#ghost's writing

[ghost-proofbaby]

my little scaredy cat

request: [anon] i would love to see watching horror movies with best friend!eddie and reader instinctively grabs his arm and hides herself against him and it leads to feelings and confessions haha

warnings: none! except it's unedited, which would be scary if that wasn't 90% of my writing on here lmao

pairing: eddie x fem!reader

wc: 3.1k+

i had a lot of fun busting this one out. it's just so cute and certainly how i wish i was spending my halloween! also, rest assured, i am also eyeing the other request you submitting anon. <3 happy haunting, my friends.

This was such a stupid idea. Such a stupid, stupid idea. 

You’ve always been a scaredy cat. Everyone in your friend group was well aware of it – you loved the idea of Halloween, but your poor heart just couldn’t take most of the frights that came with the eccentric holiday. 

It was fine, most of the time. If anyone had the urge to plan out a day at a pumpkin patch, you were eagerly accepting the invitation. If anyone wanted to bake any sort of sweet treats laced with pumpkin spice or caramel apple flavor profiles, you were already in your car and armed with the perfect recipe to help them. Someone wanted to peruse the decoration aisles of various stores? Wait no more, the perfect shopping buddy could be found in you. You, who could handle most of the trivial and sweet aspects of the holiday. You, who divulged in the more aesthetic side of it all rather than the scary side of it. 

Your distaste of being jumpscared or unnerved by gore and ghouls alike only really caused issues when it came to your best friend, Eddie Munson. 

His taste in experience of the frightful time of year was entirely the opposite of yours. It’s not that he didn’t like decorating caramel apples with you or that he didn’t find your choice in decorations cute, because he did. But he liked the terrifying aspect of it all – he liked the adrenaline rush of fictional danger. 

And friendship, in all its glory, is about give and take, is it not? 

Compromise. That’s what he called it when he’d begged and pleaded for you to join him in a movie night. Because the moment the suggestion fell from his lips, you both knew he had no intentions of watching one of your usual festive movies that only teased about the creatures that crept through the night. PG-13 films that didn’t really do it for him. No, Eddie Munson had insisted you join him for a movie night, and you both knew exactly what kind of movie he intended to play. 

You just hadn’t anticipated the scariest fucking movie you’d ever endured for the boy beside you on the couch. 

“Shit!” 

Your squeak is muffled over by the crescendo of creepy instrumental echoing from the small TV across the room. A cycle had quickly been found during this movie night; the movie would fall eerily silent as a tense scene arrived, you’d tense every single muscle so hard that Eddie could feel you shaking from the other side of the couch, and then once the jumpscare occurred and your small squeals were let out involuntarily, his own laughter would follow. 

“Oh, come on,” he coos a little, leaning closer to the middle of the couch, still a fair distance away from your figure bundled up in blankets that were being used more as shields than anything at this point, “That one wasn’t even that bad!” 

“To you!” you snap, yanking the fabric back down from your eyes only to glare at Eddie rather than look at whatever grotesque was plaguing the screen, “I’m a scaredy cat, remember?” 

And oh, remember he does. In all your years of friendship, Eddie had called you that nickname more times than either of you could count. He never meant it with ill will, but it was easier to tease you than to admit just how adorable he found your small reactions. 

Easier to tease than to admit just how badly he wishes you would seek protection or refuge from him during the scares he put you through. 

His face falls slightly, but he doesn’t let his small grin slip up, not wanting to give himself or his twinge of guilt away, “I’m sorry, kitty cat. C’mere – I can protect you from all the big bad monsters-”

Eddie’s opened arms are only met with one of the pillows you’d stolen off his bed to make the couch more comfortable. It smacks into the center of his chest with deadly aim and ferocious power, making him let out an exaggerated oomph. 

“Fuck you,” you grumble, adjusting the blanket around your shoulders now that the scare had passed. You almost tack on a comment about how he’s lucky you like him, because you would never endure this for anyone else.

Robin had tried. Steve had tried. Nancy had tried. They’d all tried to entice you in the scarier, classic Halloween experiences to no avail. Every offer of going to a haunted house, or attending the premiere of the newest horror movies at the local theater, were shot down before they even finished their sentences. 

Only one person could break your staunch demeanor on your limits. And right now, you sort of hated his guts. 

Eddie softens a bit, watching the way you pout and curl into yourself just a little tighter.

“Sweetheart,” he finally drops the cool guy demeanor, his voice gentle as he leans over with genuine concern, “We can turn it off, if you really want. Hell, if you want me to, I’ll put on something in your taste. Little Shop of Horrors, or maybe Beetlejuice? Those don’t usually scare you.” 

The offer is enticing. But you have a point to prove. 

“No,” you sit up a little straighter, square your shoulders with a little more defiance and faux bravery, “No, you wanted to watch…” 

You pause, and Eddie smiles softly as he supplies the title of his film of choice, “Poltergeist.” 

“Right, yes, Poltergeist. You wanted to watch it, so we’re gonna watch it.” 

Your stubbornness is admirable. 

Even when it falters. Even when another jumpscare has you ever so slightly scooching towards the center of the couch, no longer pressed to the opposite arm from Eddie in defiance. Even when Eddie spreads his legs casually, and you bump your knee into his thigh, the slightest touch bringing immense comfort.  

Once you discover that, it all seems downhill from there. 

A press of a knee against the side of his thigh turns into your side brushing his. Suddenly, the blanket you’d wielded like a weapon becomes shared. Moments where you try to hold up a barrier between your eyes and the screen cause slight disturbances in Eddie’s own vision. And then, it happens.

The thing he’d been diabolically planning for years. The one scenario he’d dreamt of every Halloween season, the one intention he’d held secretly every time he’d put your through endless scares. 

The one touch that could send him into cardiac arrest. 

He almost missed it, it happens so suddenly. One moment, you’re just curling up a little bit closer to him. The next, your arms fully wiggly their way around his bicep, capturing his arm in your grasp as your face buries into his shoulder. He can no longer smell the buttery popcorn or faint chocolate on his breath as you invade his space. It’s all sweet shampoo and subtle perfume that tickles his nose, skin against skin in a quick flush as he can hear the vibrations of your predictable scream against the fabric of his shirt. 

You hardly seem to notice the sudden entanglement of your bodies in all your fear — your knees practically in his lap and your torso clinging onto his forearm for dear life. You’re acting on instinct, seeking out humane comfort without considering what you were doing.

When you do notice, you don’t let go, only slacken your grip. 

“Oh, I-“ you stutter, pulling back slightly to look up at a stunned Eddie, “I’m sorry, that’s- I just- I was scared and-“ 

“It’s fine,” he cuts you off, eyes blown wide, “It’s… it’s fine.” 

It’s more than fine.

His heart races in a way no horror movie or haunted house could incite. Every nerve ending tingles, everywhere his body connects to yours burning in delicious warmth. He wants to spend an eternity like this — you, curled up to him, clinging to him like your holy savior. 

Years, and years, and years of wait pays off. Patience is surely virtue as those big eyes of yours look into his. 

After a couple awkward beats of silence, you whisper, “I don’t think I like Poltergeist.” 

