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tasteracha · 10 months

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a/n: @lino-nyangi sent me into a brainrot about sucking on min’s sensitive tiddies and this was born

you don’t think there are many other places you’d rather be than settled on top of minho, straddling his lap while your head is pillowed on his chest.

he’s just so warm, so sweet and soft and comforting even if he would pretend to bristle at the thought. the way he mumbles his thoughts out loud like he forgets you can hear him, talking about everything and absolutely nothing all at once. the way he’ll move his hand to rub at your shoulder or your back or your scalp every now and then, whenever the thought passes by.

today though, something is different. you can’t seem to get comfortable, and you wriggle this way and that to find that happy place that you just can’t reach. it’s when you nuzzle your head a little harder into his chest than usual out of frustration that it happens.

he whines, and when you look up at him he’s matching your surprise on his face like a mirror. your brow furrows as the cogs turn in your head rapidly; did you hit a bruise? are you too heavy on him? does he want you to leave?

but when he exhales, his body shuddering a little further into the mattress under him, you realize slowly that he’s not uncomfortable. you look down and see his nipple pebbling up under his shirt, right where your head was moments ago. he’s turned on.

“oh,” you breathe out, bringing a finger up to trace around his other pec. he lets out another whine, high in the back of his throat, and when you meet his eyes they’re desperate and a little wild. “you never told me you were so sensitive here.”

instead of an answer he gives you a look, his hips jerking up a bit.

“you never asked,” he says, voice right but drawn out like he’s trying to sound unaffected. his mistake.

while one of your hands was circling feather-light touches around his right nipple, the other was sneaking to the bottom of his shirt, and you took the opportunity to slide it under to his left one and pinch it between your fingers.

his reaction is instant. he throws his head back, a moan slipping from his parted lips from where his mouth parted open. you sooth it after, massaging his skin, and it pulls another whine from him. little pants are escaping him and a blush is rapidly traveling down his neck to his chest, and you swear he’s never looked more beautiful.

“off,” you demand, tugging at his shirt a bit, and he sits up just enough to pull it off. the movement jostles you a bit in his lap, and you can feel his cock hardening under you. you have to resist the urge to grind down against him when he settles back into the pillows, hyper focused on this new discovery.

his chest is bare, pretty pink hues splotched all over, and you can’t help but run your hands over the skin. your nails rake over his abdomen, leaving little red paintbrush strokes in their wake. he’s an open canvas, all yours to ruin beautifully.

he squirms when you lean further down, your breath brushing over his nipples. you look up at him through your lashes, knowing what that does to him, and his eyes are pleasing as they look back. he looks one movement away from pleading you to continue, but you don’t want that. you don’t want him to ask for it, you want to take it.

you take him in your mouth, eyes fluttering closed as you concentrate on your task. you leave your mouth open, sucking gently and rolling your tongue this way and that, listening to the sounds he’s making for you; small whines in the back of his throat, gasps of shock when you change trajectory. when you switch to his other side he just gets louder, more desperate. you always think he sounds lovely, but the song you’re strumming out of him right now is nothing short of perfection.

you grind into him, his reactions rendering you unable to stop yourself, and he ruts up into you in little helpless motions. his hands move to either side of your head, warm and trembling as he tilts you just right against him. his eyes are hooded and dark as he looks down at you, nearly possessive, and it sends a shiver wracking down your spine.

you move your hips more purposefully, the movements of your mouth never slowing even when you start to get tired. you decide to bring your teeth into the equation, lightly scraping them over the sensitive skin of his chest. you suck gently at the spot, blowing cool air over it before leaning back a bit to look at your work. a red splotch is left behind, lonely on the smooth planes of his chest, and that can’t do can it? so you repeat the motion, over and over until his chest is dotted in spots and he’s shaking so much you think he might cry.

you give one last bite right to his nipple and his eyes roll back as he shudders violently under you. his muscles go completely taught for a moment before he goes boneless, melting into the mattress. he’s staring up at the ceiling with wide, glossy eyes and his breath is coming out in slow pants that shake you as you lay back over his chest.

“did you come in your pants?” you ask, knowing the answer but wanting to tease him by making him admit it anyways.

“no?” his voice is high, betraying him along with the tremors that are still shaking in his thighs.

“so you don’t want me to help you clean up the mess you made down there?” you ask, quirking a brow up at him. his answering pout makes you giggle.

“i didn’t say that.”

#stray kids smut #skz smut #stray kids imagines #stray kids drabbles #lee know smut #lee minho smut #lee know x you #lee know x y/n #stray kids x reader #stray kids x y/n #stray kids x you

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celenawrites · 9 months

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pretty when you cry

pairing - Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

word count - 2.4k

warnings - Ghost is a bit of a dick but he gets better, Reader is a bit of a crybaby here but it's just cuz she's very in tune with her emotions, Simon is emotionally constipated and cannot handle feelings, some fluff, heavy-ish (?) angst, open ending, etc.

Note - Kinda got tired of writing fluffy stuff all the time and my mental health is fraying atm, so I decided to (hopefully) hurt some folks with this little piece. Enjoy!

AO3 Version

Divider by @/firefly-graphics

You cry easy.

That's what Ghost thought of you when you first joined Task Force-141.

While he has always been skeptical of any new additions (often temporary) to the team he has come to love and trust after going through hell and back, Price was convinced that your impeccable record on stealth ops, your physical agility, and your skills as a sniper were much needed.

Reluctantly, Ghost silently accepts his Captain’s decision.

However, time and time again, your sensitive nature had him worried that you might prove to be a heavy liability to the team.

When you stub your toe against the leg of the table, you let out a few tears of frustration and pain, cursing everyone and their mothers while you hold your injured foot in the air as you comically jump around the kitchen, even though your lack of spatial awareness was to be blamed here. It is almost always a comical sight, Gaz rubbing your back in comfort while you curse and cry, failing to hide his amusement. Soap is not afraid to laugh at your face for it, while Price has this twinkle in his eye as he asks you to sit and eat something for breakfast.

Simon ignores the flutter in his stomach when you take a seat next to him on the table, your wet hair letting out wafts of jasmine - all for him to smell and keep to himself.

You cry when you accidentally let the door close on your pinky, dramatic hiccups leaving you as Soap ties up your little finger with white bandages, stroking your hair as he consoles you, "That's a brave lassie, yeah? You got this". (Soap has always been good with people, Simon notes.) Sometimes, Soap will be ‘kind enough’ to offer you to kiss your injuries better and you’d shove him, your face giving away the embarrassment and the humorous jest you feel around the demolition expert.

You weep uncontrollably when you watch Marley and Me with Gaz in the rec room. Price and Ghost had been passing by, discussing the aftermath of a mission they had just returned from when they heard loud sobs coming from the usually empty room. They peer in to find both of you huddled close in soft blankets, a bowl of popcorn propped up in your lap and a box of tissues in Gaz’s lap, as you munch on the buttery snack and cry over the adorable dog finally being put to rest. You lean into Gaz for comfort and Ghost wonders if you still smell of mud and caked blood like you did on the field.

Price decides to break up the party as he enters the room, clearing up his throat to grab the attention of his Sergeants. Your lip wobbles as he lightly scolds you, his brow laden with concern as he looks at you and tells you both to go get some much-needed rest. You pass him by as you leave the room, your hand being a feather’s touch away from his and he almost holds onto you. (He still has no idea why he almost reacted like that to you)

One time, Price had been sent to help Laswell out on a crucial mission and all you had accomplished during those three and a half weeks was mope around and wish your Captain were here. You’d be lying on the sofa in the common room and you’d whine to your companions. “I’m so bored. I miss Captain. I wish he was here”, you’d pout and Soap and Gaz would gang up on you, teasing you as they asked you whether you had some unresolved feelings for dear Price. (The idea of you coveting Price like a lover seemed ridiculous to him, really. You and the Captain? Not a chance)

And then there was that one time when you had to go on a solo mission (the first of you being on your own since you joined the task force, really) and when you had come back to him them, battered and bloodied and disheveled but still safe and sound and Price lets out a sigh of relief, his shoulders sagging as if all the weight of the world has disappeared now that you’re back home, back to your team (where you now rightfully belong). You rush to them, running as if you cannot close the distance between them fast enough, and Price hugs you with steady arms as he lets you cry into his shoulder, wetting his uniform as you all but sob in relief, leaning on your Captain for support as your legs turn like jelly, unable to support the weight of your weary body.

It must’ve been terrifying - being out there on the field, hostility and death surrounding you in all directions and the only person you could possibly rely on is yourself. Keeping yourself safe and sane as you navigate unknown terrain and fight off the monsters who wear the skins of humans and pollute the very Earth they have been raised on. Blood and gore and gunpowder clinging to you like a second skin as you pray to survive another night and make it back home safely. Back to your team.

Back to your kind captain, and sergeants you have befriended and a cold Lieutenant who sometimes fails to hide the care he carries for you in his brown eyes.

Price has a look of sympathy and understanding on his face as he drags you to the infirmary, even holding your trembling hand in his warm palm as you flinch at the sight of the large syringe needle and hiss in pain whenever the alcohol-soaked cotton is applied to your cuts. He soothes you with a gentle pat on your back, mindful of your treated injuries as he softly tells you to clean up and maybe get some much needed sleep, asking Gaz to supply you with something to eat before you doze off due to fatigue and the morphine still floating in your system.

Ghost found it annoying for the most part - sometimes snapping at you to "Shut up and focus" on bad days and while he’s still irked at the sentimentality you possess, something that he and his comrades have willingly allowed to wither and die in their souls, a small part of him - a part of him that still resembles who Simon was, a mimicry of the humanness he hasn’t felt in his dead soul for years, worried about you. Worried sick about you and your emotions and the lack of lid you have on it. Worried if he had been too harsh on you because he doesn’t do emotions, and clearly he is out of his depth when it comes to dealing with people, but especially when it comes to dealing with you.

He realizes he doesn’t mind you crying all that much.

You go out for drinks to celebrate your successful solo mission and you spend the time you had lost on the field with your teammates - you play billiards with Gaz against Soap and Ghost and lose sorely, and then you try out a peg of whiskey the Captain has ordered and Price laughs heartily as you sputter and whine as the drink burns your esophagus. You somehow convince Ghost to teach you how to throw darts and he tries to not lean into your warmth as he stands behind you, his gloved hand holding your wrist as he positions you and teaches you how to throw the wooden dart you hold between your smooth fingers, and tells you all he knows about making sure that the little thing hits the dartboard without fail.

Simon can smell your jasmine shampoo and your citrus perfume on you as he uses his hands to correct your posture. He can feel how soft and pliant you are under him, eager to obey and please him, and all he can think about is what it’d be like - being your confidante, being the voice of reason for you when you’re drowning in emotions, being a sturdy shoulder for you to cry on.

And he knows for a fact that you’d be all that and more in a heartbeat if he allowed you to.

You lean onto Simon for support, your head lolling onto his shoulder as he quietly guides you to your bedroom. You hum quietly as he carefully makes you lie down on your bed, removing your shoes for you and when you beg him to help you remove the little makeup you had applied for the night (Price blatantly ignoring the use of contraband because it’s you), he surprisingly complies. Years of applying camo paint on his face give him the needed experience around using micellar water and makeup wipes as he helps you prepare yourself for a night of mindless sleeping, which will be followed by a hangover in the morning plaguing almost all of them. (He swears he’ll force you to drink the ginger tea he’ll make, no matter how much you’d whine about it tasting ‘yucky’. He’d rather not have you hurling over everything like a cat with a persistent hairball stuck in its throat).

“I’m so happy”, you hum to yourself as Simon tilts your head up.

“Close your eyes, Sergeant”, he orders and you comply, feeling the soaked cotton pad rub against your eyelids as your Lieutenant removes your pink eye shadow. It’s a pretty color on you, Simon thinks but he never says it out loud.

You stay silent as he finishes up with your work, his calloused fingertips tilting and moving your head to look at any missed spots he might’ve overlooked in the dim bedroom light.

“All done”, he scruffs, getting up on his feet and he hears you call out to him as he leaves the room.

“What is it?” he asks, wishing to be in his warm bed on this cold night.

“Thank you, sir”, you say earnestly with your eyes shining with sincerity and an unrecognizable emotion.

Simon observes you - you lying on your bed in the clothes you wore to the bar, with most of your makeup removed and your eyes struggling to stay open as intoxication and tiredness tempt you to forget the world and sleep.

A moment too late, he asks you, “What are you thanking me for, rookie?”

Only to find you out cold.

He sighs, draping the thin blanket over your shivering body and leaving you alone in your room.

When you wake up the next day with a hangover headache, your makeup removed and your blanket draped over you tenderly, you make your way to the common kitchen and you ask your moody superior if he remembers anything from the night before - your hazy memory failing to cover the gaps in your memory.

He gruffly says out, “No” and then hands you a cup of ginger tea, looking at you intensely as he waits for you to whine about the bitter taste of the tea he’s made for you. Knowing it’s a lost fight, you let out an exasperated sigh and thank your Lieutenant for the hangover cure. He looks at you a beat too long before leaving you to your own devices, exiting the room, and going God knows where.

