so much. “Fuck me?” “Yeah, fuck you.” Slapping him with an open palm across his cheek! Hurling hateful insults at one another and all the while, his pounding increased exponentially, as did your cries and moans! Not letting up until he got another squirting orgasm out of that pretty body. Making your pussy clench around him so easily. However, you had only incited something in him. Chuckling to himself, with that sadistic smirk..he’d reciprocate that same smack and pop your jaw open, only to clench it and hold it in place. “Hitting me…open that fucking mouth up, slut.” And that second you did, saliva would drip between your jaws and his palm would tighten around your throat. That cocky smile on your face faded to pleasure filled pain in a matter of second. So filthy but you couldn’t imagine being with anyone else.

“I swear, if I keep fucking you like this. You’ll never leave me alone.”

#cherry’s asks 🍒 #5k q&a 🍒 #armin headcanons #armin aot #toxic armin #toxic armin headcanons #armin x black !fem reader #armin x black reader #arminarlert #armin attack on titan #aot armin #armin imagine #armin smut #armin artlert #armin artlert headcanons #attack on titan armin #attack on titan smut #aot au #aot x black reader #aot imagine #aot headcanons

[byuntrash101]

incubus!san preview

pairing: incubus!san x fem!reader

synopsis: being in love with your boss, doctor jeong yunho, is a nightmare. unlike this dream you're having right now of him gently kissing you in the middle of the night. but something feels off. doctor jeong doesn't quite sound like himself...

wc: +- 11k (preview is 0.6k)

tag preview: multiple smut scenes (2), demon!san (he has magical powers), monster cock!san, dirty talk, oral (f&m), overstim (f), multiple orgasms (he ain't no sex demon for nothing), breeding kink, explicitly asking for consent, pet names (kitten, baby, good girl), praising, begging, orgasm control, cum play

a/n: im rewriting this old fic and i need to get hyped up to finish it up. please tell me if you wanna be tagged <3

link to the full fic

Just a dream. You repeated to yourself.

“I promise you won’t regret it. Because I was trained for this.” You felt the unusually hot glide of his tongue on your ear as swarms of butterflies collectively took off inside your guts. “I was trained to please you… Only you.” Goosebumps ran across your skin as electricity sparked up in your core.

He went back to lick and suck on your ear you’re surprised how much surface his tongue can cover but you don’t pay that much intention to it, you’re too busy being gently laid back in your bed by San as he licked down your neck, leaving sloppy kisses and playful bites in his wake. His sharp teeth easily sunk into your skin and the pleasurable sting dragged a throaty moan out of your mouth. San briefly pulled away to look at you. He smirked at your flushed rosy cheeks.

“Baby, are you already feeling me?” Just as he said that he pushed his hips into yours and you had to keep yourself from loudly gasping when you felt… it. You haven’t seen it yet, but you just know it… That thing… was huge.

You let out a whimper and he unveiled his pointy teeth, the white pearls glistening under the moonlight. While San buried his face back in the crook of your neck you noticed how the buttons of your nightgown started to faintly glow red and in total stupor you understood they are undoing themselves. The straps swiftly slipped off your skin and you were left absolutely naked before San’s eyes.

He pulled away drinking in your most natural form while you lay on your back, thighs tightly pressed together.

“Baby you look this good, and you want me to behave?” he said in that voice again. He licked his lips, his tongue was different. It’s long and pointy, unnaturally red and… hot too… you recalled from the neck kisses. Your heart pounded in your chest.

He leans back again, and his disproportionately long tongue fully wrapped around your nipple. You moaned and bit your bottom lip. He lightly flicked his tongue. You gasped as it was gradually more difficult to resist.

He dipped down again, hot tongue gliding across your skin from your chest to your stomach and dangerously approaching your center. When he noticed you were keeping your legs tightly shut, he looked back up at you. Your eyes grew wide when you noticed the soft dark brown of his eyes was replaced by a glowing and ominous burgundy red.

“Baby, don’t make this harder than it has to be” San said, not parting his lips from your pubic bone still showering you with a thousand breathy kisses. Then with a flick of the wrist, your legs flew open, the magical force prying your legs open as if it were nothing, coercing you into unveiling yourself to the ravenous gaze of the demon. and before you can even realize it San was eyeing the most private part of you. and the demon was at heaven's doors.

“Baby, it didn’t even start yet and you’re already this wet for me” his teasing made you squirm and it’s only then that you realize in what state the incubus has put you.

You were absolutely drenched. You never were this wet… Ever! Even in your wildest dream with Doctor Jeong. Without even proper touching, you soaked the sheets all the way through the mattress. You couldn’t see it, but you felt long strings of your juices linking your sopping center to the bed and coating your inner thighs.

When San approached his face very slowly, eyes focused on his target, licking his lips hungrily, when he’s right there, just a couple of centimeters away from your soaked slit he looked up at you. sharp eyes glowing red and harboring a smirk that could only be described as downright evil.

“Oh, and y/n, one last thing. This is not a dream… It’s real… I’m real”

a/n: omg i hope you liked the small preview! if you're excited for it please come tell me and hype me up so i finish up this thing fast haha. also tell me if u wanna be tagged <3

#san smut #ateez smut #san hard hours #san hard thoughts #ateez hard hours #ateez hard thoughts #ateez #ateez san #kpop smut #choi san

[omgjumin]

around you - nanami kento

summary: nanami has self-restraint, plently of it in fact, but around you he cant seem to help himself

tags: sub!nanami dom!reader, praise kink, guided masturbation, kento is really needy :((, pet names (love, darling, prince)

notes: service dom, mean dom, soft dom, etc kento is great, love it, wonderful even, BUT needy sub kento??? even better (this was supposed to be posted a while ago but writers block had some hands bro 🤕)

nanami kento doesn't touch himself.

well, at least to your knowledge he doesn't. nanami has made it very clear to you that he doesn't indulge in any sexual acts when he's not with you. even if he's on a business trip and has to be gone for several days at a time, nanami doesn't touch himself. and you don't mind that, not one bit, because on the nights he misses you and your touch the most, he drops everything to come running to you.

nanami kento never really touched himself before he met you. so how would he know to please himself if he's never done it before? he gets all of his pleasure from pleasing you. so when nanami wakes up with his bed sheets drenched in sweat, his hand wrapped around his cock, and no sense of what time it is, he doesn't know what to do. his eyes slowly flutter open and the first thing he notices is that you're gone from his sight. but your smell is still there. he blinks once. twice. three times before he realizes that he cannot sense your presence in the room at all. your phone is gone, the lights are still off, and there is no sound whatsoever besides the sound of his own heavy breathing.

you're gone and nanami doesn't know what to do. he needs you but he can't find you. so he panics. why can't he think about anything but the way his hand feels around his cock. he knows he should be worried about where you are but god, he can't get himself to stop. nanami throws his head back onto the pillow and lets out a sigh. he already feels overstimulated but the way his cock pulses in his fists makes him softly call out your name. nanami never knew touching himself would feel this good. nanami doesn't realize it but his hips are starting to meet his hand movements, thrusting into the air to feel something more.

nanami feels good but you're gone. wait, you're gone. where are you? nanami thinks. but oh, if you were here, the way you would run your hand down his chest, hands avoiding the one place he needs you the most. your hands are very pretty, well, at least to him. the way they look when they are wrapped around his hard-on and oh god, the way they know the most perfect ways to stroke him. nanami doesn't realize it but his hands start to replicate the same motions yours did. well, at least tried to. oh how nanami wishes you were here. he calls out your name once more, but it was more of a whimper. he's ashamed and he knows it but nanami can't help but let out more moans of your name. nanami wants- no, he needs you, but you're gone.

his blonde hair begins to stick to his forehead, ruffled and messy, nanami runs his hand through his hair. if you were here, you would brush the stray strands of hair from out his face and kiss him. nanami needs your touch. he needs your hands on him. he thinks that if he goes one more minute without you, he's going to go crazy. maybe, he already has and that's why he's touching himself. maybe this is all a dream. but once, you stick your head through the bedroom door and smile at him, he knows that he can put an end to this nightmare.

nanami feels good and you're here.