Just like that, you have him laughing again. It’s slow and steady, a gentle chuckle that stirs from his chest in disbelief as he tries to thaw from his shock and yearning.

“You think?” he breathes out, tone not nearly teasing enough to cover up the shakiness. 

He swears he can feel your heart pounding against his shoulder. 

“Don’t be mean,” you start to scowl, slowly unfurling. But he stops you — angles his arm so you can’t slip your arms away as easily as before, tilting his head in closer.

“Mean? I could never be mean to you, my little scaredy cat.” 

“You’re literally being mean as we speak-“

And so, he decides to stop speaking. 

It’s impulsive and an even dumber idea than you enduring such a scary movie to be around him. But you look so fucking cute, his heart is tearing up his throat, and suddenly his lips are on yours in his largest spurt of bravery to date. Even more brave than the time he’d made himself a human shield between you and that dude with a chainsaw at the local haunted house, despite the way chainsaws actually kind of made him shit himself.

You don’t fully reciprocate at first. His lips are pressed hard against yours, tips of noses crushed and eyes fluttered shut, and he starts to believe he’s made a mistake. A terrible, terrible mistake that just washed years of friendship down the drain. 

Until your hands tighten on his bicep. Until that soft squeeze comes, and it feels like he can breathe again despite sharing the air with you. 

He breaks away for just a second, “I-“

“Don’t be mean,” you repeat your earlier words with entirely new meaning now. He opens his eyes and finds yours already pleading up at his face, glossy and desperate, movie forgotten. 

Those hands once squeezing his bicep let go and move to the collar of his t-shirt. Normally, he’d make a comment about you stretching it out, deforming the perfect fit that took him ages to wear in, but he can’t be bothered to feel anything but delight when you’re tugging him back in for another kiss. 

And the last thing he wants to be is mean. So he kisses you kindly, kisses you with all the care in the world that he had buried beneath his skin since the day he met you. Kisses you like it could scare away all the monsters that wait in the shadows. Like he’d lay down his life to protect you from the very frights he’d been subjecting you to for far too long now. 

“Hey,” he mumbles, pulling back briefly, “Hey.”

This time, his forehead doesn’t leave yours as he pauses the kisses. 

“God, Munson, I’ve waited for this God knows how long, sat through so many fucking scary movies, and you’re really going to-“ 

“Hold on, what?”

He’s grinning so hard, it aches. In his cheeks, in his chest, in the back of his head. Your words sink in and he relishes each syllable, even in your frustration.

“I- Uh,” you pull back suddenly, fingers still loosely tangled in his t-shirt, “I-“

“Enlighten me, sweetheart,” he insists, eyes finally fluttering back open to catch the embarrassment painted plainly across your face. You wear a nearly painful expression that only tightens as you know he’s watching you, “Just how many scary movies have you sat through wanting me to kiss you?” 

“Fuck off,” you sigh out, shaking your head a little, “I mean it. Fuck right off-“

“Cause I could probably give a ballpark number for how many times I’ve wanted to kiss you during them,” he continues on quickly, “Actually, I bet I could count how many times I suggested watching these fuckin’ films just for this moment only to chicken out.” 

Your eyes are open again in an instant. Sparkling with hope and realization of what he was getting at. “Excuse me?”

“Do you really think I’m that mean?” he scoffs, finally reaching up for your hands, surprisingly calm despite the delightful storm wreaking havoc in his chest. He takes your knuckles in his and lets his thumb trail right over them, “No offense, but if I didn’t like you, I wouldn’t have-“

“You like me?” 

Your voice is sweet as honey, bright and drowning out the horror movie still playing. 

He smiles, boyish glint and all, as he confirms, “I like you.” 

You put the first real amount of distance between the two of you since you’d started to cling to him out of fear, almost as if signaling that bravery beginning to bubble over in your chest, “You actually like me?”

“Yes. Is that so hard to believe?”

“No, I- Well, maybe,” you bite your lip, and he’s suddenly dizzy with the need to capture it between his own teeth, “I just… I always thought you might like someone a little braver.”

His nose wrinkles, hands still twisting yours in his, “Excuse me? I think you’re plenty brave.” 

“Eddie, you’ve said it yourself, I’m a goddamn scaredy cat.”

“So?”

“So,” you persist, shuffling so that your legs fold beneath you and you gain some leverage over him, “You’re the exact opposite. You love scary things. Not even just during Halloween, but year round. And you’re telling me you like me even though I’m a scaredy cat.” 

“I like you because you’re a scaredy cat, thank you very much,” he corrects you immediately, “I love the way you always need me to protect you. I know, I know — not very feminist of me. I’m sorry. It’s just- it’s really fuckin’ cute, y’know?” now that his floodgates have opened, he’s pouring out all the words he’s held back for so long, “And besides, you’re more than just a scaredy cat. You’re also so smart, so beautiful, so funny. Yeah, you scare easily, but you’re also the same person who is the first to put me in my place when I’m being an absolute little shit. And don’t even get me started on all the cute faces you make when you’re talking about things you actually like, or when you’ve been baking with Nance and have flour all over your cheeks-“ 

“Okay, okay,” you stop his rambling before he can embarrass you any further. Any more affection, and your face might end up buried in his shoulder again, “I get it. You like me.” 

It’s quiet for a few moments. The two of you only stare, both smiling stupid, the screams of whatever climax occurring in the movie not even reaching your ears. All you can hear is the echo of his words, of his admission. And all he can hear is the pretty way your breath catches when he gives a small squeeze to your palm. 

It’s nice. It should be more anxiety inducing, it should be more dramatic. Eddie Munson should be absolutely losing his mind right now because he just kissed his best friend he’s been in love with for ages, but he isn’t. Actually, for the first time in a while, it feels as though he’s finally found it — he’s found his mind, he’s found his peace as he’s staring at your shy expression. It just feels right. Like a sigh of relief from the Universe. 

“I like you, too,” you break the silence, unable to meet his gaze, “I mean, you probably already got that, but-“

“Say it again.”

“Huh?”

“I did gather that, but my God, please say it again.” 

Your eyes meet him, and another piece clicks into place. 

Right. It’s so fucking right.

“I like you,” you repeat yourself, a smile beginning to dance on your lips. He can’t help himself — he leans forward and pecks the corner of your upturned mouth, “I like you,” the repetition is music to his ears as he plants a second kiss on your cheek, “I like you, Munson.” 

His peppered kisses mark every inch of skin available to him, making giggles begin to escape you. You even try to hide from his onslaught, but it’s no use. He’s quick to drop your hands and wrap his arms around you, tugging you in close and trapping you against him as each kiss grows more obnoxious. Loud smacking sounds, deliberately leaving spit behind that has you squealing. It’s nothing like the squeaks from when you were watching the movie; these small noises are filled with a little more joy, a little more happiness that only fuels Eddie.

“Eddie!” you try to scold, placing two hands on his solid chest, “Oh my God, stop it. You’re gross.” 

“You love it,” he mutters with his mouth fully pressed to your temple, nose buried in your hair. That sweet, sweet shampoo intoxicating him.

You like him. He didn’t fuck it up. 

You finally go slack in his touch, succumbing and letting him place you in his lap, curled up comfortably as you sigh, “Yeah. Okay, maybe I do. Whatever.” 