It takes him time, with all that he is and all that he has been through, to come to a new conclusion for his first impression of you. Steadily with time, Simon realizes that the reason you cry so easily is not because you're weak.

It’s because you’re brave.

Brave enough to express yourself and not fear rejection from others. Brave enough to show that you care, to show that you love life and people and everything life has to offer. Brave and kind and valiant in everything you do, Simon is almost jealous of your ability to be so open and free. He wonders what it would be like to let go and just allow himself to feel.

It’d probably drown him alive.

It might set him free.

He’d never get the chance to know though.

Now again, you sob as you put pressure on his abdomen wound as you talk to him with a wet, unstable voice, “Stay awake for me, Lt. We will all make it”. You sound like you’re trying to convince yourself more than him. (You need that reassurance more than him anyway).

He’s sluggish, the blood loss and pain makes it hard for him to focus on your blurry face and the skull mask on his face doesn’t help him either. He’s immobile, despite trying his level best to raise his hand up so that he can wipe away the stray tears on your cheeks. He parts his lips to tell you to please stop crying, to tell you how he’s not worth the worry, he’s not worthy of your tears - not when he has vehemently admonished you for them all this time.

But all he can do is let out a low moan of pain, his eyes rolling back in his head. He can hear your voice, can hear the worry and fear and panic as you call out to him, but everything is hard and he can hear you but comprehending your words is near impossible with the ringing in his ears and the whirring of the helicopter that came in to rescue him and his team. He’s aware of his teammates sitting beside him - he can imagine their solemn faces as they cope with the possibility of him succumbing to his wounds before they make it back to safety. But he focuses on you instead - sweet, radiant you who worries about everyone and everything; who wears her heart on her sleeve and still holds onto the hope that he will make it out of this ordeal alive, even though he can feel his life slipping away from him like the sands of time.

Each breath of his is labored, and Simon wishes for nothing more than to wipe away your tears or to maybe hold your soft self against his injured body, cradling you close to his heart as he vows to survive this for you. Only for you.

Through black spots and dryness, he blinks up to look at you and he has this realization, a moment of pure ‘Eureka!’ as he observes your worsened state of being.

You have never been prettier than this instant, crying over him and praying to any kind of deity who’d grant him the boon of life.

Satisfied with his discovery and suddenly extremely tired, he allows himself to close his eyes, letting the fatigue win and the last thing he sees is you crying for him to stay alive and fight.

The last thing he hears is your sobs as you beg someone, anyone to save your Lieutenant.

Note -

Title is thanks to the song 'Pretty When You Cry' by Lana Del Rey, although I wasn't actually listening to the song while writing this.

#call of duty #cod #cod:mw2 #simon riley #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #call of duty fluff #call of duty angst #simon ghost riley angst #simon ghost riley fluff #call of duty headcanons #char.simon ghost riley

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notsosweetchan · 2 months

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˚ʚ♡ɞ Making The Boy Mine ˚ʚ♡ɞ

Warning: Smut

Paring: | Hyunjin x Reader |

They were both aware that what they were doing was wrong. Hyunjin was already seeing someone, but their relationship wasn't serious. As for Y/N, she wasn't involved with anyone at the moment. Y/N's eyes fluttered shut as Hyunjin's tongue danced against hers, her heart racing.

This was wrong, but she couldn't help herself; the desire between them was too strong. His hands roamed down her back, gently tracing the contours of her spine before cupping her ass and pulling her body closer to his.

She moaned into the kiss, feeling his hardness pressing against her stomach. He broke away from their kiss, his forehead leaning against hers as they caught their breath.

"I shouldn't be doing this," he muttered, voice rough and low.” It’s not fair to her, but I can't stop thinking about you."

Y/N looked into his dark chocolate-brown eyes, her own reflecting the same turmoil. "I know," she whispered. "But I can't stop either."

Without another word, they both surrendered to their desires as Hyunjin scooped her up, carrying her over to the couch. He laid her down gently, their lips crashing together once more as he began to unbutton her blouse.

Her hands were just as frantic, tugging at his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against hers. As they rid themselves of their clothes, they exchanged heated glances, the air between them thick with lust and anticipation. Hyunjin's lips trailed down her neck, leaving a path of fire in their wake as his fingers moved to unclasp her bra.

He teased her breasts, flicking his tongue around her hardened nipples, eliciting moans from the depths of Y/N's throat she didn't know she was capable of making. His touches were slow and feather-like but firm enough to drive her wild. She arched her back, craving more of his touch.

"Hyun-ah," she moaned, running her fingers through his soft black hair.

He looked up at her, his eyes dark with desire. "Tell me you want this, Y/N," he said, his voice a husky whisper in her ear.Tell me you're sure."

"I'm sure," she breathed, her voice shaking slightly. "I want this. I want you."

That was all the encouragement he needed as he descended between her thighs, his tongue dancing over her already sensitive clit. Y/N arched her back further, her nails digging into the couch cushions as pleasure coursed through her body.

Hyunjin knew just how to touch her, making every nerve ending in her body sing with ecstasy. He curled his fingers inside her, his tongue and fingers working in sync to bring her pleasure she had only ever dreamt of.

"God,Hyunjin," she moaned, her toes curling. "Don't stop."

He didn't listen to her pleas, however; in fact, he seemed to take it as a challenge to tease her even more. He slowed down his motions, sending her over the edge of insanity. "Hyunjin, please!" she whimpered, begging for release.

Suddenly, he stopped and looked up at her with a mischievous grin. "Not yet," he said, leaving a trail of kisses up her stomach before positioning himself between her legs.

Y/N whimpered in frustration but soon forgot everything else as he entered her slowly, filling her completely.

"You feel so good," he groaned, his eyes locked on hers as he began to move inside her, picking up speed with each thrust.

Y/N's nails dug into his back as he angled his hips to hit that spot deep inside that made her see stars. So lost in the pleasurer they didn’t hear his phone ring , vibrating on the coffee table. The sound of voice message started to play “ Hey Hyunjin I know it’s late but I was wondering if you wanted to go on date tomorrow night.”

Either of them didn’t even notice the voice continuing “I know it’s short notice but I really want to see you again and I thought maybe we could try that new sushi place you were telling me about...”

This spurred Hyunjin on even more, his thrusts becoming more urgent as he picked up the pace. Y/N's moans drowned out the rest of the message, her entire world narrowing down to him and the way he felt inside her.

Hyunjin thrust into her, his hips pistoning as he took her breath away with each powerful stroke. They were both lost in the heat of the moment, their shared secret desire consuming them both. Y/N's hair tickled his chest as her head tilted back, eyes closed tightly as she arched her back to meet his movements.

He bit his lips to stifle a moan as he felt her tight heat squeeze around him, loving the way she felt underneath him. Her warmth enveloped him, drawing him even further into this forbidden encounter.

His hand found hers on the couch and laced their fingers together, his breath coming out in ragged gasps. Their skin was slick with sweat from the passionate movement, bodies moving in perfect unison despite the guilt that still lingered between them.

He leaned down again to capture her lips in a fiery kiss, his tongue invading her mouth as they wrestled together in a heated dance. The taste of each other filled his senses, and he could feel her wet heat against his shaft as she lifted her hips to meet him once more.

She could hear the sound of their ragged breathing mixing together, the smell of their sweat and arousal filling the room.

It only fueled their desire for each other, making it hard for either of them to think about stopping or pulling away. They were lost in this haze of lust and longing, pushing aside any thoughts of what could or should happen next.

As they moved together faster and faster, Y/N wrapped her legs around Hyunjin's waist, pulling him deeper into her core. Her fingernails dug into his shoulders as she tried to hold onto this feeling for as long as possible – it was addictive and consuming all at once.

Hyunjin's hand found its way between her legs, his thumb brushing against her clit as he continued to thrust inside her. The pressure was building within her core, and she knew she wouldn't last much longer.

"Hyunjin," she moaned, her voice unrecognizable even to her own ears. "I...I can't...oh, god..."

That was all it took for Hyunjin to pick up the pace even more, his hips slamming into hers with a renewed fervor. He couldn't help but moan into her neck as he felt himself getting closer too, his entire body tense with the effort of holding back.

"Cum with me," he panted against her ear before they both gave in to the overwhelming pleasure.

Y/N's world exploded around her as she climaxed, her body tensing up and arching off the couch. Hyunjin followed closely behind, gripping her hips tightly as he came inside her.

They lay there, panting for air, their chests heaving in unison as they tried to catch their breath.

Finally, Hyunjin pulled away, collapsing beside her on the couch.

They both lay there, trying to regain any semblance of composure. It was only then Y/N spoke up “ Are you going to call her back?” she asked softly not looking at him.

Hyunjin placed a hand on her thigh, guiding her to look at him “No, I’m to addicted to you and I don’t think I could ever want anyone else but you” he said stroking her cheek gently.

Y/N's heart raced in her chest as she met his eyes. She knew that this boy was hers.

#stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #stray kids x y/n #stray kids imagine #stray kids smut #skz imagines #skz x reader #skz imagine #skz smut #hyunjin imagines #skz hyunjin #hyunjin imagine #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin #hyunjin smut #hyunjin stray kids #hyunjin skz

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aliaology · 5 months

Text

COACH — PART III

summary: jack finds himself really wanting to be a dad when he gets older, mostly because of connor.

pairings: jack hughes x single!mom!fem!reader

warnings: none

you felt bad, you felt like a burden. you hesitantly accepted the offer to spend the night at jacks house. was it the best idea? not really, no. you barely knew the man. but you also knew how famous he was, how one wrong move would send his career into the trash.

you watched as jack carried your sleeping son up the stairs, making his way to the fourth floor. you felt bad, again. there was an elevator, but god you had a terrible fear of elevators.

jack seemed more than happy to walk up the stairs though, and clearly carrying connor was almost like holding a feather.

jack’s keys jingled as he fumbled them in his free hand. you watched silently as he twisted the key and then the knob, opening the door to a silent apartment.

“ill put him in my bed, you can sleep with him in there, ill take the couch or the guest room.” jack spoke softly, allowing you inside first.

your brows furrowed, not out of frustration but out of concern. “i can’t ask you to do that, jack. this is your apartment. me and connor can both take the guest room. you letting us in here was enough.”

jack sighed, “y/n, its okay. im willingly giving you my bedroom to sleep in. i want you both to sleep there, my beds comfier and i think you guys need it.” jack told.

you bit your lip before sighing, “okay.” jack gave you a smile before grabbing your stuff and bringing it to his room.

you followed behind him, taking in the room as you stepped in. it suited him. the red, black, and white that adorned his room. the tall but old-looking dresser was a stark contrast with its light brown compared to the rest of the room.

you gently lied connor down on jacks bed, the boy immediately cuddled up to the covers as he slept.

you turned to jack, "thank you, again, jack. you don't understand how much this truly means to me." you told.

jack smiled, "its no problem, plus i really like this little guy, not to mention his mom is pretty good looking too" he laughed.

you chuckled slightly. "you wanna go watch a movie?" he asked. you looked to connor before looking back at jack. you nodded. jack headed towards the livingroom, you following behind him.

it didn't take long for you to decide on 'remember the titans' and lie down on the couch together. his arm rested on the couch, just above your shoulders. every now and then his fingers would brush against your skin.

mid way through the movie, you fell asleep, head landing right on jack's shoulder. he smiled down at you before slowly falling asleep himself.

jack felt himself get shaked. his eyes opened slightly to see connor standing there, a sad frown plastered on his tired little face. jack tiredly looked around, finding himself holding your sleeping body.

he looked back at connor. "whats wrong buddy?" he asked.

connor sniffled. "i had a nightmare, can i sleep with you guys?" he frowned.

jack internally groaned due to the lack of space. "uhm, how about you go lay back down in my room and ill bring your mom in there, okay?" jack spoke softly.

"i want you there too," connor told.

jack stayed silent for a minute. his heart melting at the younger boy's words. "alright, ill be in with your mom in just a moment, okay?" he told connor.

connor nodded, his feet padding along the floor as he ran back to the bedroom. jack slowly removed himself from the couch before gently picking you up. you stirred slightly but didn't wake up. he turned the tv off and walked to his room. he set you down next to connor, the boy instantly going to your arms which subconsciously wrapped around him.

jack smiled and lied down on the other side of connor. the young boy held his hand out. "can you hold my hand?" he asked quietly.

"of course i can, bud" jack smiled softly, grabbing the younger boys hand and holding it. connor's eyes fluttered shut.

jack looked at you and connor, finally understanding what baby fever was, and how much he wanted to be a father later down the road.