"kento?" you question loudly enough for him to hear, but from the lack of response, you think that maybe you never said it at all. you slowly approach him in hopes that you won't startle him. but to nanami, he stares at you in shame. you're here and nanami doesn't know what to do. "can you tell me what you are thinking about?" you question once more. one part of you is happy that you caught nanami in such a moment and the other part of you wished that you had just stayed silent and watched him. cause, now to your knowledge, nanami kento does touch himself.

nanami comes to halt when he feels you put your weight onto the bed. you're here and he can't formulate any thoughts. "keep touching yourself, pretty boy." you're here and nanami does exactly what you say. he feels so ashamed yet the hand on his dick continues the abusing pace he had before. "slow down. slower. that's a good boy." you compliment the blonde man. nanami's breathing quickened and he couldn't tell if the world was spinning or if it was just him. it was so unlike him for him to be in this situation yet with the way you're gazing at him with the most adoring eyes, guiding him so perfectly, it felt like this wasn't first time he's done this. nanami has self-restraint, plently of it in fact, but around you he cant seem to help himself. so he tries to subtly change the pace he's stroking himself without you noticing. he needs to cum, he needs it so badly, but why aren't you helping him?

nanami seems to let go of the somewhat dignity he has left in him and starts whimpering for you. he's whining, he needs your touch but you wont give it to him. "my prince, i won't let you cum until you tell me what you were thinking about. so don't let me ask again, what were you thinking about in your pretty little head?" nanami mentally curses at himself because how did he let himself get in this situation. "you were gone and..." nanami trailed off. but you were gone before and nanami never dared to touch himself then, so why was he now. all nanami knew was that you were gone and he started to touch himself. it was confusing but with those four words he said, you understood it all. "you can cum now darling." you said, smiling with prettiest smile there was to him. nanami softly cried out your name as he let himself go, cum shooting out his tip, his hips jerking off of the bed, and his hand coming to a halt.

"did it feel good, my love?" you chuckled ever so softly as you witnessed nanami come down from his high. nanami only nodded, it was so unlike him to be left speechless but no words could describe how nanami felt right now. "you did well, kento. im proud of you." you kissed his lips lightly before brushing his hair out of his face.

nanami kento does touch himself. well, now you know.

#nanami smut #nanami kento smut #nanami fluff #nanami kento fluff #nanami x reader #nanami x reader smut #jjk nanami smut #jjk nanami fluff #jjk smut #jujustu kaisen smut #nanami headcanons #nanami kento x reader #nanami imagines #omgjumin

[deanwinchesterswitch]

Not Alone

Summary: Everything good slips through his fingers. 

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1,220

Warnings: Angst; Character death

Beta: @princessmisery666

Inspired by: Not Alone by Patty Griffin

Features shrouded in darkness, he leans back against the headboard, hand fisted in the cold sheets she left behind. The only illumination is the sliver of light that forces its way in through the barely open doorway and ends at the heel of his boot. He does nothing to staunch the endless flow of tears that drench his lashes and stain salty trails down his cheeks. 

Watching from the corner of the room as his shoulders slump and he draws in a deep, ragged breath, she whispers, “You’re not alone.”

“Aren’t I?” is his bitter response.

Slipping through the shadows, she sits on the edge of the bed. “You’ll get through this.”

“I can’t. I don’t-” Voice wavering, he slams a fist into the mattress. “It wasn’t supposed to end like this. “I should have-” 

Anguished eyes drift upward, and she meets them with a tender smile. “It’s not your fault.”

“Isn’t it?” he vehemently grinds out through clenched teeth.

“No. It’s not!”

Lips twisting, he sneers, “I should have kept you safe.”

“Dean-” Shaking her head, she sighs. It doesn’t matter. What’s done is done. They had been caught in the crossfire of a robbery while in town. Rehashing the events of that day won’t change anything, and she doesn’t want to waste what little time she has with him. What matters is that he lets go and begins to heal. 

A guttural sob fills the room as he looks to the clear garment bag that still hangs from the hook on the wall and the lace-covered lavender dress pristinely preserved within, despite the rusty red drops indelibly dotting the bag’s bottom left corner seam. “You-” clearing his throat, fingers angrily drag over his cheeks to pinch the bridge of his nose as he sniffs, “you’d have been the hottest bride ever.”

Smiling, she teases, “It would have been a hell of a party.”

He forces a smirk despite the pain, but when his gaze drifts back to her, he chokes on a sharp inhale and quickly squeezes his eyes shut, no longer seeing the beauty of her smile or sparkling eyes. Instead, her shirt is stained crimson, her hair matted and sticky with the blood that flows from her neck where the bullet ripped through her jugular, eyes filled with fear as she stares up at him while he cradles her in his arms.

Pursing his lips, he concentrates on slowing his racing pulse by conjuring happier memories, desperately trying to deepen his shallow breathing.

He’d never felt more alive than when he was with her. She gave him hope beyond anything he’d ever dreamed of and loved him despite his flaws and the darkness that perpetually surrounded him. A brief sense of calmness settles in him, but then she lays a hand on his leg, and he’s reminded of the soul filled with goodness that brightened his shadowed edges undeservedly snuffed out simply by being near him. 

She was the light at the end of a very long tunnel he never thought he’d reach. When he did, he let himself believe he had finally earned his chance at a ‘normal’ life. He let his guard down, and the other shoe dropped, leaving him stranded in his loss …again. Tears press at the backs of his lids, and a low wail builds in his throat at the coldness of her touch through the denim covering his shin. 

“Dean,” her voice is sweet and soothing, unlike the garbled words that still echo in his mind, “see me the way you want to remember me.”

Warmth slowly seeps from beneath her palm, traveling up his body and filling the room. When he opens his eyes, she’s surrounded by a golden light that seemingly collapses into her, seeping into her pores until she appears to be radiating light from within. Flesh tinged with the dewy pink of a newborn baby.

“What the-” he rasps, shock etched into his features.

Holding her hands out in front of her, she flips them over and wiggles her fingers, her smile soft and full of wonder as she looks at him. “I’ve been practicing,” she whispers smugly, but her smile falters. “It’s only temporary.”

His features contort, hands fisting, eyes filled with fury and grief lift to glare at the ceiling. Quickly crawling up the bed, she cradles his face in her hands. “Hey, no. Look at me.” 

His upper lip twitches, and he tries to fight her hold, breaths heavy and quick, but her grip remains firm. “It should have been me.”

When his jaw muscles clench, she smoothes a thumb over his cheek, voice gently authoritative. “Dean. It was in my book. He won’t rewrite it.” 

Scrubbing a hand down his face, he shakes his head. He knows they don't have much time—knows what this is costing her. As always, she’s trying her hardest to take on the brunt of suffering to protect him, but he can feel it writhing beneath the gentleness of her touch, see it etched in the soft lines around her smile. He bites into his bottom lip and briefly closes his eyes, fighting to hold back the emotional turmoil rising inside him. She begins to hum their song, and the swell recedes.

His demeanor softens when he turns his attention back to her, but defiance still lingers in the gleaming, virescent depths. “That anger, that fire, raging inside you, let it go. You can find a purpose for it later.” Her thumb continues to stroke his cheek, and his breathing begins to even out. “Right now, just lie with me. Okay?”

Warm, supple lips press against his, and his chest heaves. Tears of misery and joy mingle in his eyes. Before he can compose himself and kiss her properly in return, she stretches out next to him, draping an arm over his waist. His body reacts before his brain catches up, arms encircling her and pulling her in tight.

Ear pressed over his heart, she wraps a leg over his and snuggles close, removing any space left between them. His skin dampens as her tears seep through the thin cotton of his shirt. “I want you to promise me that you’ll get on with things. You have a life to live.”

“How am I supposed to do that without you?”

“You make other plans and let time help you forgive.” When he remains silent, uncertainty seeping from every pore, arms flexing and squeezing around her, she urges, “Promise?”

“I can’t- ” Fingers dig into his bicep as she huffs. He swallows thickly around the emotions threatening to choke him. Burying his face in her hair, he mumbles, “Fine. I- I promise.”

“I’ll be watching,” she whispers, then softly giggles, “but not in a creepy way.” Tilting her head back, she kisses the tip of his chin, then nuzzles into his neck. 