“Oh, don’t act all tough now, kitty cat.” 

Your hands are curled back in the fabric against his chest and you share the wonderful ache he had been feeling in his own cheeks and bones as you look down at him with playfully squinted eyes.

When he ducks down for another kiss, you stop him easily, “Nope. First, I have a request.” 

“Anything.”

“Anything?”

“Anything. Name it, and it’s yours.” 

“Please turn off that goddamn movie.” 

He throws his head back in laughter that shoots straight for your heart. The kind of laughter that haunts a chilled autumn night as children prance the streets for candy, as teenagers get into mischief in distant bonfire parties, as elderly couples enjoy morning coffees over eerie fog. 

It kind of feels like home. It kind of feels like everything is as it should be, finally. 

“I suppose I can do that for you, my little scaredy cat,” he muses as his head tilts back forward, chest swelling with affection, “Besides, I think I know something we can do that’s a little more fun than watching the Poltergeist.” 

“Oh, yeah? And what would that be?”

His arms tighten around you as he suddenly throws the two of you to lay down on the couch, his body hovering over yours and pick necklace nipping at your chin while he reaches out to click off the TV. The weight of him between your hips feels even better than either of your wildest dreams.

Years. You couldn’t believe it had taken years for this, and neither could he. But patience is virtue, and he probably would have waited another thousand years for this feeling, truth be told. 

“This,” he says boldly once the TV buzzes in sudden silence, dipping down and continuing where the two of you left off. Two sets of lips fit together like the world’s easiest jigsaw puzzle.

It’s safe to say the rest of the night, any further squeaks and squeals you let out aren’t due to ghosts.

eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @hideoutside @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin @ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87 @thebook-hobbit @babez-a-licious @eddies-acousticguitar @gagasbee @d64d-n0t-sl66p1ng @aysheashea @kellsck @cosmorant @billyhvrgrove-main @micheledawn1975 @eddiesxangel @siriuslysmoking @witchwolflea @tlclick73 @magicalchocolatecheesecake @mizzfizz @nanaminswhore @mikiepeach @ali-r3n

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #ghost's writing #ghostly halloween #seriously not edited #i have to be up in mere hours to get dressed up for work haha #but i HAD to write this goddamn #i had another idea where the roles are reversed in a different scenario i might try to write and post tomorrow #most unrealistic thing is that reader didn't immediately cling to him for comfort like i would lmao #i love scary movies even when they terrify me #i bid you all a very spooky night as i go pass out now #sorry if it's bad and sorry for the unoriginal title but my brain is just mush right now waaaaah

[ghostinthelibrarywrites]

for the kiss prompts - a playful kiss to make the other stop rambling + geraskier, pretty please 🥺

Jaskier has never been one to suffer stage fright. Since the first time he gave an impromptu performance at one of his parents’ banquets at the age of seven, he’s soaked up the spotlight at any chance he can get. There’s nothing he delights in more than having a crowded tavern or ballroom watching him with starry eyes, hanging onto his every word. He knows he’s good at what he does, a far cry from the boy who used to get bread pelted at his head while he sang about hags and abortions.

Except that as he stands behind the stage at the Oxenfurt Music Festival, listening to a pair of Nazairi troubadours sing a lovely duet, his insides roil with the same queasy nervousness he’s carried with him all day. He glances over at Geralt to make sure the witcher doesn’t notice. Geralt is leaning against the wall, looking remarkably stoic for a man who has been dragged to a music festival entirely against his will. 

Jaskier can’t let him know how nervous he is, not when Geralt took on two wyverns singlehandedly only three days ago. The fact that Jaskier, who has been a traveling bard for years, who has faced far scarier things than a crowd of onlookers (usually while cowering behind Geralt, but his point stands) has stage fright is too mortifying to admit. Luckily, Jaskier is excellent at keeping his feelings under wraps after years of traveling with his witcher. He’s sure Geralt has no idea.

“You’re nervous,” Geralt says.

Fuckity fuck.

“Nervous?” Jaskier breaks off in a monologue about how he lost the Student Bardic Competition to Valdo Marx his final year due to trickery and biased judging. “I’m not nervous! Merely excited to claim yet another in my long list of accolades.”

“You stink of anxiety.”

Jaskier just manages to resist the urge to sniff himself. “Why, thank you, Geralt. How kind of you to say. And here I thought you liked this new perfume.”

Geralt just stares at him, unimpressed.

Jaskier sighs. “I seem to have come down with the tiniest case of stage fright.”

“Stage fright?” Geralt arches an eyebrow. “But you perform all the time.”

“Not at places like this.” Jaskier waves his hand in the direction of the stage.

“You just told me in detail about all seven times you performed here before. You said you won five times.”

“And it would have been all seven, if Valdo Marx weren’t a cad and a cheat.” Jaskier puffs up in remembered outrage. “But that was the Student Bardic Festival. Everyone expects the acts there to be a little bit shit. Melitele help them, but my classmates didn’t give me much of a run for their money, save for Valdo and Essi. This is the first time I’ve performed in a professional competition.”

“And that’s why you’re nervous.”

“Yes!” Jaskier throws up his hands in exasperation. “I know this isn’t a wyvern or an angry mob, but I don’t want to make a fool of myself in front of thousands of people!”

Geralt gets an expression on his face like he’s valiantly refraining from pointing out that Jaskier doesn’t normally care about making a fool of himself. “You perform all the time.”

“For drunks in taverns who won’t notice if I make a bunk of the pronunciation of an elven ballad or courtiers who wouldn’t know a wrong note if it hit them in the face. Many of these people are trained musicians themselves who have come from all over the Continent to be here today. I have to be perfect.”

“Then be perfect.”

“Geralt.” Jaskier moans and slaps his hands over his eyes. “Have you ever heard of Elsa Svensen?”

“You know I haven’t.”

“Of course you haven’t! She was a cautionary tale when I was at Oxenfurt, a rising star in the bardic circuit until she tried to sing The Six Swans at the Lan Exeter Bardic Festival.” At the blank look on his witcher’s face, Jaskier elaborates. “It’s a famously difficult ballad in Elder. Very long, lots of tricky notes. She butchered it so badly that she was laughed off stage! Suffice to say, there was an unfortunate mispronunciation and she sang a line about the hero committing unspeakable acts with a donkey in front of the entirety of Lan Exeter, including the king and queen. It ended her career. Rumor has it that she changed her name and is now working as a traveling player.”

Geralt doesn’t look suitably horrified, in Jaskier’s opinion.

“A traveling player, Geralt!” Jaskier practically shrieks, which isn’t good for his voice, but he can’t stop himself. “I can’t act! There isn’t a single troupe of traveling players that would have me. I’ll starve. Gods, I should never have let Essi talk me into this. I’m too young to live in disgrace. Can you go out there and tell them that a horrible tragedy has befallen me and an evil witch has stolen my voice? Ooh, yes, say I’ve ruined her for all other men and this is my punishment. Do you think we can find an actual witch in—”

He doesn’t realize Geralt is approaching him until the witcher presses a brief kiss to his lips.

Jaskier blinks, surprised. Geralt isn’t one for displays of affection where anyone else might see. “What are you—”

Geralt kisses him again. Jaskier can feel the curl of his lips.