I KNOW EVERYONE IS WAITING FOR NOW THAT WE DONT TALK BUT YOU GUYS DESERVED THIS <//3

#hockey #jack hughes #nhl imagine #nhl #nhl hockey #new jersey #new jersey devils #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes x you #jack hughes x y/n #father #singlemom

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sonarspace · 18 days

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LIGHTS, CAMERA, ACTION!

content: actor au. actor!nanami x actor!reader. movie scenes are indented. slight nsfw action. (not proofread) wc: 2.7k

𓇼 ⋆. 𓆝⋆. 𓇼 ˚｡𓆉 ⋆𓇼 ⋆. 𓆝⋆. 𓇼 ˚｡𓆉 ⋆𓇼 ⋆. 𓆝⋆. 𓇼 ˚｡𓆉 ⋆𓇼 ⋆. 𓆝⋆. 𓇼 ˚｡𓆉 ⋆𓇼 ⋆.

Being a new actor in the industry can be challenging, especially when your co-star is well-known—a little too famous for your liking. Kento Nanami, an award-winning actor loved by his co-workers with a continuously growing fandom. You find it a little intimidating working with him, as he's been in the industry a lot longer than you have.

You weren't exactly unfamiliar with the world of cinema. Still, you were surprised to see how much work goes on behind the scenes and the effects of actors' consistency on the quality of scenes. You kind of underestimated the hard work and persistence it takes to memorize your lines and separate the character from yourself. But a good actor can always find something similar to the character they're playing, right?

You were surprised when you got a call from the casting directors after your audition—after all, you just wanted to try something new. What surprised you the most was being asked to play Kento Nanami's love interest. That was not the role you auditioned for, but they insist that you would be a good match for him onscreen, so you say yes.

It's been three months on set—three months of playing Nanami's love interest, three months of longing for Nanami just as your character longs for him, three months of shy touches shared between you two—trying not to cross that line, and three months of him trying to comfort you through every intense scene.

A knock sounds through the door, and one of the crew members' voices follows, "Rolling in five minutes." With a deep breath, you adjust the sleeves of your nightgown and make your way onto the set.

Nanami follows in attire that matches the Regency era: a ruffled dress shirt with his sleeves rolled up halfway. His waist is accentuated by the high-waisted pants. His hair was done in a way that looked messily put together, like he had been running his hand through his blonde locks. Before you can stop the thought, it manifests itself in your brain. The idea of running your hand through his hair. Soft and blonde.

You're nervous as the director asks you to take your position. Before you do, though, Nanami steps in close to you. "If it gets too much at any point, just tap twice," he whispers. He always makes sure to make you feel comfortable filming intimate scenes—whether just holding his hand or making out on screen.

"And action!" the director's voice resounds throughout the set.

"Cassian," you call out his name softly. He's standing by the window, hands on his hips. He sighs as he turns around. "Marcella," he replies stoically, his gaze unwavering. You move closer to where he's standing. You feel his hand inch closer to yours, wanting to touch you but holding himself back. "Why are you here," his voice is deep and loud. "you're leaving tomorrow," you state. "I just wanted to wish you a safe trip," you pause, and then you continue, "I wish we met earlier," you smile sadly. He could've given you the life you've always wanted. A life full of simple pleasures — a simple love. He leans in closer. "Run away with me." Tears well your eyes, “I can't," your breath hitches, "I can't do that to him." "You can," he says, frustrated. Go away with me. I can protect you from him." He pleads, but you shake your head. A tear escapes the corner of your eye, and his finger comes up quickly to wipe it away. You hold his palm in place, letting yourself feel his comforting touch once more.

His touch was soft and delicate. The callouses on his palm were rough but he still held you with a softness of a lover. Your heart was beating fast, anxious for what was coming next.

His lips were so close to yours. You could feel his breath on your lips. Your eyes flutter close as you feel him take in your upper lip in between his. His lips are feather-light atop yours. He pulls back to take in your expression – did you want this the same way he did? Your breathing grows erratic, and your eyes dart between his dilated irises and soft lips. He takes it as a yes when you lean in and your noses rub against each other, a gasp slips past your lips in anticipation – silently asking for more. He grabs your face with a need – a desperation. Trying to convince you to run away with him, the only way he could. The ruffles of his shirt are clutched between your fingers as he kisses you fully. Your lips so plush and smooth, he has a hard time holding himself back. He deepens the kiss and slides his tongue over your lip. A low hum elicits from his throat when you part your lips to let him in.

An involuntary action like your mind wasn't in control of your body. He plays along and slides his tongue over yours. You could taste the mint after the taste of gum. Suddenly, you're overtly aware of the number of people surrounding you. You try to concentrate on the way his tongue moves in tandem with yours, but you fail. Lost in the feeling of your tongue against his—alas, he barely registers the taps on his chest. He pulls back almost immediately.

"Cut! What happened?!" the director yells. You're about to apologize for the interruption, but Nanami cuts you off. "My bad, Milo. A fly was buzzing in my ear." You mouth back a silent thank you to him, and he just nods curtly.

"That was a good shot. Let's pick it up from the kiss," Milo tells you both. He looks at you and notices your eyebrows creased in discomfort. He turns back to the director and asks if you could take a break. Unwillingly, Milo yells, "Let's take ten," to the rest of the crew.

You leave the room and sit on the ground, trying to calm yourself. "Here," Nanami hands you a bottle of water. You meek out a thank you, and he invites himself to sit next to you. "Are you okay?" he asks. "Yeah, sorry. I'm just not used to all that," you tell him.

"Not used to kissing?" he queries. Your cheeks feel warm as he compliments, "You're a good kisser; you have nothing to worry about." You chuckle shyly, "Not that. I meant being intimate in front of so many people."

"Oh, that. I understand that but just try and concentrate on me, okay? It's just this one scene, and then we can leave." he tries to comfort you. Little does he know his mere presence was enough to get you overwhelmed. The fact that you were kissing him in front of so many people got you overstimulated.

You redo the kissing scene but struggle to give your all into the scene the director wanted. You feel too stiff. "Cut! Redo!" The director calls out, and you sigh, lowering your head in slight embarrassment. Nanami walks over to Milo before you can take your position. You're not sure what he says, but you see them whispering, and Milo pats his back in understanding.

"Everyone but the camera and lighting out!" Milo orders, and they all file out quickly. "Let's try again," Nanami tells you, a comforting smile on his lips. His hands cup your cheeks once more, pulling you in closer. His lips meet yours, and an unusual sensation builds in your stomach.

His right hand moves to your neck, and his thumbs rub over your pulse, trying to comfort you.

He pulls you closer by your waist, your chest flush against his. His hands are firm on your waist and neck as he walks you back to the windowsill. He pushes you up on the ledge of the windowsill, and your legs wrap around him. He bunches up your nightgown and goes down on his knees, kissing up your legs. "Cassian," you whimper.

Your thighs tense as he plants feather-light kisses. The feel of your soft, ample thighs under his lips is something he didn't know he needed to feel until now. A carnal need is evident in both of you as you lock eyes with each other. His gaze pleads for something more, and you give him a short nod in understanding, urging him to go on.

He keeps his eyes on you, his gaze intense as he pokes his tongue out to lick and suck on the tender flesh of your thighs. You grow wetter when his mouth comes close to your clothed pussy. He licks a stripe from where he thinks your opening might be up to your clit. He groans as his eyes shut close in pleasure for the camera. You feel the noise deep in you. A sound gets stuck in your throat as your head lulls back, hitting the window, and your hand tangles in his hair - your grip on his hair tightening.

"Cut!" And everybody walks back in, unaware of what just went down between you two. Nanami pulls away. He's never done that before and never had the urge to. He's unsure what it is about you, but you drive him insane. Every time he was in your presence, his breathing changed, his heart beat a bit faster. Perhaps it was the way you looked at him with so much conviction.

Everybody holds their breath when you stumble in his arms as you get off the windowsill. The tension between you two is palpable. The director's voice brings you both out of the trance: "Good work, everybody. I'll be back on Wednesday, so have a good long weekend. But you two."

The director gestures towards you and Nanami, motioning you both to come close. "Your chemistry is good, but I need it to be great. I want you both to get more comfortable with each other. Rehearse your lines together. Practice the scenes. Let's wrap the movie this month, alright?"

Nanami shoots you a glance, "Alright, Milo. See you on Wednesday." You make your way back to your vanities. Nanami follows behind, and your heart picks up a beat. His phone rings, and he answers, "Hi, sweetie." You feel a pang of disappointment as he walks past you quickly into the room beside yours. Was he... Your heart drops at the thought.

You do a quick Google search 'for Kento Nanami dating.' Nothing but old articles about his only public relationship come up. They were long broken up now. So who was he talking to? Why did he do that with you? However, you can't stop wondering what else Nanami would have done if the director didn't yell cut. What else would he do if it was just the two of you? A knock brings you out of your thoughts. "Come in."

"Hi," Nanami walks in with his wet hair pushed back. He's changed into black pants and a grey hoodie, making him look more attractive. He looks kind of cute, you think to yourself. "What're you smilin' about?" he asks, noticing your smile. "What?" caught, you quickly wipe the smile off your face. "I asked, what're you smiling about?" he repeats himself. "Uh, nothing. I thought you left. Do you need something?" you ask, trying to sound casual.

"Can I take you to dinner?" The question catches you off guard. "What?" your eyebrows raise. "Can I take you to dinner?" he repeats, his voice a little louder this time. "I heard you fine. I'm not deaf," you snap. Annoyance takes over as you remember the little stunt he pulled earlier. Why did he do that if he had a girlfriend?

"Okay, so will you go to dinner with me?" he tries again. "No, I'm busy," you say, pushing past him to leave.

He follows. "What about tomorrow?"

"Still busy." You retort.

"The day after?"

"Busy."

"But we have to practice..."

"Well, Milo's not here to see us, is he? And you're the one who agreed, not me." You side-eye him as he stops.

"Did I do something?" he asks hesitantly. You stop walking as well and turn around. "Did you not want me to..." he trails off, unsure how to address that little incident between you two. He thought you both felt it—the attraction, the need to keep holding each other, the need to keep kissing, and the need to keep his face buried between your thighs. It wasn't something he'd felt before.

You let out a deep sigh and ask him blatantly, "Do you have a girlfriend?"

Nanami's face scrunches up in confusion, "How is that related..."

"Yes or no, Nanami!"

"No! And call me Kento!" he replies, visibly annoyed. It was rare for him to lose his temper like this. He couldn't understand why you were suddenly asking him all these questions. He thought he'd made it clear he was into you with the way you both interacted with each other.

"Are you seeing someone, then?" you ask further. You didn't want to get caught up in a scandal so fresh in your career. "No, I'm single," he confirms. "I wouldn't have... I wouldn't have done that if I was in a relationship." His face picks up a flush.

"Okay..." you respond, a feeling of relief coursing through you.

"Okay," he repeats, rolling his shoulders. The sun has long set as you both reach the parking lot. You pull out your phone to check how far your Uber ride was. The '40 minutes' flashing on your screen has you frowning and twisting your rings in discomfort. But Nanami notices, as he always does. "Come on, I'll drop you off," he offers.

You shake your head. "No, it's alright. I'll wait in there," you point toward a dimly lit diner. "I don't want you to go out of your way," you give him a tight-lipped smile.

"I don't mind," he insists, walking away. He opens the car door for you, and cocks his head for you to get in. You take a deep breath and get in. "Relax, I'm not going to eat you." He chuckles lightheartedly, trying to get you to loosen up.

"Here, put in your address," he hands you his phone. "Huh, you live close," he murmurs in quiet wonder once he sees your location. "Where do you live?" you ask curiously. "Across your building," he glances, a small smile on his lips, and you find yourself doing the same. "It's weird how we've never crossed paths with each other," he adds.

"It's not too weird, actually. I moved in two weeks ago. I haven't really had the time to explore the area. I've barely unpacked." You chuckle awkwardly.

"I'd love to take you around sometime if you're up for it," he glances at you briefly. "Sure, thank you," you whisper quietly.

He parks in front of your building. Quickly unbuckling his seatbelt, he runs over to open your door before you can. A small smile on his lips. You return his smile, and he walks you inside to the lobby.

You stand there awkwardly, wondering if you should invite him over or not. The elevator dings, and you expect him to follow you in, but he doesn't. He stands outside and gives you a nod as the doors close, separating you two. You squeak a "Goodnight!" before the elevator takes you to your floor.

He walks back to his car, feeling a little defeated. His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he sees your name across his screen. The end of his lips tug into a small victorious grin as he reads your message.

⁞ You to Nanami: Sorry about my little tantrum. Thank you for the ride. Let's have lunch tomorrow?

Your heart races with anticipation as you press 'send' on the message. What if he doesn't want to do anything with you? What if you mistook his kindness for something more? All your doubts are erased as he replies back almost immediately.

↳ ⁞ Nanami to you: No worries. It was my pleasure.

⁞ Nanami to you: I thought you were busy tomorrow? 🤔.

↳ ⁞ You to Nanami: Well...

⁞ Nanami to You: I'll pick you up at 1?