Dean grunts, laughter a comfort he’s not ready to welcome yet. He loosens his grip on the lock of her hair tangled between his fingers—the one he’d clipped despite knowing the consequences—and places it on the nightstand. Pulling her on top of him, he cages her in his arms to keep their bodies flush. He knows that come morning, he will need to burn the last fragments of connection that keep her near, but tonight he’s not alone.

Love Me Some Pie tag list:

@123passwort // @akshi8278 // @asgoodasdancingqueen // @calaofnoldor // @compresshischest09 // @deaneverafter // @deans-baby-momma // @deans-spinster-witch // @deanwanddamons // @globetrotter28 // @iamsapphine // @idreamofplaid // @impala-dreamer // @iprobablyshipit91 // @irgendwas122 // @jerkbitchidjitassbutt // @justagirlinafandomworld // @justrealizedimmascifygurl // @ladysparkles78 // @lyarr24 // @mimaria420 // @mrswhozeewhatsis // @musicissmylife // @mvdeanw // @pallographsunspot // @princessmisery666 // @raisinggray // @shawnie74 // @thinkinghardhardlythinking // @thoughts-and-funnies // @waynes-multiverse // @wayward-and-worn // @waywardbaby // @weepingwillowphoenix // @yvonneeeee

#dw's witch writes #angst #dean winchester x fem!reader #not alone #072123

[urmooniee]

Dancing in the Rain — Rafe Cameron

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

tw: cutest , soft, fluff, soft rafe

wc: 808

y/n = reader ( stands for your name)

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

The rain poured down in heavy sheets, drenching everything in its path. Rafe and Y/N found themselves taking refuge beneath a massive oak tree, its thick branches providing some shelter from the relentless downpour.

Rafe's dark hair was slicked back from the rain, and he looked thoroughly displeased. "Shit," he muttered, looking up at the stormy sky, raindrops trickling down his face.

But Y/N, standing beside him, couldn't help but smile. She loved the rain, the way it washed everything clean and brought a certain magic to the world. She twirled around, her laughter ringing through the rainy air. "C'mon, I love rain," she said, her voice filled with joy.

She kept circling around Rafe, her arms outstretched, embracing the raindrops. Her smile was infectious. "Wanna dance, sir?" she asked, her eyes twinkling with mischief as she held out a hand.

Rafe looked at her, a hint of surprise in his eyes. "I don't do dancing," he said, his tone cold.

Y/N refused to be deterred. She leaned in closer, her voice soft and persuasive. "Don't be a party pooper. C'mon, have some fun with me. No one is watching."

Rafe hesitated for a moment, then with a sigh, he took her hand. Y/N pulled him into the open, where the rain continued to pour down on them. The two of them began to move together, their laughter mingling with the sound of the rain.

They danced under the stormy skies, their feet splashing in puddles as they twirled and spun. Rafe's initial reluctance melted away as he found himself caught up in Y/N's infectious enthusiasm.

The raindrops glistened in Y/N's hair, and she looked up at Rafe with a radiant smile. "See? Rain isn't so bad," she said.

Rafe couldn't help but smile back. As the rain continued to fall, they danced together, their laughter and the rhythm of the rain creating a unique and beautiful moment that neither of them would ever forget.

The rain continued to pour down, drenching Rafe and Y/N as they danced together under the heavy downpour. As the droplets glistened on their skin, Rafe's initial reluctance waned, and he found himself drawn to Y/N's infectious enthusiasm.

Their movements became more intimate, and before long, they found themselves standing face to face. Y/N's smile was radiant, and she leaned in closer, her eyes locked onto Rafe's. "Kiss me," she whispered.

Rafe hesitated for a moment, looking around at the rain. "We will get sick," he warned.

Y/N brushed her lips against his, the taste of rain on her lips. "That's a worry for later," she replied, her voice soft and filled with longing, "enjoy your time now."

Their lips met in a passionate kiss, raindrops sliding down their faces as they lost themselves in the moment.

Later, soaked to the bone, they made their way to Rafe's house. Rafe opened the door, and as Y/N stepped inside, she was met by Sarah, Rafe's sister.

"Looks like you had fun," Sarah remarked, a playful grin on her face.

"Yeah, you should have—" Y/N started to say, but was interrupted by a sudden sneeze.

Sarah chuckled. "Yeah, I'm glad I didn't, but thank you for the offer," she replied before heading upstairs to her room.

Rafe looked at Y/N. "We should get changed," he suggested.

Y/N nodded, shivering from the cold. "Yeah, how about hot chocolate and a movie after?" She looked up at Rafe, her smile never fading.

Rafe's heart raced as he gazed at her. 

"Sounds good, Princess," he said, a warmth in his eyes.

Rafe and Y/N hurriedly changed into dry clothes, their laughter echoing through the house. Y/N borrowed one of Rafe's oversized hoodies, and Rafe couldn't help but notice how adorable she looked in it. They met in the kitchen, where Rafe had prepared mugs of steaming hot chocolate.

Y/N took a sip and let out a contented sigh. "This is perfect," she said, her eyes twinkling. "And now, for the movie."

They settled on the couch, wrapped in blankets, the rain outside still drumming on the windows. Rafe's heart continued to race, not just from the cold and the rain, but from the electrifying connection he felt with Y/N.

As the movie played, their fingers entwined, and they shared stolen glances. Rafe couldn't help but feel a warmth in his chest, a sense of happiness he hadn't experienced in a long time.

When the movie ended, Rafe turned to Y/N, his eyes filled with affection. "I'm glad you convinced me to dance in the rain," he said, his voice soft.

Y/N smiled and leaned in to kiss him gently. "Me too," she whispered.

Their lips met, sealing the unspoken promise of more adventures, more rainy dances, and more shared moments in the future. Rafe had been drawn into Y/N's world of spontaneity, and he couldn't be happier.

As the rain continued to fall outside, they snuggled closer on the couch, content in each other's company, knowing that the best was yet to come.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

au/ BRO I NEED WHAT THEY HAVE!!! IM SO JEALOUS. I love the rain so me and y/n have something in common. ALSO THE WAY HE SMILES & LOOKS AT HER. yeah I would fold immediately! if my man isn't like that then I don't want him. anyways how have u been guys?

masterlist

#fanfic #jj mayback imagine #jj mayback x reader #jj maybank #john b routledge #outer banks x reader #outerbanks rafe #rafe outer banks #obx cast #obx #rafe obx #rafe cameron #rafe x reader #rafe x y/n #obx fanfiction #.:☆*urmoonie.:☆*

[sunlightmurdock]

Safe Zone | 1.0 | Bradley Bradshaw / Jake Seresin x Reader

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist

Synopsis: A team of elite naval aviators holding down the fort at the North Island Air Base while they wait for reinforcements after a virus sweeps the continental U.S. - only, it’s been three months and no one has shown up.

Warnings: gore, death, violence and pretty graphic mentions of all things zombie related, love triangle, smut (18+, minors dni), angst etc. smut, unprotected pinv, graphic violence at the end of the chapter

…

You had married Michael in a simple courthouse ceremony. You’d been dating a while, your careers were steady, he had gotten down on one knee at La Jolla and it had seemed like a sensible decision at the time. Everything back then was about sensible. After the childhood you had had, stability was your entire focus.

He was kind. He knew to refill your water bottle without you having to ask, and that you hated taking the trash out so he’d always make sure that was taken care of. He’d play with your hair for hours, cry at sad movies, sit with you until you laughed so hard that your stomach hurt.

He hadn’t deserved to die, but on the days that you can stand to be honest with yourself, you’re glad that he did. You’re glad that he died that first night. That he won’t ever have to know how bad it got, or how it’ll never get better.

Your legs stretch out across sheets soft enough to convince you that your leg might just brush his again, one last time. But the second you touch skin, you know that it’s not him. Michael always ran cold. This skin’s warm, you can practically see the pink flush that dusts it behind your eyelids. Nudging your leg closer to his, you budge experimentally closer, without daring to open your eyes.

His arm snakes around your waist and you draw into his chest, pressing your cheek into the soft flesh. It’s like the exhale is knocked out of you, relief flooding your core.

“Are you awake?” It’s muffled by his skin. His fingers skim your waist as he makes a sound of gruff confirmation. You feel the rumble in his chest against your cheek and press closer. It gets warmer quickly, too warm to be trapped under all of the covers but the feeling has grown all too unfamiliar for you to dare pull away from it.