“Geralt, this is—”

Another kiss, this one accompanied by Geralt nipping at his lower lip.

“Geralt,” Jaskier says through another kiss. “Are you trying to distract me?”

“Trying to shut you up.”

“How dare—”

Geralt kisses him again. “You were working yourself up.”

Jaskier opens his mouth to protest, then realizes he was just plotting to find an actual witch to steal his voice in order to get out of a performance. Perhaps Geralt has a point. “Right.”

“You know Elder too well to accidentally sing about donkeys. And if you do manage to fuck up so badly that you ruin your career, I won’t let you starve.”

Jaskier melts into him. “Geralt, that’s the sweetest—”

“Because you’re right, you’d be a shit traveling player.” Geralt’s lips quirk.

“You—”

Geralt kisses him again, slow and sweet, and Jaskier feels the last bit of tension drain out of him.

“Jaskier the Bard!” a woman’s voice calls from the stage. “Also known as the Dandelion!”

“That’s you.” Geralt pushes him towards the stage. “You’ll do great, Jask.”

Jaskier can’t help but smile at him. “How can I not, after a sweet pep talk like that?”

“Hm. Probably not as great as Valdo Marx did earlier.” A full-on smile spreads over Geralt’s face at Jaskier’s outrage. “But we’ll see.”

And just for that, Jaskier gives the best damn performance of his life. Which is probably what Geralt intended, the terrible man.

***

Tag list: @kueble @mollymawkwrites @feral-jaskier @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde @dawnofbards @thisislisa @tsukiwolf42 @mosaicscale @rockysstupidity @fontegagrilledcheese @kuripon @help-i-need-a-cool-username @julek @flowercrown-bard @eveljerome

Kiss prompts

#the witcher #twn #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #ghost's writing #prompt fills

[shutupheathersorryheatherr]

Dreams, Sofas, and Whines:

•••••••••••••••••••••••••

so a little bit ago I stumbled across some smut writing prompts and i couldn't stop thinking about them + Kevin and well... it kinda just spiraled from there

promts: "care to help me out?", " Were you dreaming about me again?"

waningz: Oral sex (f receiving), kissing, smut in general, Kevin being not confident in his oral skills lol, sex dreams, couch sex, cursing, clit kissing? Kevin & y/n are fwb, verrry slightly hinted at romantic feelings, afab reader, Kevin’s parents think something’s goin on between y’all (idk if that’s a warning just wanted to put it in there), reader fooling themself into think they don’t wanna fuck Kevin, lots of talk about boners lol, first time having sex with each other, Kevin comes in his pants (no idea what thats called), slight overstim (m receiving), dry humping, switching positions? Don't think there's any mention of reader having tits but reader does have a vagina, finger sucking, Kevin asks reader to guide him as he’s eating them out, hand job, cum eating, reader calls Kevin good boy, and Kevin calls reader sweetheart, mentions of food and talking about kevins hands around a cup with condensation, kevins hands? I’m sorry it’s not edited well :( AND PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD PUT AN AGE INDICATOR IN YOUR BIO SAYING YOURE NOT. A. MINOR!! BEFORE INTERACTING OR ELSE I WILL BLOCK YOU

You and Kevin are friends. No, scratch that, you're best friends. You care about each other more than anything. You've made friends with his parents by now, laughing whenever they send both you suspicious glances and or ever sent the guy a thumbs up whenever you two paired off from y'all's little group. You brushed those little things off with the thought that it was all fun and games. That yeah, all good parents do that with their child's friends. And you know what they say; all the good and more easily believed lies are based in some sort of truth.

The truth was: you knew you were fooling yourself. The thought that your own mind was subconsciously covering up thoughts of him... that had been lingering for a while now. And you knew why you acted that way-- repressing thoughts of his fingers on you, in you, dragging themselves all over you, preferably leaving a trail of his cum in their wake. And the worst thing was, you had these thoughts at the weirdest and most inconvenient times. But you were going off on another tangent. It seems to happen a lot because of the man. Especially right now, which you were brought back to. The reality you were trying to escape from; with his fingers wrapped around a fast-food soda cup, condensation dripping onto his fingers. And fuck, he just wont let go of the thing. He claimed he was thirsty. And you knew he wasn't bluffing. Believe me, you kept your eye of if he drank water that day.

Mostly because you cared for him greatly, but a little sliver of you, the part that knew why your mind was a pot bubbling over when you were around him, wanted to see his fingers wrapped around his canteen or up. But you'd never say that aloud. At least no yet.

You're on your sofa. It's quiet, but not awkward. It's as comfortable as it could be/ Due to his busy all the time schedule, you don't get time like this to just enjoy each other's company in relative silence much. So you're both intent to enjoy it while it lasts. You just weren't prepared to enjoy it as much as you did then. Because somewhere along the way of lazily talking you noticed that Kevin hadn't responded for a while. It wasn't necessarily new. You were both tired, and maybe he just wanted to wait until you were done taking to say anything. But at the second time you called his name. Softly, just in case he was sleeping. You noticed how relaxed he was on his side of the sofa, slumped against the arm rest and pillow clutched to his front. He looked so calm and peaceful and quite frankly beautiful, you thought

A second later you realized that people who really were just friends and only thought about themselves and their relationship that way didn’t stare like that at each other and think those things. So you tossed you blanket off and laid it over his sleeping form. You had suspected he'd stay the night because of how late it was anyways. And how it was the weekend. But why did your mind suddenly flash to both of you, in your bed, with him gripping onto your hips hard enough to leave marks as he mumble doubt a string of incoherent thoughts? Why did a shiver run up and back down your spine when you thought of him spending the night with you another way. One that ended in satisfaction on both of your parts and learning, first hand this time and not because of tipsy confessions about preferences. About each other inside and out. Him leaning what you taste like, you finding out what he feels like.

But that was ow this usually went, he'd come over, do something, two seconds later you'd excuse yourself to the bathroom to go and splash cold water on your face. And you'd torture yourself with him, knowing that he wouldn't ever want you like that. Or at least never admit it to you— Unless he was drunk and sad.... which did happen one time. But that was besides the point, you thought as you climbed into bed, covering yourself with the blankets. You let sleep lull you into a dreamless land as you tossed and turned. You were awoken before dawn, to the sound of... moaning? It was coming from the living room you were sure of it. And that was where Kevin was, wasn't it? In your dreary eyed sleep deprived brain you shot out of bed, thinking he had a bad dream. He had been complaining a lot about those lately whenever he'd dose off and make incoherent sleepy noises that You guessed could be interpreted that way.

You made your way over to him on the sofa. And where greeted with the blissed-out face of him laid, squirming and wigging, on your sofa. he looked so pretty, you thought. There was that slight smile on his face even in sleep. And... oh god he was bucking his hips up toward noting, trying to search for some sort of friction. Your stomach did a kicking routine and, before you knew it your underwear was sticking to our drenched core. Shit, you nearly moaned out, stopping yourself before you got loud enough to wake him. He was having a sex dream... If you couldn't believe it now, then the way he whined out your name made it feel even more real to you. oh shit, it was almost like you couldn't wrap your head around that concept. That he was not only having an apparently very vivid sex dream, but that very vivid sex dream had you in the center of it.