↳ ⁞ You to Nanami: Alright :)

A giggle slips past your lips as you put your phone down and contemplate your reflection in the mirror. Your face is flushed, and your cheeks ache from smiling for so long. It's been a while since you've felt this way; it was almost unfamiliar. Meanwhile, Nanami feels a similar feeling in his chest as he crosses the street to his apartment complex, excited to see what tomorrow holds.

a/n : what do we think y'all? part 2? 👀. let me know your thoughts or any suggestions -> here! likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

𓇼 ⋆. 𓆝⋆. 𓇼 ˚｡𓆉 ⋆𓇼 ⋆. 𓆝⋆. 𓇼 ˚｡𓆉 ⋆𓇼 ⋆. 𓆝⋆. 𓇼 ˚｡𓆉 ⋆𓇼 ⋆. 𓆝⋆. 𓇼 ˚｡𓆉 ⋆𓇼 ⋆.

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nvuy · 26 days

Text

an ode to a nightingale — sunday

summary. you were never anything. sunday begs to differ, in his own twisted way.

notes. a thing i did as an experiment and also as a little gift to a special someone (you know who you are) because we both enjoy staring at this guy's face. he's a funky little dude and a massive green flag. 100%.

i redownloaded hsr and i’ve started penacony. i have no idea what’s going on. it’s probably because i’ve been stuck staring at dr ratio’s boob window the whole time. i’m like a toddler watching cocomelon. i cant look away.

warnings. mdni, for safety. implied explicit content, dark themes, manipulation, sunday is a controlling dickhead, you’re an implied streetwalker, yandere themes, insulting, threatening, possessiveness, mentions of kidnapping, gaslighting, obsessiveness, lots of nice stuff like that. please let me know if i've missed anything!

“What do you want from me?”

You looked in the mirror as you spoke, and you saw some pathetic state of a person staring back at you. Behind the edges of the golden vanity was the outline of the filled bathtub with steam wafting from the surface.

And him.

You watched as he sank into the water with a satisfied gleam on his face.

You refused to linger on the scratch marks that left gorgeous red and white lines down his arms, and his chest, and his spine.

It smelled like coconut. Coconut and dusted sugar on creamy pastry. And the clogging smell of mascara.

It smudged down your cheeks, and your lips were ruined and swollen, and your skin was painted in purple bruises and teeth marks.

And you were sore. Every part of your body was aching.

Sunday was leaning against the edge of the tub, staring at you through his lashes. He always preferred his baths boiling, as if he wanted to melt his skin off. Usually, he’d bring a book with him and read it during his off time when given the chance.

He didn’t answer.

“You’ve changed,” he said instead. His voice echoed off of the white tiles in the bathroom.

“I look the same as the night you took me off the streets,” you murmured. “Like a whore.”

Sunday hummed. “Is that how you see yourself?” The wings extending from his ears dipped below the water for a moment. “A ‘whore?’”

You didn’t want to turn to face him.

It was difficult enough to hold his unwavering gaze in the mirror.

“You’re not denying it.”

“Because I think you look damaged.” He was honest this time, and there was bitterness swelling with his tone. He instinctively fluttered his feathers to dry them off.

“By your design.” You were speaking of how he made it his duty to ruin your skin with his teeth.

“What I’ve done to you is nothing. You had already ruined yourself by offering your body to those disgusting animals before I had ever even laid my eyes on you.” He waved his hand as if he meant no harm with his words. “I’ve merely saved you.”

Your jaw clenched.

He fluttered his lashes at you in the mirror and sighed.

What a pretty sight.

“‘Saved me?’” you repeated hoarsely. You tried not to claw at your skin in frustration. You willed yourself not to lunge at him and puncture his eyes from his skull. “Do me a favour and save me from your arrogance next. You’re deluded if you think trapping me in your bedroom is praiseworthy.”

He smiled.

“Think of it this way: a bird is much safer trapped in a cage than free to the winds.” The smell of coconut and sugared powder made your head spin. Of course, he would use the soaps and creams you wore when he first met you. The smell was engraved into his mind like a branding.

Although covered by a robe, you felt vulnerable. His gaze held strong. You weren’t sure if he was even blinking.

Sunday seemed too relaxed. Your freedom was a joke to him; what is freedom if you’re too busy giving your body to strangers? Did you want to go back to that life?

“You want me to get in the tub just so you can humiliate me,” you accused with a dangerous flash of your teeth.

You wanted to sound angry. You wanted to sound furious, but it was only a pitiful whimper of a phrase. You felt pathetically weak.

He was quick to answer, “I did not request your company.” He patted the book with golden edges that sat on a ledge of the bathtub. You didn’t want to ask of its contents. “You came here of your own fruition. You felt lonely.”

“You think you know everything about me.”

“But of course.” Sunday plucked the book from the ledge, careful not to wet the pages as he turned to the page he’d marked. “You are mine, after all.”

His tone was light. Confident.

Your face was burning. “Fuck you.”

Who even were you? Who were you next to him?

Nothing, was the appropriate answer. He insisted otherwise, though he’d never given you a definitive answer of what you were. He’d never explicitly stated you to be a whore, disobedient, disrespectful, too independent for your own good.

Everything you hated to hear about yourself, even if it was all true.

He’d only tut and usher you away with a wave of his hand.

You’re his, as well.

His teeth in your skin, his feathers tickling your neck, his wandering fingers that crept below your navel. He’s stained your skin with his. It’s hard to wash off—even harder when he shares the same soaps as you.

Perhaps he knows this, and that’s why he hopes you share a bath with him.

So you’re reminded that there’s a chain around your ankle.

“You’re a fuckin’ hypocrite, y’know. You think you’re so high and mighty, and yet you’re naked and pining after some street whore. And then you insist that I belong to you, but also beg for me beneath your own sheets.” But that wasn’t true.

As soon as the words left your lips you screwed your eyes shut and you leaned over the vanity.

His smile only grew, and the tip of his tongue touched the sharp edge of his canines.

Your fingers curled around the edge of the marble countertop.

Here he was, vulnerable. Susceptible to a swift slice of a blade to his neck, to being held beneath the surface of the water until he stopped flailing.

And you’re still so afraid of him.

He reads you like the book in his hands.

Sunday cooed. “Just like water, you are destructible, easily poisoned, and ever changing. You are lost, entrapped within four walls, so desperate to escape, but you cannot think for yourself.”

You furrowed your brows.

He turned the page of his book. The water sloshed as his arms moved.

The smell of coconut was hurting your head.

“You speak in tongues because you’re scared of ruining your perfect image,” you said. “You’re just an insecure little boy who's stuck in a daydream.”

That forced his head to turn. He almost snapped his book shut. Instead, his fingers froze on the edges of the crisp paper.

Then, he let out a hearty laugh.

“Allow me to rephrase: your beauty is wicked. It is rotten, vile, and evil.” The sweet scent of sugar was a cruel joke. It juxtaposed everything that spilled from his filthy lips. “Your blood is muddied and ruined. You’ve allowed strangers to see your skin.

“You’re lucky I’ve tolerated your behaviour for this long. If you were anybody else, you would have lost your foul tongue after our first night together.”

The way he said it all made you feel so much smaller than you were.

You finally turned around to face him. The reflection in the mirror made the bathtub seem further away than it actually was.

The tub was in the centre of the room, craved meticulously from a blue crystal. To you, it closely resembled aquamarine. It was big enough to be considered a swimming pool if you removed the golden faucet, but you refrained from insulting his fussy craftsmanship and adding fuel to the fire.

Sunday was particular about everything; sizing, shapes, colours. Everything had to match, everything had to make sense, everything had to be perfect and presentable. Any faults or flaws were dealt with swiftly, whether that be a person or an object. You weren’t sure if you were considered one or the other.

Then came the specifics. A ledge for placing things, voids in the walls for storing soaps, adequate cupboards, flooring, walls, forms, everything.

Aeons forbid you dropped a glass and scratched the precious tiling.

And he was particular about you, though he never clearly stated what he wanted from you.

He wanted you. That was clear from how he would coax you to join him with gentle words and fleeting touches. How he would stain your skin and leave an imprint of your body on his bedsheets.

Anything other than that was muddled, muddied, lost in his own deluded mind.

“What do you want from me?” you asked him again.

Sunday fluttered his lashes at you. “Nothing at all.”

“Have you ever told the truth?”

You had instinctively drawn yourself closer to him. You leaned over the tub, fingers curled around the rim of crystal.

Sunday sighed. He looked sick, like delusion had twisted through his mind like poison ivy crawling along the walls of the gardens outside. “You are afraid of the truth.”

“You’re lying again.” He wasn’t lying, but you refused to make him feel as though he was in control.

That was he fed off.

Your fear, your touch, your taste, your words, every inch of your skin. His. All of it.

“I want everything,” he stated.

You wanted to break the tub and slit his throat with the shards of crystal.

“I want you to give yourself to me. All of yourself.”

How selfish of him.

He still views you as an offering.

You turned away and moved to storm out of the bathroom. You would wait until he was finished. You couldn’t be in the room with him.

The steam was burning your skin, and your scent on him was making your head feel like it was splitting apart.

He grabbed your face and forced you to look back.

You would have described his eyes as beautiful; golden irides with hints of plush velvet and a deep sapphire. But all he did was stare. He’d never look away, and he never wished to.

He saw things you did not.

“I want undying loyalty.” When you squirmed, he held your cheeks harder. “I want hopeless devotion. I want compassion. I want to see the silhouette of you in my bed first thing every morning.”

Your nails were frozen digging into his wrist, still wet and hot from the water.

He seemed as though he wished to say more, though refrained when he let go of your face. He’d abandoned his book now, his gaze remaining locked onto you.

Your cheeks stung from his fingerprints. You feared the patterns would be burned into your flesh.

“I want you to stop,” you whispered.

You knew what he was doing.

“Oh, I will.” This time, when his fingers raised for your face, he simply grazed them along your sore cheek. “Join me.”

You didn’t answer at first. You didn’t even move from your spot, frozen as if he’d drawn ice down your spine.

You breathed out. Your fingers were trembling.

“I’m not stupid,” you said. You were trying to convince yourself it was true.

Sunday only tilted his head. “No, you’re not stupid.”

He was already pulling the string of the bow around your waist. His wings bristled.

“I know what you’re doing,” you insisted, holding onto the fluffy material when he undid the knot holding the robe together. “I know what you’re doing.”

He smiled playfully. His hands pushed away the robe. “What am I doing?”

Your eyes welled with tears.

You don’t know what he’s doing. You are stupid.

You wished you’d never met him. You wished you’d never let soft hands and kind words and those pretty eyes of his draw you into his bed.

You shouldn’t have ever crawled back to him.

You let out a pathetic sob.

“Oh, you sweet thing.”

Sunday tutted pitifully and offered his hand.

Almost instinctively, as if it had been written in your blood since the moment you were born, you took it and leaned into his embrace.

His hair smelled of sugared tea. The feathers of his wings grazed over your face, now soaked with your tears.

He gently drew you into the water, murmuring something bordering on praise. You didn’t even hear what he said.

“I will make you all better.”

The water was hot. His lips on your cheek made you dizzy. The mirror had completely steamed up by now, and your chest pressed flush against his.

You tried to push him off you. You tried. You really did. You’d done this before, many times. Letting him break you down and watching as you lost control of your limbs and clawed at him until he held you.

He was good at that. Predicting. Letting things form the way they always did.

You were so angry. Angry at yourself, at him, at everything. Weakly, you curled your fists and hit his shoulders defeatedly. You heard him laugh.

All you did was betray yourself, surrendering and stilling as his cold hands dipped below the water.

“I will make you whole again.”

#sunday x reader #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail #yandere honkai star rail #hsr x reader #sunday x you #$. the macrocosmos #$. after hours

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rosegasly · 10 months

Text

Maroon

✧ summary: your period has left you with an itch only your boyfriend can scratch.

alter; an excuse for me to write shameless dirty smut.

✧ pairing: pierre gasly x female reader.

✧ warnings: spit play, creampie, unprotected sex, fingering, vaginal sex, menstrual sex, dirty talk, blood, filthy sex. it's pretty much exactly what the summary makes you think it is.

Fucking hell.

It’s that time of the month, the one that gives you the most problematic of lower back pains, an appetite of a dumpster diving racoon and the insatiable need to be fucked.

“Pierre, I-” The words stay caught, breath and syllables all cluttering together into the spaces of your throat as you desperately try not to rut against your boyfriend’s face.

“Chérie, you smell absolutely divine,” the way he presses his nose against your clothed crotch and fucking inhales has your toes curling, heels digging forcefully into his back.

“Please please please,” you beg, unsure what you’re asking for but there’s a twisting in your gut as heat pools between your legs and you feel yourself growing wetter.

“Please what, mon amour,” you glare between your legs, a futile attempt at trying to coax him, but he just cocks a brow, tongue peeking out from the corner of his mouth as he gazes back, mischief swimming in those beautiful eyes and you want to smack him, kiss him, throttle him and ride him all in the same instant.

There’s a long ringed finger, idly caressing your folds from over the cloth of your panties and you could cry from the edge of it all. It doesn’t take too long, easy as it is, to abandon your dignity and beg when Pierre holds your gaze and presses the flat of his tongue against your clothed clit and drags it.