“You were talking in your sleep.” Another rumble from within his chest as speaks this time, his voice deep with still deep with sleep, himself. You’re quiet, certain already of what he’ll ask next. It’s a sunny morning, sunny enough that you can tell without even having opened your eyelids yet. “Were you having a bad dream?”

He cards his hand tenderly over the top of your hair, surprisingly sweet. It catches you off guard, the tactful way he approaches the topic. Most men would be quick to ask why the hell you had spent all night mumbling another man’s name.

“Yeah.” You mumble against his chest. He squeezes tighter around your waist, resting his chin on top of your head. Inexplicably, your body makes the decision before your mind’s even there, hooking a leg around his waist. “Sorry if I kept you up.”

Bradley’s hand catches your leg, guiding it tighter around him, his large palm sliding from your knee to the hem of your shorts and back again. He squeezes the joint softly, pressing his chest closer to yours.

“The talking didn’t,” Amusement drenches his tone, his heart beating steadily against your cheek would be almost enough to lull you back to sleep if you weren’t so intrigued to see where he’s going with this. “You’re kind of an aggressive cuddler, though. Had to drop you back onto your side of the bed once or twice.”

“Shut up.” You scoff, pushing away from his chest finally and blinking at him. He smiles, his eyes flickering briefly between your eyes and your lips. You almost do it. It would be easy enough to do, just lean forwards and kiss his mouth softly.

But then all that you can see is that puddle of blood on the kitchen floor, hear the sickening gargling sound of someone choking on their own blood. But it’s not Michael, it’s Bradley. It’s a new loss this time.

You push away from him slowly, sitting up and shifting back until you’re not touching a single inch of him anymore. Bradley cranes his neck, trying to get a better look at your face. First, he thought you were just mean for the sake of being mean. Now, he’s onto you. You’re just scared.

Jake wakes up with a bad feeling in his stomach. He’s always had good intuition, it’s what made him a good pilot and it’s what got this place secure so quickly. He stands under the stream of his shower, knowing that this warm water will only last so long. Soap, toothpaste, air conditioning, electricity, ammo. It’s all finite. Admiral Caine knew that, he chose not to stick around long enough to see it go.

Now, that leaves them with a problem. They can only pretend that the guy is hiding in his office for so long. With quarantine in C Block ending today and still not a single answer for the people that live there, Jake knows well enough that trouble is coming.

He buckles his belt and steps out into the hallway, noticing that Bradley’s mud-covered boots are still set tidily outside of his door. He’s still in there, which means you are too. Jake just gives a shake of his head as he trails down the hallway. His hand rests on the pistol strapped to his hip, thumb grazing the safety.

Even after a morning cuddled up next to Bradley, it’s Jake that you wind up fucking once again. After the comment he had made about marriage yesterday, you roll up to your shift so pissed off that you’ll barely look at him, much less speak to him.

Jake doesn’t apologize either. You’re the one with something to hide, not him.

None of it matters when you’re on your back on the floor of the watchtower with his warm mouth working feverish kisses across your bare stomach, his fingers raking along the soft flesh of your thighs.

Your shoulder is hooked over the muscle of his shoulder and his mouth is working lower, lower, until he’s at eye-level with your still clothed core. This underwear is from the clothing store, which means that Bradshaw has really committed to the whole boyfriend act now — the idiot’s bringing you panties while Jake’s the one fucking you every day.

You inhale sharply as Jake presses his mouth to the soft cotton, his tongue trailing from your hole to your clit over the fabric. Moisture from his tongue and between your legs meet through the cotton, saturating it as his mouth works slowly.

He doesn’t stop until the material is spit-soaked and see through. Until your heel is pressing into his shoulder as you try to rock your core against his mouth. Until Jake’s confident that when Rooster tries to take your panties off tonight, they’ll still be wet.

Fucking Jake is the easy option. You know it’s the easy option. He’s an asshole, so you know you won’t get attached. If you lose him, it won’t be much of a loss at all.

Well, it will. Losing this will be a loss. Jake’s fingers curled tight around your hip and his soft groans right against your earlobe as he fucks into you. Dirty and hard, right on the floor of the watchtower.

Jake’s something you’ve never had before. He’s not the sensible choice. Maybe if you had known the sex would be this good, you never would have settled for sensible. There’s a moment where he takes a brief pause, and the sun’s just about high enough in the sky to be shining bright through the windows of the tower.

He skims his open palm along the warm flesh of your thighs and squeezes, exhaling slowly. As many times as you have been this close to his face, you’ve never quite noticed the way the freckles under his eyes form intricate constellations. His lashes have nothing on Bradley’s but his eyes always feel like they see right through you. It’s just that they’re pretty enough that you don’t mind.

He wets his lips with his tongue and sits back on his knees. The breath is forced out of you as he grabs your hips and maneuvers you closer, pressing deeper into you now that he’s upright. The muscles in his abdomen tighten as he rolls his hips slowly forwards, a stark contrast to the pace he had set before.

Your eyes flicker from his defined stomach up to the shining green of his eyes and he almost smiles.

“Say my name.” He grips your hips tighter, almost mean in the way that he does it. Your mouth twitches, then sets into a straight line. He leans over you, eyes darkening as the light shifts on his face. You gasp, hands reaching for purchase as he thrusts forwards sharply. “I said: say my name.”

“Hangman.” You bite back, knowing how much it gets under his skin to hear you say it. If only you knew that Rooster was the one to first call him it.

Jake’s lips quirk just slightly. You pretend that he can’t feel the way your walls squeeze around him when he’s smiling down at you like that. He gives a slow shake of his head, letting you know that you hadn’t answered correctly.

He rolls his hips slowly again, and then stills completely. Your eyes widen as you feel all hopes of your building orgasm start to ebb away.

“Say it.” Jake smiles down at you, flexing his hands around your hips. Your heart thuds in your chest and you’ll hate yourself for giving in later, but in the moment, there’s just no way you could deny.

“Jake,” You whimper out softly. He leans closer, pressing his fingertips hard into your hips. His eyes never falter from your face as he starts to rock his hips once again. “Jake. Fuck, Jake.”

He slides his hand around to cradle the base of your skull as he pulls you closer to him, picking up the pace. You whimper against his shoulder, sensitivity making you grip his bicep.

As much as he has the capacity to be an asshole, even after he made you cum on his face, he won’t send you back to Rooster without making sure he does it again. His palm presses tight over your mouth as you writhe under him, seeing stars, digging your nails into his thick shoulder.

He groans softly against your throat as he comes undone, swiftly pulling out, just in time to coat your stomach in ropes of cum. Your fingers smooth along the swell of his shoulder, up onto the nape of his neck. He stays there for just a moment, leaving lazy kisses against the curve of your neck.

Then, Jake turns and rolls onto his back beside you, closing his eyes as he tries to catch his breath.

“Fuck.” Jake breathes out. You hum at his side, eyes closed. He reaches out between the two of you. You’re quiet as he loops his fingers between yours.

There’s a moment of quiet between the two of you before he speaks up again. “I, uh… I pulled some strings. Got you tomorrow off if you want it.

You turn your head, blinking, to look at him.

“Figured you would want to spend some time with your mom and your brother after the quarantine.” He tells the ceiling rather than you, but that’s okay. The second that you drop his hand, he feels you sit up. The first thought that crosses his mind is that he must have pissed you off and you’re about to leave.

Instead, you rest your palm gently against his bare chest, lean forwards and kiss his lips.

“Thank you. That’s really kind of you.”

Tonight’s the last night of quarantine. Tomorrow, you’ll be keeping him at arms’ length again. Rooster has spent all day thinking about last night. He can’t help but wonder if you mumble Michael’s name in your sleep every night.

More importantly, he can’t help but wonder who the hell Michael is. An ex-boyfriend, probably. The pain in your voice suggests something more.

Either way, he’s trying not to let it get to him. Holding you in his arms while you mourned another man. He’s silent for once as he walks between posts, making sure that everyone’s where they are supposed to be.

His boots thud rhythmically along the tarmac, his hands pushed deep into his pockets. He hasn’t noticed yet, but his watch has stopped ticking. Despite the ocean being right there, the birds aren’t singing. Like the sky itself knows what’s about to happen.