You shook your head and him, before sighing and making your way back to your room. That was when you heard him stirring. You stopped dead in your tracks, cursing to yourself. It seemed like he was still half asleep when get let out a final groan of ecstasy. “Mmmf!” He funnily shot up to look at who was there. And was met with you slowly turning around to meet his eyes. You knew you couldn’t just tell him it was a dream and force hint or go back to bed. Neither of you could. Definitely not with a very prominent tent you could see even through the blanket that he was holding over his chest like he was naked and caught changing.

Which, in all honesty wasn’t that differ t with what you actually caught him with. But this time he had a shirt on… and pj pants… and you didn’t think pjs could ever look that good on someone until now. It was just a regular white tee shirt, a little (very nicely) disfigured and tousled looking, and well ya know pj bottoms. But god, did you wanna take them off. Make the collar of that shirt damp from you sucking at the spot on his neck right about where the white threads stared.

He sunk deeper into the covers he had pulled to his hips when he sat up, realizing what you had walked in on. He leaned forward awkwardly in a miserably failing attempt to hide the ahem problem he was having. You clenched and unclenched your fists in an attempt to stay calm. "Hey!" He said way too happily for the time of night it was and for what had just happened. Cool, you thought, so this is what he wants to do: pretend he wasn't just moaning out my name like he was about to cum?

You gave the man a little wave. "Hey." You started, trying to maintain eye contact, "Sorry I just-- uh" Your stupid eyes just had to choose that moment right then to dart right back down to tent underneath thin blanket. He noticed it too, and bashfully went back to hunching over awkwardly. Why did he have to relax? Doesn't he realize that-- "I though you were having a nightmare. Ya know... you've been telling me... ya know." You rambled.

If it was even possible, he looked even more embarrassed now then before. Before, it was like an, oh shit my fly is unzipped thing. Now, it was like, Oh shit I don't have any pants on thing. He folded his arms and stuck his palms in his armpits, his thumbs tapping wildly at his collarbone where they rested. A sure sign of being nervous of how and what he'd say next. "Oh yeah, that..." He trailed off, as if just remembering. It sounded to you like somebody shouldn't even be "just remembering" now that they've been having bad dreams for a while.

You tried to play it off in your own mind, thinking that maybe he was just embarred by you bringing them up in a situation like this. But you knew him, and this wasn't one of those situations. You couldn't bare to keep lying to yourself about him like that anyways. So why was he acting like he just remembered that? It was almost like... like he was lying. You know that thing people do when they just remember a lie they made up a while ago and try to pass it off like it was totally real? Yeah, that.

So that meant... oh. OH! All this time it hadn't been nightmares. How could you not realize that? Now that you were thinking about it, it kinda was pretty obvious. Maybe it was just what you had wished to believe. NO matter if he did a really bad job at hiding it or not, you knew Everything now. And you also knew that he was looking at your lips currently. His eyes flickering between them and your eyes. Almost like. Like he was asking for permission to kiss you. You smirked at him. Finally he thought. "Where you dreaming bout me again?" You asked

He looked away. And I’m an attempt to hide him doing that he then rolled his eyes. Gosh even him rolling his eyes looked hot. You really needed to stop. “Again?” He scoffed. You took another step forward towards you sofa. “So, you’re still not denying that you were dreaming about me. At least this once.” You knew inside that him only dreaming about you this one little time wasn’t true. If it had been there would’ve been a way bigger chance you’d just leave it alone. Then promptly leave the room. But the that wasn’t the case now was it?

“well I’m not—“ he tried to explain. You shut him up with crossing your arms and wetting your lips. You gave him the look. Like bitch you better not play with me. He pressed his lips together and looked up at you. Finley you nearly whispered. He looked too pretty to be hidden away under a blanket of shame. “Listen,” he started before taking a large breath. Apparently preparing to either rap or deliver a sermon. “Yes. This isn’t the fist one. And only saying that because I know you know. I’ve been trying to hide it but—“ “Kevin I-“ you tried to interrupt him. Talk some sense into the poor guy. But eh only held up his hand at you.

“I’m just so sorry, ok! I know I know. It’s sounds gross. I-I sound gross! For thinking of you that way when we’re only friends and you know it’s weird for me, your friend to be thinking of you that way. Much more dreaming! I understand if you hate me now or you need space. Until I figure… whatever this is out. Or just until whenever you need. Haha it’s uh all up to you really. I get why you would be disappointed in me. I mean, I’m disappointed in me. Cause—“ you grabbed his jaw to shut him up. He blinked a few times, maybe to clear his head like you had done the moment you waked into this situation.

You weighed your options for the hundredth time. You wanted this. Him. And now that you knew he wanted you in the same way you couldn't stop thinking about that that would be like. To have him, for him to have you. Tangled together in a buddle of pure bliss and need, and satisfaction. It'd feel like a breath of fresh air, you thought. You wanted that. Needed it. Both of you did. And at that exact moment, he offered you a small smile, one that meant the world to you. His eyes crinkled beautifully as his lips curled upwards.

He relaxed in your hold. You decided tom bring him a little closer to your lips. And at the joy you saw in his eyes when you did so, you brought him closer still. It was a slow and steady progression. One that, in how much silence you too were in might have been awkward for anyone else. But not you too. It might've taken a couple tentative minutes, but that was how the two of you were.

And then finally, without another moments hesitation, his lips were on yours. And it really did feel like a breath of fresh air to have him there. Moving against you in perfect sync. His back was craned towards you just like his neck, his hand pressed hard into the sofa cushion. Enough to make an intent probably till morning. You shuddered that the thought-- that him and pieces of him would be there till morning. But finally, you decided to relive him of his oddly craned back. You didn't want it aching in the morning. At least that's what you told yourself. You placed a knee on the edge of the sofa cushion. Maybe this was a far as him or you wanted to go, and that would be fine. You just wanted to test if this was going to be the boundary.

But he smiled even more so into the kiss as his other palm came up to hold your face. Much to your delight he even leaned back a little. Though his back wasn't quite hitting the back of the cushion. That was where you'd really like to have him. You were between his legs, the blanket getting farther and farther away from either of yours skin. He let out the first whimper of the night when you got a little closer, his back hitting those cushions with a thud and bouncing off them. His lips formed into a line as he pressed them together, eyes widened and lust blown instead of crinkled now. You leaned in again, cherishing the freeing feeling of his lips. Only for him to chuckle as you got closer. You smiled in return. You scooted close enough to feel his bulge beneath your fingertips. He shuddered at the touch.

You ran your hands through his soft hair, messing it up even more than it already was. He pants when he pulls away. For a moment he just took in your features, no worries about what it'd seem like if he stared at you a second too long. At least not for now. "Care to help me out?" He asked, slapping his hands to his sides. Where was this coming from? You wondered. Being forehead like that wasn't really his forte. And it seemed like he realized how out of character that was for him too. But none the less you still answered him by grabbing both his wrists and placed them on your sides. A silent invitation that you wanted him to "help you out" too.