“Lick me, Eat me out, Let me ride your face.”

At your admission, the cerulean of his eyes grows darker as his gaze rakes your skin, leaving a fire trail without touching it. He grins, smug and cocksure. It’s dripping with arrogance so sweet it’s saccharine, and you would find it disgusting on anyone else, but Pierre wears it well. He holds your attention and slowly drags his tongue against his glistening, full, pink bottom lip in a move so deliberately hot it has you begging all over again, hands fisting in his hair as you tug.

Something in him cracks in response to your pleas, or maybe it’s the lone frustrated, borderline hormonal tear running down your face as you clench around nothing and writhe to find some friction and solace.

The cool of his ringed finger touches the moist edges of your folds as he tugs your panties off in one clean motion, and then he grabs your inner thighs, spreading you out until the fold of your thighs burns. Pierre kisses your parted folds softly, feather-like and barely there and it’s a gesture too soft for him, but before you can say something, he parts your folds and spits.

Your eyes clench shut as the excessive wetness drips down from your clit to your hole, cool against the warmth of your pussy and you tense around nothing. It wasn’t needed. Your arousal mixed in with blood has you plenty wet but you know Pierre. He enjoys marking you, always staking a claim in any way he can and you have no doubt the kinky fucker is delighted at the sight of your hole fluttering close under his spit.

The tip of his tongue circles your clit, almost there but not quiet and you are squirming, trying to catch half breaths and god, you love him. Love the way he makes you feel.

Pierre coats your clit in his saliva before his lips encircle it and suck. You moan, deep and loud and bite your bottom lip to anchor yourself while he teases your pulsing clit. His kisses are gentle, soft sucking motions that almost feel like a pleasurable tickle coming intermittently between rougher, more dominant laps of his tongue. The change in pace and pressure over your clit has you keening, hips grinding against Pierre’s face as you unabashedly chase your pleasure.

It takes you a second, dripping wet as you are and lost in the chase. It takes a moment for you to register as Pierre easily slides two fingers inside you and curls.

“Fuck,” you groan.

The fingers are curving and rubbing right where you need them to, where the pressure leaves your toes twisting and your body taut. Whimpering, you protest when you feel them come out right after and you are on the verge of pleading again when you see his fingers. Glistening and coated ruby red with your blood and arousal.

You blush, eyeing the sticky mess and you hide behind your hands, embarrassed.

“Pierreee”, the whine falls on deaf ears. He finds you peeking and before you can hide again, his lips are parted, tongue out and in slow, deliberate motions, he licks the fingers clean, moaning like he’s sucking on his favourite candy and not your goddamn blood. It’s still bright outside, the sun not setting, when Pierre saw you restless and twitchy and decided you needed to be railed. It’s obscene how he drags his fingers through your folds while dim rays of the sun still illuminate your skin and licks them clean again. Smirks and slides his fingers over his lip, the soft pink staining cherry red, and it’s filthy. Dirty. Beyond fucking hot.

“You’re a menace.” you quip, tugging him close by the chain around his neck. It makes you a little delirious tasting yourself on him, the metallic tang somehow sweet coming from his tongue and you’d be mortified if it was someone else, but Pierre has always been able to make you comfortable. How he treasures every inch of your skin that he grazes leaves you flattered, yearning more.

You hold him there, head tucked in the valley of your breasts when you ask him to fuck you, mouth the words on his lips, and tow his waist closer by your calves. Pierre groans, arresting your hands decent to his crotch and gripping them firmly above your head with one hand.

Holding the root of his cock he buries himself into you in one smooth motion and your breath hitches as you clench, finally assuaged at having been filled. He starts slow but soon you are bucking, pleading for more and it’s all the confirmation Pierre needs before he is pounding into you. The bed rattles under your combined weight but you can’t care for the frame when he’s fucking you like that. Tucking your thighs to your chest to adjust the angle before he’s pushing into you again. Repeatedly hitting the spot that has you mewling, clenching tighter around him as your nails rake a burning path down his back, drenched in sweat, hot and humid under the summer noon. From under him, you see the familiar sky blue of his eyes grow darker into something more delicious, greedy.

It’s too much, the pleasure, the warm muggy touch of his exhales on your skin, the way he whispers dirty encouragements in your ear, coating it wet with his tongue after.

“Come for me cherie, come around my cock and let me fill you up full. Wouldn’t it be nice? Walking around with my cum in you? A tampon plugging it up? You would like that wouldn’t you?”

He’s kissing you through the chase, tongue licking the back of your teeth and it tastes sweet. Despite all his words, the roughness that he enjoys in bed, Pierre tastes like the sweetest confectionery and you are frantic, rocking as you come, clenching tighter around him.

“Fuck, cherie. So good for me, so wet, so tight. Milking me so well,”

The rough pad of his thumb brushes the soft skin under your eye, gently wiping the stray tears.

“You did so good, amour.” Pierre kisses you, less tongue and more fond, before he rests his forehead against yours and with a few quick thrusts, he’s coming too, warmth seeping into you as you lock your legs around his waist and hold him through the high.

His tanned skin glistens bronze beneath the stray filtered beams of the sun when he rolls away to get the bath running, and you admire the view and sigh, content and blissed out.

✧ a/n: hello! if u v come here from my main blog, welcome to my side blog! f1 was taking over my entire personality & tumblr wall so we now have a dedicated space for it. might move all my older stuff here eventually might not idk yet. but! i had fun writing this. i hope u enjoyed it. really cracked the ice with this one. ik u don't believe me now but I write a lot more and better than just filthy dirty smut. so follow! if u d like to read more. & leave me some love and an ask if u feel generous 🥰

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cybsoo2 · 2 months

Text

sanguine slumber

╰┈➤ synopsis — So tempted by soft slumber, you just want to sleep. But Yoongi seems to have a present for you and it isn’t exactly ideal.

╰┈➤ pairing — yandere!cat-hybrid!suga x reader

╰┈➤ word count — 650+

╰┈➤ content warning — SPOILER!!!! dead animal (⁠╥⁠﹏⁠╥⁠)

ੈ✩‧₊˚ note ; happy birthday yoongi!! i've been missing him too much lately

A soft rumbling sound brings you out of your sweet slumber. A warm weight lays across your back. A heat that grows hotter as Yoongi rubs his hands alongside your abdomen. Up and down, repeated, and teasing at the bottom of your sleep shirt.

The rumbling seems to be coming from Yoongi himself. A low purring that lays deep in his chest. The sensation mixed with his short puffs of breath touching your ear almost send you back to sleep. Almost.

Yoongi’s hands redden with a roughness as his claws peek out enough to delicately graze your sides. Sharp nails scratching along the surface, not enough to significantly hurt you, but enough to leave pink lines in their path. You squirm underneath him from the discomfort and let out a groan.

“Don’t fall asleep yet,” Yoongi huffs out as if he isn’t already half asleep himself. “I have a present for you.” While he speaks, he shifts his head to turn away from your face and stuff into your hair. He nestles himself deeper into the space between your neck and the pillow. A bad decision since a strawberry smell threatens to take him out.

Yoongi keeps his focus on decorating your neck with lingering kisses in order to stay awake. His tail tangles itself around your waist in a lazy fashion. The tip twitching from every small breath you let out.

You only groan into the pillow and ignore him. A fuzzy haze begins to settle beneath your eyelids until a pinching pain erupts from your neck. “Hey, hey no biting,” Your words are slurred and down-slide into silence.

Yoongi, with his teeth still lodged into your neck, pouts a little before peppering pecks onto your pinkening flesh. He huffs in disappointment at your still sleepy self.

“Wake up, I said I have a present.” Yoongi raises himself onto his arms the slightest bit so he hovers over your face. He breathes short puffs of air through his puffed up cheeks and pouty lips. He watches as the wind makes your eyelashes flutter and causes your eyelids to twitch. He moves his tail up higher to rest at the base of your chin, tickling you in an annoying way.

You continue to stand between the sinking state of slumber and the surface. You stay stubborn and still underneath his body. Yoongi’s purring stops and he almost starts to sulk. Instead, two hands turn you upwards to face him. You grimace at the sunshine that peeks around him and squint your eyes.

“Stop being stubborn.” He sits up so he straddles your waist. Yoongi huffs and furrows his brows in frustration. He leans down again and puts more pressure into his kisses. He presses his plush lips onto your rosy cheeks. He leaves fluttering kisses across every inch of your face. Blue butterflies burn in your stomach.

When his kisses drag down onto your jaw is when you notice how warm they are. Warm and… wet? You peek open one eye and fight against the blinding light. Your foggy gaze comes into focus and that’s when you see how red his lips are.

You reach out to grab his jaw, nimble fingers tighten around the bone and draw his face downwards. He reaches a hand up to hold onto your wrist and a second scarlet stain appears. You panic to pull yourself up off your back, bucking Yoongi downwards off your hips and onto the space beside you.

Feathers (definitely not from the pillow) cover the bed while a few float in the air from your rapid movement. You turn to face Yoongi and he parts his lips in a scarlet smile. He spits out a feather and brings his hands out from behind his back.

A bloody bird sits in the middle of his palms. The wings stick up in two impossible directions. The head, hanging on by a single tendon, snaps off and rolls onto your lap.

“Do you like it?” A shy smile shines on his blushing cheeks.

You wipe the sides of your face before responding. Ruby red rolls off onto your hands. “Oh, Yoongi.”

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sillysillygoofygoose · 8 months

Text

(Baby) Dad Miguel Headcanons <3

Heyyy... how y'all doing? It's been a minute... I've been mentally recouping after getting bangs 😭 anyways, getting back on my grind with some fluff! MDNI

*soon to be* Dad Miguel who was so excited to give you a baby. Once you two settled down, you began house hunting every weekend, keeping in mind if the house could tend to a growing family... checking how many bedrooms there were, how close it was to the nearest school district, everything.

Your thumb gently flutters over your husband's strong bicep as he walks you through the beautiful home. This was the third open house you had attended this week. Looking for a house brought out the perfectionist in Miguel.

"As you can see, the half bathroom and the attic would need a bit of renovation, but this house is practically spotless otherwise!" The real estate agent sung the highest praises of the house, slightly fudging the truth, hopeful for a buyer.

After a brief walk through, you both thanked the agent and walked to your Ford expedition (a vehicle that you and Miguel picked with transporting your future children in mind). The second you shut the heavy door, Miguel cleared his throat.

"This isn't the one." He declared, pushing the key into the ignition. You scrunch up your eyebrows, turning your body slightly towards him.

"What? Why not? I thought it was pretty nice, no?" Your voice is a slightly higher pitch as you gently question him.

"Did you hear him? There would need to be major renovations done... that's no good for a baby. And did you see how small the yard was? Where are the kids gonna play?" He scoffs, one hand on the wheel, the other slightly rubbing your currently vacant tummy. He refused to settle... only the best for his babies.

*soon to be* Dad Miguel who stayed by your side through the difficulties of getting pregnant. It broke his heart everytime you flipped a pregnancy test and shook your head in defeat.

The cool tile of the bathroom floor grounded you to some degree as you felt your hands shake in anticipation. Miguel rested his heavy head on your shoulder, closing his eyes as the stress began creeping in on him. A deep exhale was shared as a timer quietly beeped, signaling the anxiety-inducing three minutes was finally over.

You lunge to grab the pregnancy test off of the slippery counter, holding onto Miguel's hand.

"Respira hondo, cariño." He reminded you, moving his hand to rub your back. You shakily inhale, looking at him briefly before moving your gaze down to the plastic in you nervous hands.

Negative.

Again.

You immediately feel tears welling up in your eyes, frustration bubbling inside your chest.

"Not this time? That's okay." Miguel's smooth voice comforts your pained heart. You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat as you lay your head in his lap.

"Don't worry, honey... we'll have our baby. It's only a matter of time."

*soon to be* Dad Miguel who was so ecstatic when you were finally pregnant. He cried and cried, holding you tight, trying to feel your nonexistent baby bump.

"You're gonna be a mama. I'm gonna be a daddy. We're so lucky. Thank you so much baby." He cried into your shoulder as you held him, kissing the top of his head. Relief washed over you, greatful that the yes-no-maybe so game was finally over, evidence of your victory in four positive pregnancy tests.

*soon to be* Dad Miguel who loves your body as it grows. The stretch marks, your round tummy, the way your whole body seemed to soften.

"So so pretty." Miguel stands behind you as you finish up your hair. The baby's due date is in a couple of months and your friends and family are throwing you a baby shower. His strong hands rest on your lower tummy, touch light as a feather, but still firm with love.

"I swear, you get more and more beautiful by the day. I hope the baby looks like you." He smiles, watching you giggle through the mirror.

*soon to be* Dad Miguel who decorated the nursery soon after finding out about the baby.