Static crackles on the radio. Rooster slows, waiting for the message to come through. He’s met with silence. Enough silence to make him realize exactly how quiet it is. It’s 3pm — and the courtyard is empty. There’s not a single person here. He looks around him, turning in a slow circle. No one.

More static follows. Finally, a cracking message breaks through.

“Rooster, Coyote! Anyone?”

Rooster’s eyes blow wide open. He snatches the walkie from his hip as he takes off running. It’s Logan’s voice, which means the disturbance is by the armory.

“We need backup here, now!” Logan begs over the channel, his voice strained and fearful. Rooster picks up the pace, running towards the action in long strides.

Even from as far away as he is, once he rounds that corner, he can see the huge crowd of people that has gathered around the armory. This area is off limits to citizens, there’s a — gate.

He turns his head to blink at it over his shoulder, no time to examine. The padlock has been smashed, or snapped. Broken either way, and the gate’s wide open.

“Thomas, just calm down, man!” Bradley can hear Logan pleading over the silent crowd. He’s faintly aware of Coyote sprinting behind him, but Bradley doesn’t wait as he starts to shove his way through the crowd.

“He’s gone! Nothing fucking matters, no one’s coming!” Another man’s voice bites back. Bradley shoves through. Thomas. Tall, dark hair, always has had purple bags under his eyes. He’s got one hand curled around the door to the armory, and a knife in his dominant hand, pointed towards Logan.

Rooster’s eyes widen as he looks between Logan and Thomas. Thomas hasn’t even spotted him yet, too busy trying to break in. But he’s talking about Admiral Caine, which is not something that shy Thomas from the breakfast crew has clearance to hear about.

“Thomas.” Bradley starts cautiously, but his hand flies to the gun on his hip, his finger on the safety. It’s then that Bradley shoots a look over at Logan, who has lost all colour and is trembling against the wall. Rooster finally notices.

The empty holster on Logan’s right side. The black handle sticking out of Thomas’ belt as he turns slowly around. He stole it.

“What’s the matter?” Bradley doesn’t acknowledge the stealing, or the bloodied man behind his shoulder. The crying children in this crowd. The trembling adults. The look in Thomas’ eye that sends a chill along Bradley’s spine.

“You here to try to stop me?” Thomas challenges. Rooster narrows his eyes. The crowd is just growing. No one dares to lunge for the crazy guy with the gun. The sun is hot overhead. There’s no breeze today.

“You know I can’t let you go in there,” Rooster tries. He raises his hands in defense and takes a cautious step forwards. “It’s against the rules.”

“Caine’s gone, asshole, there are no rules anymore.” Thomas grins, eyes unfocused, swaying just slightly like he’s moving with the wind. He lifts the bottle and takes a long drink. Rooster’s head tilts just slightly, looking straight ahead at the man in front of him. Joining the back of the crowd, Jake cranes his neck to look around. It’s on everyone’s faces all at once.

“What did he just say? — Admiral Caine’s gone?” More and more murmurings. Bradley’s eyes remain focused, steadfast, but his hands clench into fists as his sides. No one is supposed to know. Simpson hasn’t given them other orders yet.

Bradley takes a slow step forwards and Thomas takes a stumbling step back, laughing to himself loudly. “Hit me, Rooster! — Who’s gonna check you for it? — What’s it matter? — We’re all fucking dead anyway!”

That’s why he wants to get into the armoury. He thinks that everyone’s going to die, and he wants to make sure that everyone takes the easy way out.

Rooster checks around. There’s a little girl to his left, younger than Amelia had been, which is his gauge for all kids nowadays, she’s got tears in her eyes, grabbing onto her mother’s hand.

“We’re all going to fucking die. We’ll run out of supplies, or the dead will come, or these fuckers will start killing us one by one!” Thomas screams into the crowd. His head is red, hair drenched in sweat, his movements jerky.

Still, Rooster continues forwards, grabbing two fistfuls of Thomas’ shirt and shaking him, “Shut up, shut the fuck up.”

He can’t let this happen. The murmuring is still happening behind him. He can hear children crying. Tugging at their mother’s sleeves, asking if that’s true.

“If Caine’s gone, then who’s in charge?” Another person asks from the crowd. A guy that Rooster has already had problems with before. He knows that trouble is coming. Thomas’ smile grows.

“Rooster.” Phoenix warns, taking a step towards the collision about to happen in front of her. It’s too late. Thomas is seconds from getting that door open. As Bradley’s footsteps grow closer, Thomas grabs the handle of his stolen gun and turns to look once more.

“We’re all going to fucking die! What does any of it matter?” Thomas barks out. Wailing begins behind him. Amongst it, Bradley can hear as small voice asking if that’s true.

Roooster’s knuckles whiten around Thomas’ t-shirt. Swiftly, Rooster lifts all hundred pounds of him off of the ground. There’s a second where Thomas has time to scramble, his feet inches from the ground, before Rooster uses all of his weight and slams his scrawny body into the concrete. There are a few gasps. The thud is sickening, Thomas stops moving for a second. Joe flinches, turning his head away.

“Shut your mouth or I’ll shut it for you, kid.” Bradley spits, pressing Thomas harder into the ground as the younger guy writhes in pain under him. Once again, Thomas opens his mouth. Jake’s fist hits him square in the tip of his nose, knocking his head back and slamming it hard into the floor. Again, over and over.

“Rooster.” Jake starts, abandoning you beside him and rushing forwards. “Rooster, stop, you’re gonna kill him.”

Thomas stops moving, going limp against the floor. Close enough know to see the blood pouring out of Thomas’ nose, Jake hesitates, certain that he has just allowed these people to witness an execution. It takes a while, but Thomas’ chest begins to rise and fall with deep, slow breaths.

“Show’s over.” Rooster calls out, pushing himself up from the ground. “Everybody go home.”

Tags:

@momc95 @shawnsblue @thedroneranger @cherrycola27 @zbeez-outlet @harper1666 @abaker74 @xoxabs88xox @cowboybarbie @shanimallina87 @ohtobeleah @top-gun-rooster @blue-aconite @laracrofted @bioodforbiood @kmc1989

#bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #miles teller #bradley bradshaw smut #jake seresin #rooster x you #rooster bradshaw imagine #top gun smut #bradley bradshaw x reader #jake seresin x you #jake seresin x reader #Jake Seresin fic #Jake hangman Seresin #hangman x you

[edosianorchids901]

Wicked and Wild Wind

Ace Omens Hugfest 2024 prompt - "a really long hug"

London, 1380

The storm raged, wind whipping Aziraphale’s cloak as he ran through the darkened city. Something was wrong. He could feel it, a gnawing dread that curled around him like a cat around a mouse.

“Crowley?” he called, thrusting out his lantern. “Crowley, is that you?”

He must be here somewhere. Aziraphale could sense him, his presence so familiar after all these millennia. But the usual starry essence was veiled, as if cloaked by the clouds that rumbled low and heavy over London.

“Crowley!” Trembling, Aziraphale stopped and twisted from side to side. The cold drizzle of rain drummed down harder, plinking off the metal top of his lantern. “Crowley, where are you? Please answer me!”

There was no verbal answer, but he felt something else. A faint flicker in the astral planes, off down an alley to his left.

He rushed down the alley, heartbeat pounding in his ears. A dark lump sprawled in the middle of the narrow space, unmoving.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale flung himself to his knees on blood spattered wet cobblestone. He slid his hand under Crowley’s head, turning him, and smoothed bedraggled hair out of his face. “Crowley, dear boy, it’s me. It’s Aziraphale. What’s happened?”

Golden eyes squinted up at him from behind cracked, askew dark glasses. Crowley drew a ragged breath and fumbled at Aziraphale’s tunic. “You… came. Wasn’t sure you’d hear me.”

“I felt it, that something was wrong.” Carefully, Aziraphale touched his bruised cheek. Oh, his skin was so cold. “What’s happened, Crowley? Who did this?”

“Humans. Greedy little bastards mugged me.” Crowley coughed, and blood dribbled across his lips. “Beat the shit out of me.”

“Oh, oh.” Aziraphale carefully lifted and cradled Crowley across his lap, wincing as he hissed in pain. “There, easy. Just trying to keep you warm, that’s it. Oh, you’re absolutely drenched!”