He immediately set to work, rubbing up and down your sides. It felt so warm and comforting. Having his hands run up and down you. He was still tentative not to get any further down your hips. But you had placed his palms there for a reason. You needed him to touch you. You leaned down to kiss him, grabbing both sides of his face. The kiss felt more needy now. If that was even possible. Like both of you were more urgent to lay the other down.

And lay him down you did. This felt so right with you on top of him. Your bodies pressed together comfortably. You bit down on his bottom lip and he whined again. This time louder, higher in pitch. Fuck you really wanted to hear that again. He brakes the kiss again, his thumbs drawing circles on your tummy. He moistens his lips before speaking, "But really, I'd hate for this to make it weird between us. You mean the world to me. I dunno what I'd do without you. Especially if I knew I drew you away." He nervously coughs and swallows at his own words, probably not expecting for them to be too serious and heavy at a time like this. You were taken aback for a moment, he was just as shocked as you were.

"It'll only be 'weird' if we make it that way, hm? And I'm pretty sure neither of us are feeling anything close to weird right now." You assure him, glancing down at that tent in his pants. He smiles to himself an ducks his head downward to your neck, landing a kiss on it's side. You breathed out a sigh of pleasure at the feeling. Warm lips touching heated skin. "Besides, I could never feel any other way but happiness with you." You added. At that moment he was still close to your neck. But when you said that he glanced up at you before thrusting his head to meet your lips again in an almost chaste kiss. "Yeah, I could say the same about you." He mumbled against your lips. "And you're sure you don't hat me for having those... dreams?" He said tentatively. You kiss him and he smiles at you. "Fuck no. I love em." You said before the both of you dove right back in. You palmed him as he breathed out a moan at eh contact.

You smirked to yourself, feeling proud you could make him feel this way. He practically sounded relieved. "Ah! I-I wanna make you feel good too." He said, stuttering because of the pleasure he was finally getting. Precum was already probably starting to pearl at his tip. At his words you started to grind against his thigh. He flexed it for you and jerked it upwards in time with your movements. "Oh, my-- Fuck!" You moaned, as quietly as you could. God it really did feel good. Better than you'd expected. You taking the lead here and grinding on him what just what he both of you needed. For one, his thigh bone was hitting your clit just right for you to feel like lolling your head back and screaming his name.

You ran your fingers down is chest, feeling of him with one hand. The other was pulling at the strands at the back of his neck. And lost in the feeling of the moment, his mind only filling with the thought that you were feeling good. Sure, you were currently palming him and he never wanted you to stop. But him (even if that part of him was his thigh.) He was making you feel good. He didn't realize how much that thought effected him until he felt his high coming. He started bucking up into your palm, barely unable to think straight and stop the sighs and breathy whines spilling from his mouth. Which for some reason could not stay all the way closed by the way. He really didn't want to come now. He couldn't, not with the whole night ahead of you too.

And it'd also be kinda embarrassing if he came from you palming him that quickly anyways. But goddam the sounds you were making. Right in his ear too. He had to act now or he'd never stop himself. You barely noticed how long you had been grinding on him while palming him still until Kevin slowed your movements. He grasped your hand as well. "No no no," He protested. "I don't want to cum yet." You stopped, unsure of what to do next. He flipped the too of you over so you where now under him. He swallowed you lips whole. Engulfing them in his own in a clash of the heat coming from both of you. You tugged at the bottom of his shirt, signaling that you wanted it off and out of the way. But he just couldn’t seem to tear himself away from you mouth. Probably smiling into the kiss way more than someone who was currently kissing their friend “just cause they’re horny” should be. You could tell he was trying to maintain being cool, calm, and collected. But by the way he was fumbling over the piece of cloth he was trying to get past his shoulders. (And by the way he was awkwardly trying to avoid his boner) He wasn't doing the best job at hiding what he was really feeling.

He didn't even think to move the shirt away from the two of you on the sofa, absent-mindedly placing it beside him as he leaned down towards you again. Thinking that now that he got a taste of you, he'd never be able to stop. And his enthusiasm showed that too. The kiss might've been sloppy, but neither of you wanted to pull away for air because of just how good and right it all felt. You run your hands over every part of his torso, wanting to memorize it. All the while he presses open mouthed kisses on your neck. He groaned at the felling of your warm hands on his skin. The sound reverberating through you and going straight to your core.

He finally pulls himself away from your wonderful lips. You're a little confused when he gets up suddenly and makes his way down your body. He puts in fingers in the waistband of your pants. "Can I... can I eat you out?" He asks. And did he really think you'd say no? How the fuck could you ever refuse that? Not like you've been having dreams about him snaking his togue down your folds and sucking on your clit. So he gently pulls your pants down like he was afraid he'd mess up an act so trivial as that. He places them by his shirt that was somehow kicked onto the floor at some point in the last few minutes. You can see him swallow thickly when you help him shimmy out of your underwear. He mumbled an "oh shit." In what nearly sounded like a moan coming from him like that. And it only made you wetter. He licks his lips in a way that almost made it seem like he was teasing you.

He licks a long stripe up you, landing at your clit and staying there for a second. Just testing the waters for now, but it was a whole new type of ecstasy for you. You let out a strangled moan and he dives in at the sound. With his newfound eagerness (or maybe now he just wasn't holding back his want for you) He latches his mouth into your clit like a man starved of water and sucks. His lips wrapped around you and his ears listening to what pace made you moan the loudest. He whines into you in return, sending a shock wave of pleasure through you and up your veins. Your hands find their way to his shoulders again, rubbing small circles with your thumbs on his back. "Shit, shit, shit" you chant. And he's trying. Trying so damn hard to stop himself from coming apart at the seams and turning into a mess when you start bucking your hips into his face. He takes a second to move away from you.

"This okay?" He asks, looking up at your wit hooded eyes clouded with even more lust, and want, and pure need than before. Your hands went to his hair to move him closer to your pussy. "God yes." You pant, "Why'd you stop?" It sounded like a plea. And Kevin wasn't about to refuse you. It's just, you knew this but... he'd only done this once before .And he didn't even think he was that good at it then. What about now? Years later. And he knew what worked for one person probably wouldn't work for the other. So if he was being honest, he had no idea what he was doing. He tried to remember what you told him you liked a while ago. What you had talked about with him. But his mind was so overwhelmed with the taste pf you, the scent of you, that he was here, with you, doing this, the sound of your moans for him, and just plain old making sure he doesn't embarrass himself and 1) not make you feel good. And 2) cum in his pants or make a weird sound that turns you off. So after licking another stripe up you, sticking to what he knows, he pulled away form you again. You, thinking that he wants to kiss you, don't think much of it. Until he speaks.

His hands go to your his and rest there, rubbing your skin. "Can you guide me?" He asks. You nearly let you a pleasured sigh at the thought. Now you really wish he'd kiss you. "Thought you'd never ask." So you knotted your fingers in his hair again and guided him back down to your dripping pussy. He let out a breathy moan at the sensation of your fingers curled in his hair, firmly planted at the roots, almost feeling like you were grounding him. He can't help it anymore, his hips start to jolt an buck into the sofa cushion. The friction he feels is all too much and not enough all at once. He wants more. More more more of you. And he can't seem to stop. But really, he probably should. He buries his face in you slowly, his nose hitting your clit. You groan. He goes back up to it and plants a little kiss there, making you repeat the sound. Then... he's lost on what to do again. "A little down." You step in. He moved from your clit to your hole and dips his pretty wet tongue into you. That's when you just about lost it. "Oh Fuck!" He wiggles it around inside of you, stretching you out with just his tongue beautifully.