The sage green and pastel yellow colors of the nursery blended together perfectly. Miguel insisted that he had to decorate the small room with a color that any baby would love, after you two decided on waiting to know the gender until after they were born. After assembling the crib and maneuvering the diaper changing table into the small room, he called you in, telling you to close your eyes.

"Do you like it?" Miguel asked as soon as he removed his hands from over your eyes. The nursery was pleasant and calming to look at, prefect for a baby.

"Oh Miguel, it's perfect! Thank you so much baby!" You beamed looking around the sweet room.

"Do you think- do you think the baby will like it?" He asked, hands on his hips with pride in his completed work.

"I'm sure they'll love it, sweetheart."

*very soon to be* Dad Miguel who stayed as calm as possible when your water broke. He helped you to the car before grabbing the hospital bag you two prepared together just a few days prior. He was ready. He was so ready to be a dad.

"We're almost there baby. Just five more minutes... is it hurting bad?" He lets you grip onto his hand as your contractions slowly get closer together and more intense. You just sob out, closing your eyes, praying to just get this damn baby out.

Dad Miguel who has never felt the way he felt when he held his baby girl for the first time. Against his wishes, she was a carbon copy of him, even as a disgruntled little blob. He didn't mind though, she was the most precious, beautiful thing he's ever seen.

"There you go, it's okay... daddy's here. Hola mi niña bonita. Wow, she's so tiny... so so sweet." Miguel's eyes fill with adoration as big, bright, deep brown eyes slowly open, gazing right back at him. As soon as they open, her eyes flutter shut again, steady breathing filling the sterile hospital room. Her head feels so light in his big hands, but to him it felt like the whole world was napping in his palms.

"Thank you so much, mama... the best thing that's ever happened to me." He looks at you, same love in his eyes.

Dad Miguel who likes to dress his baby girl in light pinks. Not necessarily because pink is a "girl color" but because he thinks it meshes best with her tan skin tone and dark brown hair.

"What about this one, hun?" Miguel squeezes your shoulder as your back rests against his chest, baby gurgling on yours. He shows you his phone, a picture of a cream-pink onesie displayed on the bright screen.

"Aw, that's nice... such a pretty color!" You angle your baby up slightly, innocent eyes caught by the colorful screen.

"¿Qué piensas, mi dulce hija?" Miguel pinches her chunky cheeks, smiling when she coos.

"I think she likes it."

Dad Miguel who ALWAYS wakes up when the baby does. His own personal alarm, the second high pitched cries reach his ears, he's up, walking over to the nursery.

"Relax, Shh sh... it's okay, calm down little girl." Miguel pats his daughter's back as he guides a bottle to her small, pouty lips. Miguel insisted that you go back to sleep, that he would handle it. He stays up with her throughout most nights, whispering nonsense stories to ease her back to sleep.

Dad Miguel who loves nothing more than spending time with his small but cherished family. He takes you and your daughter out on picnics and to the zoo. Just fun days that you spend together, it doesn't really matter what you're doing. He LOVES to take your baby out on daddy-daughter dates and show her off while he's at it.

"Oh my goodness, she is so beautiful! How old is she?" An elderly couple smiles at your daughter, currently resting and wrapped up in Miguel's large arms as he sits on a park bench.

"She's almost five months! Isn't she sweet.." Miguel proudly smiles at the baby passed out in his arms, cradling her small face in his hands.

"How precious! Mom must be beautiful too... or does she get all her good looks from you?" The old lady's eyes crinkle up as she looks down at the infant.

"No no, she's gorgeous... I'm a very lucky man" His smile becomes even wider as he thinks about his beautiful wife, the reason he's holding the most important thing in his life.

"Remember when Bobby was that small, John? Well, make sure you treasure these moments! Time flies...!" The woman smiles at her husband before tilting her head over to Miguel.

"I will ma'am... thank you." Miguel waves as the old couple walks away, imagining himself and his wife at that point in your lives. His heart fills with even more pride and love as he holds his baby girl a little closer to his chest.

Hope you enjoyed! Xoxo

He's so girl-dad coded 😩

#miguel headcanons #miguel x reader #miguel spiderman #miguel o'hara #miguel spiderverse #atsv miguel #atsv #fem reader #size difference #age difference #18+ content #dad miguel o'hara