“S’ what happens after lying in the rain for…” Crowley hissed again, shuddering as Aziraphale pushed back the torn black cloak and examined his side. “For however long. Ow, that hurts.”

“I’m afraid that’s because you’re quite hurt.” And would need to be at least somewhat healed before Aziraphale could move him. But he couldn’t keep getting rained on. This was a recipe for hypothermia. “Just try to stay conscious, hmm? I’ll take care of you.”

Aziraphale pulled his wings into physical reality and swept them forward to shelter Crowley as much as possible. He hugged the shivering body of his friend close and began to mend the damage.

His wings couldn’t entirely keep Crowley dry, alas, not even when he angled them to try to deflect the sheeting rain. There was simply too much wind, sudden gusts of it blasting his feathers out of the way. Crowley gave a miserable moan, and Aziraphale held him closer.

At least the healing wasn’t too terribly complicated. Crowley was quite battered, but with a minimum of broken bones. Aziraphale healed the shattered ribs first, then moved on to the rest of the damage.

“You’re really warm,” Crowley mumbled as Aziraphale mended his bruises and scrapes. “S’ nice. Haven’t been held like this in a while. Missed it.”

Aziraphale paused, somewhat alarmed by the comment. Crowley was so rarely open about his feelings, but perhaps it was the cold and injury. “Yes, it has been a bit. Um… was it a decade ago, when we got caught in that snowstorm and had to take shelter in a barn?”

“Yeah.” Crowley sounded much happier than was reasonable, given the circumstances. “Huddled together all night.”

The memory tugged at Aziraphale’s heart, stirring up feelings he never allowed himself to contemplate once the moment had passed. Fear for a demon, the sense of dread at the thought of losing him. The tenderness and love that rose whenever he held Crowley close. And something else.

“We did, yes.” As the wind whipped around them, Aziraphale gave in, allowing himself to indulge even if only for this night. “Do you know, I think we ought to do that tonight, too. Huddle, I mean. You are awfully chilled.”

“S’ a fair point.” Crowley managed a weak smile, still awfully pale. “Probably need to miracle our clothes dry, mind. Or it’s not gonna be terrifically effective.”

“Yes, well. I’ll handle that once we’re out of the rain.”

First, though, Aziraphale used a small miracle to deflect attention. He had no intention of putting his wings away just now. And the last thing they needed were screaming humans, although no one seemed to be out in the wicked storm.

He picked Crowley up, cradling him carefully, and set off through the storm. Crowley’s eyes closed, and he still drew ragged breaths despite the lack of broken ribs. No longer wounded, but certainly drained.

The dim lights of the bookshop that Aziraphale ran glistened up ahead. He shouldered inside, his own teeth chattering, and gave Crowley an unsteady smile. “Well, we’ve made it. I’ll put you down now, and—”

“D’ya have to?” Crowley asked, rather sleepily. “S’ nice. Like… like getting a really long hug.”

Aziraphale paused, briefly conflicted, then put his wings away and used a quick miracle to dry them both. He took Crowley to a little bed in the backroom, and sat down with him still cradled close. “Here we are, that’s much nicer. May I let go of you for just a moment to adjust?”

“Nuh.”

“Really, my dear?” But Aziraphale looked at Crowley’s contented expression, his head pillowed on Aziraphale’s shoulder, and melted at once. It was rather like having a stubborn cat in his lap. “Very well, dear boy. How long am I to hug you for?”

“Hn, dunno.” With a quiet noise, Crowley snuggled closer. “Forever?”

Aziraphale smiled, although a few tears stung his eyes. Oh, how he would love to hold Crowley forever, to keep him safe and warm and happy. It wasn’t possible, of course.

But for tonight, with Crowley needing to recover, there really was no reason to let go anytime soon. “I’ll give you as much of forever as I can spare, my dear.”

#good omens #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley #hurt/comfort #blood #injury #art #ace omens hugfest 2024

[frannyzooey]

Hello hello my love 🧡

I had a business meeting first thing this morning and the only thing I could think of was frontiersman Francisco Morales and you are to blame. I hope you're proud of yourself.

Any chance we might one day get more of that fine man?

You mean like this?

Pioneer Frankie Morales x f!reader, Pioneer Universe

Rating: Explicit

--

The types of thoughts you have about your husband are sinful -- or, they would be, if he wasn't your husband.

"Celebrating your union" was something that everyone said you should do: quiet discussions in parlor rooms about how it all works between a husband and wife, reassurances that even if you didn't like the act itself, you'd get the blessing of children and that alone would be worth it. The conversations made you uneasy, slightly frightened if you were being honest -- but then you met him.

Suddenly those conversations held a certain sort of context, because while you could envision his hands touching your skin in the dimly lit lantern light of your room, what you never anticipated was how much you would like it.

How much you would come to crave it.

How much he would make you take, and take, and take -- but also how much he would give in return.

He loved every part of you just as much as you loved every part of him: his competent hands to your soft skin; his dark curls to your beautiful smile; his solid, broad body to your more delicate one. He was up for any way that you wanted to celebrate your hunger with him, because he felt the same way if not more -- and that's how you came to be in the position you were in right now.

You had the idea while helping him in the barn today: watching the sweat collect at the hollow of his tanned throat, dampening the cotton over his spine. Dark tendrils stuck to his forehead, curled with heat over his ears and along the nape of his neck and you should have been doing your part of the chores, but instead you sat and watched; his trousers a strain over his thighs, your hands mindlessly winding a piece of rope between them.

He peeked over at your silence and smiled, slightly breathless when he stood straight to come over and interrupt your daydream and when he gently took the rope from your grip, his eyes dropped to it.

A thought flashed in his dark eyes, and then the chores were forgotten as he led you inside, guiding you to sit on the edge of the bed while he tossed the rope next to your hip, and reached back with a one handed tug to strip his shirt off.

His skin was tacky and flushed with sweat when he knelt on the floor between your knees, his hands deft and efficient yet tender when he pulled your skirts up and by the time he was done with your cunt, his mouth was glistening and smeared; your body trembling with release.

Your clothes off and then his, everything cast to the floor to be washed tomorrow and that's when he grabbed that rope, guiding you onto your stomach. Your wrists brought to the small of your back and bound, then a pillow shoved under your hips before he wound the rest of it around the top of your thighs and when he was finished, you were immobile and spread, just for him.

The pillowcase your mother spent weeks embroidering for a wedding gift caught the slick that dripped from you as his fingers worked you open, and when he straddled your legs to notch himself at your entrance, your lips brushed against the soft cotton of your wedding sheets, a gift from your aunt.

"Francisco," you moan, as he slides in down to the thick base and those hands that you watch every hour of the day splay themselves wide across your lower back, pushing you down into the straw ticked bedding. The rolls of his hips are powerful and strong, smooth with every thick, filling slide into you and then back out, and then his hands are kneading the plush globes of your ass as his groans fill the sun drenched room.

He's a lot to take anyway, but he's the most in this position and your body lights up from the inside out with a slow spreading warmth that winds you tighter and tighter.

This -- this -- is something those ladies never told you about. Not only the use of a rope in the bedroom (a delightful, shocking discovery) but the pleasure soaked moans pouring from your throat into the bedding to match the strained praises falling from his lips. No one ever told you it would feel this good.

You warn him when you're about to come, your hands clenching into fists above your sweat slicked back and then his strokes are speeding up, the thud of his hips meeting your ass making you jolt with every push. You come and he groans, your body going limp under his and then his own strong thighs are tightening around yours, his hands gripping your ass with a white knuckled hold before he abruptly pulls himself out to spill hot and slick along the crack. It drips down over your cunt, and his spend isn't even cool on your skin when he slides his thumb through it to push it back inside where it belongs.

This is what those women were talking about, the "celebration of your union to bring forth children", but somehow you don't think what he does next is what they had in mind: his thumb collecting more milky slick, smearing over the tight ring between your cheeks.

You tense slightly and he stops, waiting for you to tell him no, but you don't. You just let your cheeks heat instead when he pushes the tip of his thumb just inside, testing how much you can take.

"You want more?" he asks quietly, his thumb pulling out to gather more slick spend before he tests you again. "Or are you done?"

You don't even have to think before you answer -- and that's also something those women never told you about, along with the delight of this intimate exploration.

You arch your back, the ropes digging into your skin, and answer him.