"That-- keep doing that." You pant. trying hard to keep yourself from stuttering. More spit gets mixed with your juices and it becomes messier, more frantic as his lips buck faster and start rolling into the cushion. The fabric of his underwear beginning to grow a wet patch where his cock was confined. "Flatten your tongue." You say, your eyes never leaving his as he glances up at you. You guide him up to your clit again and he does just as he was instructed. "Good boy." You mumble out, your fingers ghosting over his shoulders. You start bucking into his face again, trying your hardest not to suffocate him. You tug on his hair to bring him closer to you. And he whines out. The sound again going straight to your core. Shit you really were close, you could practically feel yourself dripping onto his tongue. He grips your hips a little tighter. His fingers sneaking downwards towards your tights. His thrusts into the edge of your sofa become deeper and more frantic and he can't hold back any longer. He literally cannot.

After trying to concentrate on you more than his need to release. (Bad idea, now all he can think about is how you taste.) He licks, and swirls his tongue the way he came to realize you liked it after trial and "error" that felt more like teasing all around just where you needed him most for you. You could feel how much he was really paying attention to how loud you moaned and how much you squirmed under him when he did something a little different; Your hands grasped his hair a little tighter as he started fucking you with that delicious tongue of his. That's when, with a final buck of his hips into your sofa he spilled in his pants with a series of whines, never once pulling his mouth away from you.

The vibrations and those lovely sounds he was making was sending you over the edge. With his face burred in your cunt, you couldn't help but look down at him. And to your surprise he was already looking deep into your eyes this whole time. You couldn't help but wonder if he was staring at that way when he was coming. And god, the thought of him coming in his pants untouched from just him licking you. It did something to your already nearly coming state. A second later and you were coming apart just as desperately as he was. He made sure to lap up every bit of release you so lovingly spilled out for him. He was still grinding down onto your sofa cushions, not really caring about that dull ach that was starting to form within him. He's just still too hard to think about anything else than feeling relief again. And you're still bucking up into his face, no mater how breathless you are from his mouth.

You start getting aroused again from his mouth still being on you. "K-kiss, please." Is the first word uttered between the two of you after starting to come down from your highs. Kevin says it, you comply. He shoots up towards you and this time you're the one who is swallowing his lips whole with a kiss. You taste yourself on his tongue. He couldn't help but breath out a little whine into you. It's more of a sigh of relief more than anything, though. All breathy, and stupidly hot sounding. Too good not to try and get out of him again.

He's closer to you know. His crotch on your thigh. Definitely in a much better position, you think. And that's when an idea pops into your head. You smirk into his lips and roll your hips into him. He freezes, his lips stoping thier movements on yours for a moment. He doesn't know how he should respond to this. Should he return the gesture? Should he just keep kissing you and not do anytging about it? Do you wanna go again cause fuck he would not in the slightest be opposed to that. He slowly pulls his kiss blown, wet, and puffy lips away from you. You can't help but think that you're mezmerized by the taste, the feeling, of him him him. "Can I--" He can barely get the words out of his mouth, his mind too clouded by pure lust for you. And maybe just a little bit of nervousness of what you're going to say. Luckily, you know what he was aiming for. "Yes! Fuck, god please yes." You say quickly.

At that moment, just like before. All you want is him. Near you, on you, all over you it really doesn't matter. And by the look in his eyes and the way he feverishly kisses you after you stop talking he might even want it more than you if that was even possible. Not a minute later he grinds into you, unable to stop himself, really. You just feel so good. Any of you and all of you. Even if it was "just your thigh." Though it wasn't "just" anything to him. far from it. Any part of you he could have. Whatever part of yourself you'd let him partake felt wonderful to him. He starts panting again as you chase his thigh and grind up against him. You let out a throaty groan. And wow, before then he didn't think someone's thigh could fee so nice. So satisfying to all his senses and more. His sweat pants clad legs. Oh god you never thought that someone’s thigh could feel so good to you. He had it positioned just right, no doubt on purpose. So that whenever either of you two moved his right bone that would wonderfully flex would rub up against your clit deliciously. In a way that made you wanna suck and bite on his lips. And that made you realize that he still has his pants on. And that now, you really wanted to see him. All of him. So only one of you having your pants off simply won't do. You snuck your hand down to his bulge just like before.

"it feels really ah! good when y-you do that." He sighed out when your hand made contact with his length. He bucked into your hand then looked at you with sorry eyes. He had a feeling he knew you were just trying to remove his pants. And he wouldn’t be supposed to that. You’d be equal. Skin on skin. And you know not trying to give him a hand job. But he really couldn’t help himself.

Believe me, he wanted to. He really wanted to. But you, both of you, here, like together. It was too much to handle. He realizes he probably sounds really needy. But he also realizes that you don't seem to mind. If anything, it kinda looks like you enjoy him being like this for you. He let the final bit of nervousness that bubbled up out of him and into his mind slip away from his mind as you slipped off his pants. You take a final glance at him before you, under you. Asking for permission by toying with the elastic of his boxers. He nods his head. "Mmhm. Yes... Please." He breathed. You slip your fingers expertly inside just like you had so easily pulled off his pants. Your fingers come in contact with his rock hard dick and all thoughts leaves his mind. He doesn't know what to do. He wants to throw his head back and let the moan fly past his lips about just how good it all feels with you on top of him like this. He also really wants to lean forward towards you and suck on your neck or your chest, or just something to show you how much he likes what you're doing.

He settles for a groan into your skin.

You grind down on him, his thigh providing a perfect sensation to bring you closer to your high. It seems to hit you just right. And if you had been wearing your underwear and shorts still you would've long soaked through them. It was like him and body was practically made for you. "You know you can touch me too, right?" You asked him, sounding a little more breathless than you wanted to from all those wonderful sensations he was giving you. Looking down at the man, you saw he was halfway unraveled under you. At the invitation his hands shoot up to your hips and run up and down your sides, taking a second to respond cause of how delicious your hand felt wrapped around him tightly like it was. "Oh, uh yeah-- mm! sorry." He broke his sentence when your thumb brushed past his tip. That made him want to give you more too. You know, make you feel the same wonderful way you were making him?

He flexed his thigh again and bucked it up into you to meet the next roll of your hips halfway. "Oh, god-- Kevin!" You grunted. "S-top, stop teasing." He whimpered at your words. He felt good. Well, more than good knowing that he made you feel that way. No longer was he focused on both of you. Now it was just all you and how he could bring you to the edge along with him. Both of you are panting, the skin of your legs sticking together and your torso feeling just as hot at your core as his warm lovely hands feel around you. In a spur of the moment decision, he holds your hips, steadies them, and helps you grind on his thigh. You let out a long breathy sigh of relief at the feeling he's made for you. This angle makes the stimulation a little harder, and boy does it make you go into overdrive. Your hand picks up speed stroking him as he helps you get off on him, loving and relishing the thought himself.