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kiame-sama · 3 months

Text

Of Cats And Hawks- (Yandere!Hawks x Reader) pt 3

Warnings; yandere behavior, yandere relationship, yandere temperament, possessive behavior, various animal courtship behavior, perverse Hawks, NSFW themes and content, nesting behavior, item theft, scent kink, oral (fem receiving), tail pulling, feathers, bit of a masochist Hawks,

~~~~~~~~

"Just like that..!"

The voice panted and huffed in exhilaration, hands working tirelessly to get everything he needed how he needed it. It was almost a frenzy of movement as the soft sound of fabric sliding against fabric could be faintly heard. Each desperate breath working on getting that scent and drowning in it like some sick degenerate.

He is a sick degenerate.

As far as Keigo was concerned, he was a filthy and depraved lunatic when compared to you and how calmly you seem to have approached it all. Countless hero centered magazines put the two of you in the headlines and numerous fan-clubs did analysis of the potential conflict the two of you would endure as a couple. Keigo was thrilled to have claimed you so obviously and had been working ever since your last meeting.

Keigo had more things to do, but he did allow himself a nice recreational distraction every now and again. Buying clothing your size and grabbing whatever he can from your room while you weren't there, replacing your old clothes with the new ones and hoping you don't notice. Taking your scent soaked clothes back to his apartment to add to his current shrine, as unconventional as it was.

"Smell so good..! Make me lose my mind..!"

Keigo groaned into the clothes he held up to his face, drinking in your natural scent and moaning in bliss. After another long inhale, he lovingly wove it into his current obsessive project. His sparse and near dismal apartment was already rather barren compared to how others thought he lived, so it wasn't like the odd nest was in the way of anything.

Nesting was a new behavior, even for Keigo, and he was curious to see just what this new development did for him. He had approached the hero association about it- seeing as they controlled almost every part of his life- and their response was not as he expected. Instead of making him remove his dearest darling from his life, they encouraged him to advance the relationship. Having been given the all-clear to push the relationship forward, Keigo found himself nesting.

The nest itself was an amalgamation of clothing, pillows, and blankets. Despite how garish or gaudy some may find it to be, Keigo thought it was beautiful. He was especially pleased with the many colors that were in it, vaguely understanding that it was likely a bird instinct that demanded the multitude of colors.

"Need you so much...!"

He panted softly and nuzzled his face against the clothing that he had so lovingly woven into his nest, his wings fluttering rapidly behind him. It was during this affectionate display that a knock came at his door, breaking through his concentration sharply. The silence that followed almost made him believe that whoever it was went away before there was another knock followed by a familiar voice.

"Keigo? The others sent me to check up on you. You haven't been to the agency in days and no one has heard from you since."

Oh, Darling, there you were.

Did you know he has been waiting for you anxiously to arrive? Did you know that he was building this fantastic nest for you? Did you come to help soothe the itching and frustrating ache inside of him? Did you see how many colors were in his nest just for you?

"Keigo," your voice called again, spurring the Hawk hero to stand and rush to the door, "say something so I know you are okay."

When he threw the door open, you clearly had not expected him to rush forward to see you. Your tail was fluffed and your ears were back as Keigo pulled you inside, slamming the door behind the two of you loudly. Your eyes easily adjusted to the dark of his home and you tried to take in as much as you could about the situation despite the sudden way you entered the room.

"Please... Help... Please, I need... I need help..!"

You felt genuine concern hearing how out of breath and frantic Keigo seemed at that moment. Usually Keigo was very level headed and confident as the hero Hawks, but something about his tone sounded truly pitiful to you as he hung onto you and whimpered like an injured animal. It was then another scent registered to your mind, one that was sharp and intense. Your brain recognized it almost immediately as pheromones coming from Keigo, and those pheromones told you just what exactly he needed help with.

You had agreed to try a relationship with Keigo and it wasn't far into that relationship when you learned how you were the only truly stable partner he has ever had. He told you about the Hero's Association and how he had been drafted in as only a child, meaning you were the only support Keigo had in and out of the hero world. Though the Association did attempt to have you keep an eye on Keigo, you refused to be another spy in his life.

Keigo was whining and slowly grinding his hips against you, letting you feel the rather hard erection he had as he continued to whimper softly. His hands were clinging to you desperately and he panted heavily in your ears, feeling almost feverish to the touch.

You took a moment to decide what you wanted to do, and the obvious choice was the one you settled on.

"Such a bad birdy," your voice was a soft croon, "already ready to go and here we both are, far too dressed for this situation."

The second Keigo actually registered your words, you felt his feathers rip through the clothes you were wearing. You knew he had stolen a fair portion of your clothes as the ones he replaced them with were covered in his scent, but you knew now why he so desperately wanted them. Each piece of clothing he had taken was woven into his nest and even as the scraps of what you wore fell to the ground around you, his feathers tried to weave the scraps into the nest as well.

Keigo fell to his knees and gripped your thigh, pulling one of your legs over his shoulder as he buried his face between your plush thighs. His tongue was hot as it wormed its way into your soft folds, slurping and lashing against you. You couldn't help the surprised gasp as Keigo almost viciously worked you over with his tongue.

His wings slowly came up, feathers moving from where they were to lift you up, holding your legs spread for the blond. Keigo looked like a wild animal as he crouched between your legs, eyes rolled back as he shoved his face against you, refusing to pull back for air. You whined and gripped his hair, feeling one of his hands suddenly grip the base of your tail and give a light tug.

He pushed two fingers into you, working your hot hole open enough to add a third finger. Each pump of his fingers was accented with a light tug at your tail, leaving you mewling in pleasure. The sensation of him pulling your tail, working you with his tongue, and sliding his fingers into you had you cumming roughly, holding his head with your hands as you whined and rocked your hips.

Despite how early in the relationship it was for you, you also felt sorry for Keigo and the state he was in. You knew very well how hormones from your animal quirk impacted the way you reacted to certain situations. Clearly Keigo was pleased as he kept his face buried between your thighs and worked almost tirelessly to lap up the plentiful juices your body provided.

"That's enough," you panted, pulling a desperate Keigo away from your weeping folds, "no more for you."

"N-no! No, please! Please, I need-!"

"No more standing, Keigo. You built a nest for a reason, right?"

His golden eyes were almost completely black with how his pupils were blown wide and dilated. Of course, once your words registered to his hormonal mind he was throwing you down onto the plush nest he built for the two of you. Most of your missing clothes were present in the nest along with any blankets Keigo had to his name. He clearly spent quite a lot of time on the nest and had likely been building this nest since he had last come into work.

He climbed on top of you much like a predator stalking up on his prey, his wings were flared to either side of his body as he panted heavily. Something about the way Keigo looked- wild and untamed- sparked interest in your mind as you let the red-winged hero run his hips against yours. Every thrusting motion slid his hot cock through your folds, slicking him up with your juices.

"Soft 'n good... So warm..!"

Keigo was nearly drooling as he continued to rut his hips, whining from the blissful sensation running through him. His hands were kneading your soft breasts and his lips roamed over your warm skin all while he continued to whine and gasp. He still didn't enter you as he struggled to line himself up, doing what he could to not have to pull his hands away from your soft figure.

"Keigo," you almost growled in frustration at the lack of contact, wanting to reach down and grab him yourself, "just... get in, damn it..!"

He finally managed to angle himself well enough to prod at your weeping hole, pressing into you with a loud groan of pleasure. You gripped his shoulders tightly as that thick length bullied its way inside of you. The stretch almost seemed like it would be too much for your soft body to handle. It was only when he bottomed out that you realized he wasn't just thick, but he was long too.

"F-fuck! So good..!"

Keigo actually was drooling at this point as he gasped and tried desperately to keep himself still. Regardless of how clouded his mind was by instinct and pleasure, he still kept in mind how fragile you possibly were. Holding himself still was proving to be a difficult task but one he was dedicated to.

"Move..!" You gasped and tried to slightly adjust your hips, "Move, Keigo..!"

The hawk hero didn't need to be told twice as he set a quick and brutal pace, his wings spread and flapping behind him. Your hands were buried in the feathers along his wings, pulling a few as you held to the feral hero. Similarly, Keigo's hands were busy roaming your body and pausing to palm your soft flesh appreciatively.

It was only when Keigo gripped your tail and gave a particularly rough tug that you became much more vocal. You let out a yowling moan as he continued to tug and toy with the appendage, claws sinking into his wings. Keigo moaned deep and rumbling sounds as he continued to tug your tail, relishing the sound of you yowling for him so sweetly.

"Good-! Good kitty..! Claw me up, pretty kitty, please..! Fuck, I need you to do it!"

Soon his pleas became breathless babbling and appreciative moans as you did exactly what he was begging for. All he could do at that point was hold your tail and piston his hips into you wildly until he could no longer move. Everything he wanted and a precious lover the Heroes Association actually allowed, it was all he could ever ask for. Well, the current sex was great too, but he hoped it would be an ongoing arrangement.

Keigo could feel the way your walls tightened up around him and he lost all sense of self. The quick witted and resilient hawk hero was little more than a mindless slave to the feel of your body and sound of your voice. Truly nothing mattered to him beyond pushing you into as many orgasms as he could wring from you.

He knew you could handle it well enough. After all, you were his feral Street Cat.

#kiame-sama #yandere #x reader #yandere x reader #reader insert #tw yandere #yandere bnha #bnha yandere #yandere hawks #yandere keigo takami #yandere keigo x reader #x fem!reader #fem reader #x female reader

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mochiwrites · 4 months

Text

I desperately need to do something with this secret life au I have bouncing around in my brain. so! snippet/warm up time.

( it’d be really cool if I got any asks about it. and maybe some reblogs 👉👈 )

———————————

Grian’s wings flutter at his sides as he stands before the Secret Keeper. He feels his feathers ruffle with the wind as a breeze goes past, the wings at his head twitching. He’s oblivious to the world around him, eyes glued to the mossy rock formation in front of him. It’s a good thing it isn’t night, else Grian could be at risk of losing very precious hearts if a mob were to sneak up on him.

Though that isn’t something he has to worry about, not at the Secret Keeper statue.

He purses his lips, crossing his arms over his chest as his eyes practically burn holes into the statue. Or well, they probably would, if the statue were made from something flammable. He feels like he’s entered a staring contest with the Secret Keeper, a weird feeling for a lifeless statue.

Except this statue doesn’t feel very lifeless. It’s been making Grian a bit uneasy since the game began, leaving him to wonder if They did something to it.

There’s certainly something odd about the statue, Grian knows this for sure. He’s felt drawn to it since the game began, like it’s been calling to him. Whispering at him. He isn’t exactly the Listening type, it’s all lost on him. His Eyes don’t do him much either, unfortunately.

“What is it about you?” he muses, speaking to a statue that cannot speak back. He stares at its face, the wide eyes and curved mouth that seems frozen in a smirk. The hood looks like it’s been intricately cut out in the stone, like someone had been an agonizingly long time into making sure it was perfect.

This isn’t the first time Grian has done this, just stared up at the Secret Keeper. He can’t help it. The statue feels so familiar, like Grian has seen it somewhere before. No… maybe it’s more than that.

It’s like Grian knows this statue, the Secret Keeper. There’s this nagging feeling in the back of his mind, tugging on some part of him that he doesn’t have access to. It tugs on his soul, his very being and essence, and like being led by string, Grian finds himself back here every time.

He doesn’t understand.

Grian takes a step forward, and the hair on the back of his neck stands on end. The wings of his feathers fluff up. “Who are you to me?” he questions, desperate for some kind of answer. “Why do I feel like I know you?” It’s pointless, he knows. A statue isn’t going to suddenly start speaking to him. It’s inanimate. Stone. It will not answer. Yet Grian stubbornly asks his questions anyway.

He stares up at the statue, frustration dipping his brow as his lips tilt low.

“Whatcha doing?”

A startled squawk sounds from Grian as he turns around on his heel, brown eyes meeting blue. He finds the amused face of Martyn, forcing the avian to let out a breath.

“Martyn,” he sighs, “You can’t do that, man!”

Martyn immediately breaks into laughter, very clearly finding enjoyment from Grian’s reaction. “Sorry, sorry! You make it too easy dude. You’re even easier to sneak up on than Timmy is.”

Grian looks at him as if offended by the comment, “I’ll have you know that Tim is very easy to startle. You just sneak up on me when I’m deep in thought!”

“Too busy ogling the Secret Keeper to notice me sneakin’ up, huh?” Martyn retorts, lips curling into a slight smirk.

“I wasn’t ogling it!” Grian’s wings fan out, flapping slightly in agitation. “I was studying it!”

Martyn hums, not buying Grian’s excuse but not bothering to call him out on it. “And what were you ‘studying’ this time, Grian?”

He pauses now, steam being pushed out of him at Martyn’s question. His wings drop along with his shoulders as he lets out a quiet breath, turning his attention back to the statue. He doesn’t answer immediately, staring at it with a confused expression. “This might sound crazy but… does the Secret Keeper feel… familiar at all?” he slowly asks as he looks back to Martyn.

The man stares at him, looking absolutely lost, if a bit concerned. “You feeling alright dude? Or is this your task or something?”

“I’m perfectly fine, and no it’s not my task.” Grian frowns. “Can you just answer the question?” Thinly veiled patience is laced in his voice, something Martyn can pick out easily after having known Grian for so long.

“Alright, alright,” he sighs, directing his attention to the statue in front of them. He hums, narrowing his gaze slightly. “Nothin’ familiar about it I’m afraid. Creepy smile though.”

“Creepy?” Grian parrots, joining Martyn in looking at the statue. He frowns faintly, “I don’t know… I think it’s kinda nice. Cheeky. A bit silly, y’know? The smile of someone mischievous.”

Martyn turns to look back at Grian, eyes shining with soft concern, “Look, Grian, unless your task is to spend hours ogling this thing, you might wanna get a move on. We’re in a death game, remember?” His stare turns a little colder, harsher. “We’re not gonna be all buddy buddy for very long.”

Grian knows he’s right. There’s no point in wasting time trying to figure out a brain puzzle with no clues. He’s not focusing on what’s important (isn’t the important thing that missing piece? The fracture somewhere?) and it could cost him greatly. Except his eyes trail back to the Secret Keeper’s gray ones (he wonders what they’d look like if they were green), staring at them. It’s like those eyes stare right back at him.

He frowns before sighing. “Yeah, yeah, I know. It’s just hard not to be curious,” he weakly argues, shrugging. “I feel like I know him from someplace, except I don’t know where.”

Martyn is quiet for a moment, eyes faraway. “…I guess I get that,” he relents, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Have fun with your stone Romeo. I’m gonna hit the road and get back to completing my task.”

Grian makes a spluttering sound at that, “S-Stone Romeo?! It’s nothing like that!”

( Above them, the Secret Keeper watches on in sadness. This feels like some kind of punishment. It’s agony, torture. It’s worse than hiding away in his valley all alone, wishing for friends. He wants to reach out. ‘I’m right here!’ He wishes to scream.

He Watches as Grian spares him one last glance, hesitation in his expression. He turns on his heel and walks away.

Scar wishes he could call for him.)

#mochi writes #scarian #trafficshipping #it’s not in your face but it’s intended #slsmp spoilers #secret keeper au

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hee0soo · 4 months

Text

There for you!

Pairing — KimHongjoong x gn!Reader

Summary — After a bad day all you need is your boyfriend. To bad that he's working...

Warnings — none

Genre — IdolAU

Wordcount — 0.8k

Disclaimer: this fic is written and copyrighted by ©hee0soo on tumblr. do not rewrite or repost on any other plattforms without my permission.

When Hongjoong opened the door to your shared apartment, it was already late. Very late to be exact! He was tired and his aching body was screaming for some kind of relief in form of hot shower and some much needed sleep!

He felt bad for having stayed in the studio so long, effectively leaving you alone, but he had finally managed to break through his creative block and he just had to use that momentum to get some work done. The text you had sent him shortly after you had gotten home from your workplace had gone unanswered.

Only when Hongjoong finally felt like he could breath again, his frustration almost stifling him, did he dare look at his phone again. Between the messages from the group Chat he shared with the members and Maddox sending him a new file he wanted Hongjoong’s opinion on, there had been yours... It had already hours later when he had seen it.

Please come home? Received 5:37 pm

A very simple text come to think of it. So simple that it had him worrying!

You knew that once Hongjoong locked himself inside his studio, you sometimes wouldn't get an answer until days later and it was fine. You knew what relationship with him entailed after all! It was why you didn't text him often. If there was something you needed, you would call or send Seonghwa to relay your message. A direct text from you? Unusual!

Now, 6 hours later, he finally punched in the code to open your apartment.

It was completely silent, not even the TV was running and only the source of light was coming from the streetlights shining through the window.

"Jagiya? Are you home?" Hongjoong called into the dark hallway.

Nothing. He switched on the light to see something and shrug his own shoes of his feet.

Your shoes were thrown haphazardly to the side so he was sure that you were home.

The living room was empty and so were kitchen and bathroom, which only left the bedroom. The rapper carefully stuck his head through the small gap the door stood open. There you were. Bundled up in your blanket, hugging that ugly orange bunny plushy that Wooyoung had gifted you for your birthday he hated so much to your chest!

What could he say? He's a jealous man!