"I want more."

#frankie morales #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales/you #frankie morales/reader #frankie catfish morales #pedro pascal character fanfic

[deanwanddamons]

Undercover - Prologue

Summary: Homicide Detective Dean Winchester and Agent Y/F/N Y/L/N go undercover to solve a spate of murders. 

Universe: Detective AU

Pairing: None yet. 

Word Count: 1.8K

Chapter Warnings: Description of nightmares and sleep paralysis. Dark subject matter. 

A/N 1: As always thank you to my beta @winchest09, who helped me with the idea for this story. You are my cheerleader, my bestie and my constant support. I love you. A/N 2: As you may or may not know, I haven’t written anything in an absolute age. I have been struggling with writer's block and life has simply got in the way. But…I started this series a long time ago and a few chapters were just sitting in my docs. So I thought I would post this prologue in the hope that you guys enjoy, want to read more and it may give me the inspiration to continue with it. Please let me know what you think - comment and reblog if possible ❤️ Tag list is open if you wish to be added.

Dean had woken with a start. A sheen of sweat covered his body, his limbs tangled in the sheets. His breath came in short gasps as he tried to calm himself down from the recurring nightmare that plagued him.

It wasn’t the first time he has had this particular dream. In fact, it was the third time this week. He could never quite remember the exact details, had even resorted to keeping a notebook and pen by the side of the bed in an attempt to make sense of it, but so far, the pages were still blank. All he knew when he woke was that he was scared. No, not scared. 

Petrified. 

His body would refuse to move, sleep paralysis pinning him down. He could move his eyes, but that was all. As they flickered around the room, every shadow seemed like a threat, every creak an intruder. A scream would build in his chest, his lips desperate to open to allow the sound to escape, but they remained sealed shut. The fear would build as the shades loomed over him, their darkness and weight pressing down on him like a boulder, the oppressive atmosphere suffocating. 

Then the paralysis would break. Finally, the scream would fly from his lungs as his body jerked up, hands fisting the sheets, his knuckles white from his vice-like grip. 

As he relaxed, he sank back down into the mattress, chest heaving as tears spilled down his cheeks. His clutch gradually loosened on the covers, releasing the material. 

He sat back up and leaned over. With trembling hands, he switched on the bedside lamp. The welcoming glow spilled into the room, the monstrous shadows rushing away, back into the corners to cower there until they decided to taunt him some more. Picking up the glass of water that he always kept on the chest of drawers, he brought it to his parched lips, the liquid rippling on the surface as his hands continued to shake. Taking a large gulp, he swallowed hard, the water slightly tepid, but a welcome relief to his dry mouth. 

Placing the glass back down, he scanned the room. As usual, he was alone. He had no one there to soothe him. No one there to wake him before the nightmare took hold. No one there to offer comfort, to reassure him everything was okay and he was only dreaming, which seemed to be getting worse each time. In the dream, he was running through a dark, unfamiliar forest, his heart pounding as if it would burst from his chest. He could hear the sound of something chasing him, but whenever he turned around, there was nothing there. 

The feeling of being pursued was terrifying, and it seemed like he was running for hours. Eventually, he would stumble and fall, and when he tried to get up, he found that he couldn't move. It was like his limbs were made of lead, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't seem to get them to work. That was when he would wake up, drenched in sweat and panting for breath.

Dean knew that he had to find a way to stop these dreams. They were taking a toll on his mental and physical health. He had tried everything from meditation to sleeping pills, but nothing seemed to work. He couldn't shake the feeling that this dream was trying to tell him something, and until he figured out what that was, he wouldn't be able to rest easy.

Knowing the answer before he even looked, his eyes landed on the digital clock, the glowing red numbers telling him it was 3.40am. When he awoke from a nightmare, it was always at the same time, and tonight was no different. 

He knew sleep would evade him for the rest of the night. His alarm was set for 5am, so even if he did manage to doze back off, he would only get an hour or so. Accepting that he would not be getting any more rest, he swung his legs out of bed, and padded across the room, deciding to take a shower. 

As Dean entered the bathroom, he stripped off his t-shirt and boxer shorts that were damp with sweat. Throwing them into the laundry basket, he switched on the shower and waited for the water to heat up, moving to the toilet to empty his bladder as it did. Turning to the sink, he cleaned his teeth and swilled mouthwash around his mouth. The liquid spilled from his mouth into the sink, circling down into the void. The troubled man glanced up and stared at his reflection in the mirror in horror. He looked exhausted. The shadows under his fatigued forest green eyes were dark and large, his pallor pale, causing the smattering of freckles that adorned his usually handsome face to stand out like a child’s dot to dot colouring book. His light brown hair was sticking up in messy angles, flecks of grey obvious in the harsh luminous light coming from the bulb that was too bright for the small dimensions of the room. He sighed and rubbed his face, the stubble there emitting a scratchy sound as he brought his palm down his neck. 

Stepping into the warm flow of the shower, Dean leaned against the cool, tiled wall, letting the water cascade down his body. His muscles were aching, as they always did after suffering from sleep paralysis. He supposed it was from clenching them in his sleep, holding them in one position against his will. He kneaded his shoulder, digging his fingers into the skin, trying to release the tension. It helped slightly, but the pain was still there. Squeezing some shampoo into his hand, he massaged it into his hair, his eyes following the stream of suds as they ran into the drain. His mind went blank and he placed the palms of his hands against the wall, allowing the pent-up tears to fall, no longer able to keep them inside. They mingled with the remnants of the shampoo as they slipped down his cheeks. 

He wasn’t sure how much longer he could do this. Ever since ‘the incident’ - as he put it to himself - he hadn’t got any more than three or four hours of sleep a night, and it was catching up with him. But Dean couldn’t let it show, couldn’t let anyone else see that he was weak - not in his line of work. He had to deal with it alone, deal with it inwardly, even though it ate him up inside, piece by piece, bit by bit, until there would be nothing left. The only place he could get any kind of reprieve from it was when he was in the shower. That way, not even he could distinguish the water from the tears. He had never been one to show his feelings.

His mother had passed away when he was four. His younger brother, Sam, had only been six months old at the time. A house fire had ripped her away from them. Their father, John Winchester, had struggled to deal with his grief and took a job which required traveling around the country, forcing the broken family to stay in bleak motel rooms all around the US. His father would often work overnight, leaving Dean to practically bring up his sibling alone. Dean had become Sam’s protector, his provider and his best and only friend. The older brother's relationship with John was extremely fractured, their arguments legendary. 

When Dean told him he wanted to become a detective, his old man had laughed, telling him that there was no way he would ever be able to, that he would amount to nothing. This made him even more determined, so at nineteen he moved to Lawrence, Kansas and joined the police force. He had become a detective by the time he was twenty-five. Dean was now forty, living in Los Angeles, having had to leave Lawrence after ‘the incident’  and was one of the most senior and respected officers in his precinct. Of course, his career had always come first, and even though he had had a few brief relationships, he had never met ‘the one’. It was common knowledge that if detectives did settle down, many of the marriages ended in divorce, due to the pressures of the job, so Dean decided long ago that he was better off alone. A conclusion he rarely regretted, except on the nights where he woke from night terrors, scared and needing some human contact. 

When Dean was in his twenties, his father had passed away. He hadn’t cried in public, shedding only a single tear at the funeral, which the younger Winchester had witnessed. When Sam had placed his hand on his shoulder - his eyes dry -  Dean swiped the tear away, and vowed never to show any weakness to anyone again.

His little brother had applied for college, aced his exams and was accepted into Stanford University to study law. Now thirty-six, he was running his own law firm in Lawrence, having joined Dean in the small city. When Dean had moved to L.A., Sam had stayed. He was married to a lovely girl called Jess, a high school teacher. Even though he was distraught at his brother moving to the other side of the country, he couldn’t go with him as there was too much for him to leave behind, but he knew that Dean had to go due to his particular circumstances. They spoke regularly over the phone and via Skype, and Dean was extremely proud of the man Sam had grown up to become. 

Taking a deep breath, he stepped out from under the water and turned off the tap. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he walked from the room, his damp feet leaving footprints on the wooden floor of his apartment as he made his way into his bedroom and looked at the clock. It was still only 4.10am, and so he dried himself off, pulled on a pair of sweatpants, and padded into the open plan kitchen.