Hongjoong slipped inside and crawled up behind you to wrap his arms around you. He pressed a feather light kiss to your temple. You hid your face further in the orange fur of the bunny at the prospect of being woken up. Hongjoong brought his hand up to gently trail his fingers over the side of your face.

A soft smile grazed his lips at the scrunch of your nose.

"Hey baby..." he whispered just loud enough for you to hear. Something inside of the rapper churned, tugging at his heartstrings when you stirred and turned around in his arms to face him, tiredly fluttering your eyes open. Dried tear tracks stained your face and Hongjoong moved his hand to cup your face, thumb tenderly stroking your cheek.

"Hi..." you croaked out only to press your face into the crook of his neck. A muffled sob escaping your lips. He tightened his hold on you.

"Hey, no what's wrong? Why are you crying?" he murmured into your ear, trailing his free hand lightly down your back.

You didn't answer, only held onto him tighter, one hand clinging to the bunny and the other to his shirt while sob after sob shook your body.

For a while he just let you cry, giving you the time you needed to calm down.

With shaky breaths you pulled back, only enough to be able to look at your boyfriend.

"Wanna tell me what's wrong?"

"I- It's just a really bad day and I- I- " you sniffled, remembering the awful day you had and whiping at your nose with your sleeve.

Between Waking up to late, being severely understaffed and your boss screaming at you for things HE did wrong, you hadn't even had time for breakfast or lunch! The whole day just sucked and for once you needed your boyfriend. You needed Hongjoong!

"It's okay baby, I’m here now! I'm sorry I wasn't home earlier..."

"You're here now.”

"But I should have been here earlier! I'm sorry I didn't see your texts..." The rapper apologized honestly. It wasn't his intention to leave you alone, especially when you needed him! He hated how sad you sounded and made a mental note to himself to cancel his early studio session with Eden the next day to make you breakfast! Was he a genius in the kitchen? By far not but at least he wasn't as bad as Yeosang and his 3 hour egg fry!

And after all, he would always be there for you!

#cromernet #ateez #kim hongjoong #kim hongjoong x reader #kim hongjoong imagine #kim hongjoong fluff #ateez x reader #ateez scenarios #ateez fluff #ateez imagines #ateez fanfic #kim hongjoong fanfic #ateez drabble #ateez drabbles #hongjoong x reader #hongjoong x you #hongjoong x y/n

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nova-amor · 5 months

Text

༘☁︎⋆ ◜ 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 ◞

you breathed out his name like a whisper, the silk sheets of the bed craddling your trembling form in a soft cocoon of warmth and bliss. your back arched against the bed, forming into a perfect crescent while your toes curled inward and thighs quivered. your hands found purchase of his blonde strands as you fought to remain grounded to the earth, your fingers threading his hair and tugging at the strands in order to stay tethered to the mortal plane.

erwin’s tongue danced around your pretty folds with grace, his icy blue eyes fluttered closed and mellow hums of delight rumbling from the depths of his throat as he consumed every ounce of your being. the wet, flat muscle lapped at the clenching entrance of your cunt before flicking the hood of your clit with the pointy edge. erwin cut into you like a knife, tearing and ripping every scream and whimper from your aching throat with ease.

“erwinn,” you cried, your gummy walls clenching around empty space as he suckled on your clit, the pressure making your head grow dizzy and body faint. his hands were wrapped around your thighs, holding your fragile body in place and preventing you from running away from the wrath of his mouth. “i can’t— i can’t anymore— ‘s too much,” you pleaded.

erwin unlatched his lips from your clit with a soft ‘pop’, his icy blue eyes piercing you like a cold dagger. his bushy eyebrows furrowed in frustration, the grip he had on your thighs tightening. a shiver ran down the length of your spine as you shrunk under his gaze.

“what do you mean ‘s too much?,” erwin spoke through the thick of his teeth, cocking his head to the side. a thick eyebrow quirked up, a look of bewilderment swirling the arctic pools of his gaze. “we’ve just barely started.” he lied.

it had already been an hour or two or maybe three since erwin began his tango with your cunt. time merging together with each orgasm he pulled from your depths. you had lost count how many times he had made you cum with just his tongue, but you knew it had been too many given the aching state of your overstimulated nerves and sopping core.

“erwin— i need a break,” you begged him, his nostrils flaring in a silent protest. “i can’t handle another one; i need a second to breathe,”

erwin’s expression softened, his lips peppering feather light kisses across the landscape of your inner thighs. his cheeks and chin glistened with the sticky, clear nectar of your juices, the scent of sex wafting gently through the air.

“okay, baby, we can take a break,” he promised, the black pools of his eyes drowning out his ocean blue irises. he inched closer to your cunt, his warm breath fanning over your messy lips as his eyes remained locked with yours. “but, you got ‘ta give me one more. we can take a break for as long as you want after, okay? just give me one more. please?”

your folds tingled, your numbed mind buzzing to life. you couldn’t bring yourself to deny erwin, not when he was looking up at you with such big, pleading eyes. “okay ,” you murmured, the corners of his lips curling up into a faint smile. “just one more.”

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crimsonbubble · 1 year

Text

cw. nsfw, afab!reader, threesome (f/m/m), strength kink, fingering, one use of daddy, double penetration, praise, nipple play, marking, creampies *not proofread, just pure horny

[tiktok got the best of me 😔😔 I wouldn't have finished this fic if @southernbluebellereader didn't help me 🤞🤞 they a real one fr fr]

MINORS DNI!!

graves always started shit. it was as if being an idiot and picking fights with alejandro was his favourite pastime. if you had a dollar for every second you spend watching the two of them bicker, you'd have a few hundred dollars but that isn't to say that it isn't attractive.

the way their jaws clench, they stand up straighter, get in each other's faces, and all but snarl at one another. it was like watching two wolves try to intimidate each other. you'd be lying if you said it didn't make your heart pound and your mind race. seeing two men with so much power and authority at their fingertips, glaring at one another and not letting you or the other out of their sight.

but have you ever seen two people so drastically different yet so alike they eventually agree on something?

you. it's you, sweetheart. that something, is you.

it was easy to agree on you. your every small movement and gesture was nearly engraved in their minds. they both knew they ogled you but neither of them made a move. whether it was because of the unprofessionalism or the deep-rooted fear of rejection no one knows.

but the silence on their end only worked to make you frustrated. so you upped the antics and took the harmless flirting up a notch. flirty smiles, lingering eye contact with hooded eyes, cooing out soft praises, feather-like lingering touches, all the while making sure to do it when the other is nearby.

their patience was wearing thin. you truly knew just how to poke and prod to get the reactions you wanted out of them, don't you?

but everyone has a breaking point, right?

---

"oh mi querida, don't back out on us now." the years of military training are truly shining through as alejandro holds you up easily by the backs of your thighs. he lightly bounces you on his cock, that twitches as graves slid his fingers in alongside it.

"look at you, doing such a good job." graves can't take his eyes off the way your messy cunt gushed and clenched, leaving his fingers and alejandro's cock slick and glistening under the warm lighting of the room.

you can barely hear your own thoughts as graves worked your sticky cunt open. alejandro's nails are digging into your skin as you tighten around him and as graves' fingers brush against him. graves felt the way alejandro's cock twitched, looking at him over your shoulder. graves drags a finger up and down on either side of alejandro's cock, a smirk tugs at his lips as he looked at him over your shoulder.

even when they're having their way with you, they're still trying to provoke each other. alejandro bounces you up, adjusting his grip on your thighs. the quick bounce plunges alejandro's cock deep, his tip brushing faintly against your g-spot. you let out a staggered breath, your eyes fluttering as your cunt pulsed. you're getting impatient as the two men kept up their petty rivalry. tears are welling in your eyes as graves is unintentionally edging you.

"please daddy..." both of them go still, their eyes snapping to you as you whine and sputter. you take hold of graves' wrist and push his fingers in deeper. "go on then, you heard the lady." graves cursed under his breath as he carefully pushed in alongside alejandro. there's a satisfying burn as alejandro and graves rubbed deliciously against your velvety walls.

"there we go baby, just like that." graves' hands are on the sides of your ass, groping as he slowly rocks his hips. it feels like the air was sucked out of your lungs as they both started moving at different times. alejandro nips and sucks dark blooming marks into your neck, while graves trails kisses down your chest to take your puffed nipples in his mouth.

your senses are on overload as your hips twitch with each heavy taunt of their hips. they're touching all over you, clouding your mind in the best way possible. your hands grab at any part of graves' forearms, trying to find any way to ground yourself as they both steadily pick up their paces.

"taking us so well, sugar." graves pulls away from your chest, his breathing laboured as he trails a hand up your thigh to nudge his thumb against your clit. your back arches as much as it can in your current position, making you lean your head back against alejandro's shoulder. "mierda, you feel so good." your face heats up as they both coo out praises and touch you in all the right places.

the dark look in alejandro's eyes sends a shiver down graves' spine, making his hips buck into you even faster. alejandro smirks against your neck as he peers over at graves, watching intently as he falls apart in front of him. the intense and looming gaze from alejandro and your cock drunk and fucked out expression doesn't make it easy on him. "oh fuck, I'm not gonna last."

alejandro took this chance to poke at graves a bit more. "yea? coming already? so soon?" graves lets out a breathy whine, trying to keep his hips stable. the low rumble of alejandro's voice made your body tremble, his accent mellowing his words as he spoke. both you and graves fell prey to alejandro. the suave of his tone, the way he prided in himself, the way he always gets what he wants.

"ale-" you're mindlessly calling out to him and anyone that's willing to listen. you're being strung out so tightly, you feel like you're going to snap. graves rubs tight circles into your clit, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he tries to hold himself together while you clench and pulse around them. you're quivering in their hold, in near tears as your orgasm rips through you. your nails are digging into graves' forearms, as you lean back further into alejandro.

"there we go, mi vida. just like that." graves follows along as the guttural groans from alejandro have his head spinning. alejandro scoffs and throws an amused smirk at graves as he watches the man shake and feels his hips stutter. there's an overwhelming feeling of warmth that floods you, leaving a sticky, white mess between your thighs. graves stills as he slowly and carefully pulls out, his cock twitching as he watches the mix of his and alejandro's seed mix together and leaks out of you.

graves gathers what he can of the white mess and gently fingers it back into your still pulsing hole. "I think you can handle another, right?" alejandro knows graves is planning something, there's an underlying tone in his voice. "or is coronel vargas too tired?"

oh, so that's what he's doing. provoking alejandro. again. at least this time around, you can't focus on their words as alejandro's grip tightens on you and his eyes glaze over as he glares at graves. you can already tell you'll be sore and bruised in the morning but right now all you can focus on is how easily alejandro and graves slip back into your warm, wet walls.

this was gonna be an extra long night.

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ceruleancattail · 1 year

Note

Hey, congrats on the 1k notes :) The butler reader stuff has been really cute, so i was wondering if i could request the Octavinelle boys reacting to the butler wearing a maid outfit? Lol. Maybe they ran out of butler uniforms idk XD Thank you, and I hope you're having a great day :)

Awww thank you anon!

Gender neutral reader (referred to as a butler) in a maid dress

A Change of Attire

おかえりなさいませ、ご主人様

Okaerinasaimase, goshujinsama

Suits and ties.

That’s what you’re used to. Button up shirts, blazers that wrap around your chest nicely, golden cuff links that you polish to a shine diligently every day. The default attire of a butler, formal and dignified.

Not this attire.

Long, sweeping skirts that drag on the ground, catching on stairs, tripping you with every step. Frills that scratch at your neck, a white apron that flutters around with every movement. A prim and proper attire, truly.

Just something you’re not used to. Hopefully, your Master won’t comment too much about it.

Azul

Balancing a stack of documents on one hand was not ideal. Yes, using both your hands would be much more stable, compared to the perilous way the papers were currently balanced on your arm.

Unfortunately, your other hand was busy hoisting your skirt above your knees. The only way to protect yourself from tripping and falling flat on your face.

After a good few minutes of trudging through the winding hallways of Octavinelle, you find yourself in front of that familiar oaken door. Hand closing around the silver doorknob, you pause for a moment.

Your attire wouldn’t pose much of a problem, would it? It was still formal wear, after all.

“Master? I’m coming in.”

You twist the knob, slipping into the room. A brisk pace, before gloved hands free you from your burden.

“Ah, thank you….”

His voice trails off, as the impact of your attire hits him. Azul’s gaze falls onto the ribbon on your collar, lowering to your apron, finally landing onto your skirt.

The papers drop, fluttering as they land onto the ground. You both kneel at once, in an attempt to gather the scattered documents. With the speed you two reacted, there wasn’t much room for accuracy.

Thus, your heads collide, bumping against each other with a dull thud. Falling back onto your rear, you wince, rubbing your bruise. Azul follows suit, wincing from the impact.

Hastily, you lean forward, hands flailing around frantically.

“Master, are you alright?”

Azul waves you off, a faint tint of pink dusted on his cheeks. He adjusts his glasses, before his gaze land on you once more. The pink becomes a deep crimson, spreading across his cheeks.

“Urm… may I be as bold as to… inquire about your attire…”

Now, it was your turn for your cheeks to grow warm. You chuckle nervously, avoiding Azul’s gaze.

“There was… a wardrobe malfunction. This was the only thing available in my size.”

“I see, I see.”

He nods, somewhat absentmindedly. Hands scrambling on the ground, doing something, anything to stop himself gawking at you.

It’s not everyday Azul has the pleasure of seeing you in a dress.

“You… do look enchanting.” A mutter, soft as a feather.

As quiet as his voice was, you heard him. You perk up, looking at him questioningly.

Azul’s head immediately dipped back down, gathering the documents. Doing his best to hide the raging blush burning on his face.

It’s you, after all.

Could he expect anything less?

Floyd

A brisk pace, your footsteps echoing through the mansion. A flustered beat, bouncing off the walls with a certain mockery to them.

Normally, you would stroll through these halls without so much but a whisper. An elegant stride, quick and efficient. Yet with the hem of your skirt catching with every step, it’s hard to maintain your regular speed.

Peering into every room, your frustration mounts with every second. You knew that Floyd Leech generally did whatever he liked. You understood, and endeavoured to serve him anyway you could.

If only he’ll allow you to do so. The man seemed determined to foil you at every step. Floyd never had a habit of reporting on his whims, and that left you rushing around the house, in an over-glorified game of hide and seek.

“Master?” You call out, voice trailing off. Silence greeted you, adding to your frustration. A sigh, before you walk on. You would think someone as huge as Floyd would be harder to hide, but he was rather capable when the mood hits him.

A weight on your waist, fingers closing on either side of it. Raised up by those hands, your feet left the ground, toes dangling in midair. A gleeful laugh, almost childlike rang out, before you’re pulling closer to him.

Your hands rest on his shoulders, holding on for dear life. A pair of half-lidded eyes stare at you, narrowed with amusement. A board grin, revealing rows of pearly white daggers. Your master, Floyd Leech. Carrying you in his arms, holding you high above the ground. His gaze never leaves yours, joy brightening his eyes.

“Lil’ shrimpy has a dress now!”

You had just started to mutter an apology when Floyd tightens his grip around your waist, all but crushing you against his chest. Close enough for your heart to pound against his own, a flurry of heartbeats beating out of your chest.

He starts to swing you, spinning around and around. Skirt flaring up, it ripples around your legs. Almost like a royal’s gown, gliding across the ballroom.

Swinging your arms around Floyd’s neck, you can’t help but laugh. He had that sort of infectious enthusiasm, constantly sweeping you up in whatever whim seizes him.

Not that he can help himself. Shrimpy looks so cute in that dress!

Can’t blame Floyd for squeezing you a little, yeah?

Jade

An elaborately decorated tray of silver. Perching on it, would be a plate of pastries, along with a cup of steaming hot tea. Freshly brewed, with the tea leaves your master favours.

Normally, serving this would have posed no challenge. Laying the tray down with a flourish, with not a single drop of tea spilled. This elegance would be the standard, especially if you’re the one serving.

However, you had a bit of a handicap today. A skirt that seemed content to catch on every single object on the ground, sleeves that squeezed your arms like a boa constrictor, an apron hellbent on irritating your skin…

It’s safe to say, you have no feelings of affection to this maid dress. Or anything of that sort, for that matter. Someone’s idea of a sick joke, perhaps. All your suits were in the wash, and this was the only thing in your size.

Heaving a sigh, the tip of your shoe swung against a door in lieu of a knock. Once, twice.

A faint “Come in” called from within. Permission granted, you let yourself in. Well, not without a struggle, of course. A chuckle, before the tray was lifted from your hands. A pair of mismatched eyes met yours, amusement apparent in them.

Jade Leech, your master.

Well, at least someone was enjoying this. Snatching the tray away from him, you chide him.

“Master, allow me. You shouldn’t burden yourself.”

In one fluid motion, Jade swipes the tray from you, balancing it carefully on a table. He takes a step forward, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips. A slight bow, before he offers a gloved hand to you.

“How could I allow such a lovely beauty bear such burdens in my stead? That’s rather improper for a gentleman. ”

“Haha. Very funny, Master.”

A dry reply from your lips. He frowns ever so slightly at your response. Now really, don’t you see what he does? You do look rather appealing.

Sliding forward, Jade snakes an arm around your waist. Taking advantage of your confusion, he seizes your hand. Intertwining his fingers in yours, Jade starts moving. Guiding you across the floor, a gentle waltz.

Do allow him this, hm? It’s not often Jade has the honour of dancing with someone as wonderful as yourself.

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