The exhausted man was desperate for caffeine, so he switched on the machine, preparing his cup while the coffee bubbled. After pouring the beverage into his mug, he sat down, rubbing at his tired eyes that felt like sand had been thrown in them, and unplugged his cell from the wall. 

Scanning through his email, the phone suddenly started to ring in his hand. 

“Hello,” Dean said as he brought it to his ear.  “Detective Elliott? It’s Detective Hanscum.” a woman said, urgency evident in her voice. “There’s been another one.”

Chapter One

Tags (and adding those who may be interested) - @salt-n-burn-em-all / @littlelonewolfgirl / @krazykelly / @deans-spinster-witch / @lastcallatrockysbar / @ssimelttilgniht / @123passwort / @winchester-girl67 / @winchestergirl2 / @americasass81 / @jessjad / @akshi8278 / @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior / @waywardbaby / @deanwinchesterswitch / @440mxs-wife

#supernatural #dean winchester #detective Dean Winchester #jensen ackles #supernatural fic #supernatural au #dean winchester fan fiction #supernatural fanfiction

[hanibalistic]

#FFDA78 | MARK LEE.

genre | romance, fluff, angst

word count | 1604

warning | themes of domestic abuse (parental)​

note | i was thinking about what my neighbors were thinking when they could hear me next door

mark thought he saw something on your face; a smeared eyeshadow fading in color and a straight line on your cheek drenched in scab red. he thought he saw something on your face, and his intuition was correct.

the way you knew his hands was defined by their callousness. 

mark took good care of his skin, but the care extended no further than his face. when it came to his hands, he was still trying to squeeze out the residue left in his 1-year hand cream. they were often dry and rough to the touch, but you never minded the skin contact. something about their oldness reminded you of your father’s hands, but in the way mark’s would never be injurious. 

he ran the tip of his finger across the scab on your cheek with ease. it must have been some cut; you told him your mother threw a pen at you, and the tip grazed your cheek. he didn’t laugh when you joked that she could be a sharpshooter. you closed your left eye instinctively when he smoothed his thumb over the surface of the lid. the smeared eyeshadow fading in a dark purple hue was a black eye. your father’s anger was evident in the shades of its disgusting colors.

you let mark touch your face because he wanted to and he knew how to. he was used to delicacy because he grew up collecting musical trinkets like vintage music boxes with breakable ballerinas in them, or the hackable motherboard of an electronic music player released more than ten years ago. but mostly, mark knew how not to hurt you because the thought had never crossed his mind, and humans are incapable of executing what their mind has no knowledge of. 

“come in,” he said after he let go. he turned to his apartment door with a chunky lot of keys in his hand to unlock the door. “let me put some medicinal cream on them.” 

the small apartment was all he could afford with his faraway dream of pursuing a music career, but you always thought it was homey, and it smelt of him. 

there was an unmade twin-sized bed; the only thing he paid for was the frame and everything else—the mattress and the sheets—he took from his old bedroom at his parents’ house. you slept on it alone a couple of times, each time with a different blood trail on your skin. mark slept squeezed on it with you once because you were crying nonstop that night; he never questioned how terrifying it must have been to be threatened an ultimatum with a waving kitchen knife. 

the apartment has a small closet built into the wall. the door was always opened whenever you were there, and he was always halfway through hanging his clothes up, even though he didn’t have many. mark liked to wear oversized clothes, as did you. it was the deceiving perception of your bodies that you both enjoyed so much. with mark’s clothes, you also loved that they smelt of him, and he loved that they would smell of you when you return them thoroughly washed. 

mark saved up for months to get a small, waist-sized refrigerator. his parents and in-laws offered to buy him a regular one, but he insisted on making this purchase by himself. the fridge was always full of boxes of microwavable meals, box lunches, and an unlimited supply of soda cans. sometimes you would hide outside food in his fridge, mostly desserts from bakeries, so your parents wouldn’t think you were hoarding your part-time income all to yourself.  

compared to what you had next door, with beer-bottle carpets and opened caskets of leftovers, mark’s home was everything you could ever ask for. 

the first aid kit sitting in the cabinet under his bathroom sink, claustrophobic with unopened shampoo bottles, scented lotions, toothbrush packs, and soap bars, was not here before. neither did he use to have so many medicinal items in his home before. the most he owned were bandaids and migraine pills. welcoming you into his life also welcomed a lot of expenses spent on home remedies in preparation for what he knew would always eventually happen. the first aid kit was a box he bought for you.

mark set the first aid kit down on his bedside table and opened it. you sat down on the edge of his bed like you always do when you know he has something in his kit for you. looking inside and rummaging through the box, he picked out a travel-sized vaseline tub and a bottle of ibuprofen. he researched it online before to make sure he wouldn’t accidentally make everything worse; vaseline to moisturize the scab, and ibuprofen for the inflammation and pain of your black eye. 

“have you eaten anything today?” he asked after he knelt before you. his hands were busy opening the pill bottle, and his eyes were busy observing you. 

you smiled faintly, and mark nodded in acknowledgment. he dumped the ibuprofen onto his palm and handed it to you. after screwing the lid shut, he reached for his water bottle on his bedside table and weighed it with his hand. he refilled it yesterday night before he went to sleep, and there was water left in there still. he gave you the water bottle and watched you take the pill. 

you chugged the water as if this was the first time you’d been hydrated since ages ago. mark chuckled lowly—genuinely—when you failed to heave an exaggerated sigh of contentment after drinking all his water. he took the bottle from your hand and set it aside, then reached up to wipe the corner of your mouth of water droplets. you pursed your lips at the feeling of his thumb on your lips and the backs of his fingers pressing against your chin. you stuck your tongue out to the side where he was cleaning off the water droplets and touched his finger, making him giggle. 

“hey! that’s nasty!” he accused playfully, waving his hand with his thumb sticking out as if the air would clean it. 

you shrugged with a mirroring of his childishness. the smile on your face was thoughtless and effortless; it was of splendid innocence and untraditional immaturity. an inner-child that has peace as opposed to the debilitating contrast that comes out in your own home. you wished that was not the case, and you knew mark also prayed that it wasn’t the case, but you would always be small in front of your parents. you would always be a kid before your parents, just instead of peace, you have everything but. 

your eyes focused when you felt mark’s hand on your face. he pushed at your hair, reading your face intently even though everything was undoubtedly presented to them. you never put a wall up to guard against his approach, and you suspected you would in the future. mark watched the joy on your face flattened into contemplation over his own as if you were waiting for him to break some bad news to you, but he has none to give. 

he was only watching you because he enjoyed it. 

that, and because he owned unfathomable guilt pieced together from your broken skin and unlimited endearment for the way your heart has not the callousness of his hands. 

mark knew everything important about you. he knew whenever you bled and where you bled; he recorded with his mind what medicine worked for you body and what worsened conditions; he touched your naked chest and uncovered back, and he recognized whether it was the yellow bruises or the cold touch of his fingers that gave you shivers. you two spent so much time together, and he knew everything about you to a point where he could no longer separate his existence from yours. 

you were always in the apartment with him. he was always tasting your shoulder between his teeth. you were never happy next door. he was never at ease with you in his field of vision. 

“mark…?” you grabbed his hand because you could see traces of difficulties in his eyes rolling around like gleams of water.

he pursed his lips into a frown. “i’m so sick of your parents.” 

mark rubbed your cheek with tenderness like threading a needle when you widened your eyes and squeezed his wrist at the sudden statement. your hands were soft as your heart was; he never knew how retaliation and displacement were never within your line of thoughts. he never understood that while you learned of violence and shame at your parents’ feet, you learned to be loved and cared for under his hands. 

there was a knot he swallowed down his throat to his hammering heart. his heart told him he was in love with you, but the knot asked him for how long? 

“me too,” you giggled. 

his chest quivered at the scab on your cheek that quirked with you—the vaseline on his bedside came back to mind. he remembered he was going to apply it on your face. he was going to refill his water bottle for you to get hydrated. and he was going to ask you to stay at his apartment for the night to eat microwavable bento boxes with him. and you were both sick of your parents, but under his calloused hands and between the two weights on his twin-sized bed, you still got to learn what it means to be loved.

for how long? 

his heart dissolved the knot. it replied: forever. 

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