It feels like heaven in a moment this way. All of your slick is pooling onto him. But he doesn't mind, it makes him wanna cum right now actually. Your heat starts pulsating on him a few seconds later and neither of you could take it anymore. IT was the feeling of his bare warm thigh rubbing up against your bare heat as it feels like he's almost torturing your clit with how good it feels. The both of you came together. Him with a high pitched strangled moan and you with something equally as desperate. He whines deliciously with his face buried into your neck. Noting else on either of your minds except each other. Your fingers become sticky with his release to match the skin of his thigh. You're left panting and wreathing as you fall on top of him, his chin landing on top your head and planting a kiss there a second later. You're still clenching around noting as he wraps his arms around your back.

Your hand releases him and you slide yourself off his thigh. He lets out a hiss because of how sensitive he is and because of the loss of the warm comforting contract of your palm. He faces you as you lay there beautiful next to him. You're all sweaty and tired from the lovely whirlwind you took each other on, but to him you couldn't have looked more amazing as your panting faded away in sync. "Sorry I made a mess on your hand." He said into the crook of your neck, his breath fanning over your skin and kiss nose rubbing up against you. You perked up at that, almost having forgotten about it before. You looked down at your hand at your side. "Oh yeah... that." You chuckled, bringing your fingers to your mouth as you made eye contact with him. He seemed to realize what you were about to do and grabbed your wrist the minute it was close enough to his reach.

You watched him as he guided them to your mouth and dipped them in ever so gently that the touch would barely be viewed as anything sexual. He looked at your in awe as you sucked on your own fingers. Once they were out of your mouth he did the same with his own, savoring the taste of your arousal on his tongue the same way you had done with his. It brought him back to not long ago when he was licking you to your first orgasm. And he never wanted to stop tasting you, and it. "God, y/n." He starts, throwing his head back onto the pillow he had slept on earlier you both were cuddled up on, "You taste so good." You enveloped his lips in a kiss, your mouths moving in perfect sync just as before. Everything you both felt poured into one act seemingly as simple as that. You both eventually (sadly) had to brake apart. You tucked the hair that fell into Kevin's face up and behind his ear, your fingers lingering there for a moment. He popped up into a sitting position.

"I'll go get a cloth for the uh... mess." HE gestured towards his leg and the rest of his release on your hand as he was searching for his pants underneath the messy blanket. He slipped them on, not bothering with his shirt, not like you minded one bit. He really was a sight to see. A second later you heard the water running in your bathroom and pulled yourself off the sofa too. Your feet hit the cold floor with a chill, already missing his warmth. You shimmed on your underwear and headed to where Kevin was found, standing in front of your sink shutting off the water. You leaned on the doorframe and watched him peel down his pants and wipe of the remnants of your slick off his thigh. You didn't think about much while you were posted there, just breathing lightly and freely. Just like you always felt you could around him. Once he was done and he had cleaned off your hand (he insisted he do it.)

You kissed him dearly. Neither of you really want to let go or think about what any of this would mean for both of you. Just that it felt really good and really right. You pulled him down to you more, seated on your toilet. His hands found their places on either side of you. A feeling safe rather than caged in. He pulls away just enough to look into your eyes. "We've got all night... Or forever to do whatever you want. Whichever one works." He smiles

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#the boyz kevin #kevin moon smut #kevin moon x reader #kevin moon #the boyz #the boyz x reader #the boyz smut #the boyz fluff #the boyz imagines #tbz #the boyz ambw #ambw #kevin x poc reader #tbz ambw #tbz smut #tbz kevin #k pop smut #kevin moon imagines #tbz imagines #Ghost's writing

[how-to-hide-a-body]

A Conundrum

Conundrum

noun

defined as, a confusing and difficult problem or question

Love

why must it always be synonymous with conundrum

ENTER: You;

My first best friend

attached at the hip, two peas in a pod

a smile was plastered on my face the moment i saw you till after our final goodbyes

I would have happily spent every second of the day with you until the end of time

I loved spending time with you

I loved our sleepovers

I loved sleeping on the top bunk with you, chatting until we passed out from exhaustion

I loved being near you

I loved,

you...

but you nor I understood so I pushed those thoughts to the back of my mind

convinced myself your first relationship left a little pit in my heart because I was jealous 

you had something I didn’t after our life of moving at the same pace, moving together

or was I just jealous of them and how they could be with you

ENTER: Her;

Friends

we were trying to discover ourselves

going through the period of a desperate need of an understanding

of the world, one’s self, how the two fit together

confiding in each other about what we thought it meant

who we thought we were

when the world broke me down you were the cleanup crew

I thought we fit together

us two against the world

all the times you put me back together i never thought you could also tear me down

five words, all it took was five words

meant innocently enough 

my heart dropped louder than thunder, harder than the downpouring rain

“I only like masc girls”

why did it hurt so much

because as time goes on it becomes more muddied, did i love you or the idolized you that I created

the golden haired blue eyed saint who swooped in to save me from the cruel world

the golden haired girl with an infectious laugh and a smile that could light up a room

whose beauty shone brighter than the sun, in my eyes you had always been the brightest star

in truth you never saved me

you never stepped in to defend me, I probably did that more often for you

even now I try to justify it, preserve your perfect image in my head

maybe you had been scared to stand up

afraid of the exile and isolation just as much as I

but if that was true why did you lie, play along with their game

you could have been a better person. but you weren’t.

then again was I?

either way the bright light of your presence shines even brighter than I remember, hotter

less a far away star and more a bright burning ball of light

so much so that even your name sends me recoiling to the depths of my darkness

wanting to reach out and bask in your light again but not wanting to be scorned by the heat

do my desires outweigh my fears, are you worth the risk?

because the mere thought of you can send me back to the scared desperate middle-schooler of my past

and I guess in a way I’ll always be her

Conundrum

noun

defined as, a question asked for amusement; a riddle

maybe someday I’ll move away from you

#poem #orignal poetry #original writing #poetry #writing #writer #poetsandwriters #poet #my life is a mess #original poem #original #original post #poems to cope #ghost's poems #ghost's writing #unrequited #love #love poem #unrequited love #what is love anyways #why is love so hard

[whereserpentswalk]

Reblog to curse your followers and mutuals.

#196 #my thougts #worldbuilding #writing #my worldbuilding #my writing #fantasy #urban fantasy #magical realism #faeries #faerie #fae #fairy #fairies #vampires #vampirism #vampyr #vampire #cyborgs #ghosts #ghost #werewolf #unreality #cosmic horror #eldrich horror #dark fantasy #transformation #monster transformation #vampiric #undead

[ghostly-whiskey]

simon riley who you "meet" through a program where you can send care packages to soldiers. you don't think much of it at first, just a simple package with a few necessities and treats. and along with that, a short, but genuine and handwritten letter thanking the unknown soldier to you for their service.

and when you go to retrieve your mail a few weeks later after getting home from work, brows furrowing together as you shuffle through the stack of envelopes.

bill. another bill. advertisement. paycheck. handwritten addressed envelope from 'ghost'.

your brain doesn't even connect the dots until you are inside, fingers gently picking at the envelope until your able to drag a finger through the seal to open it. a simple piece of what looks like notebook paper is pulled from inside. unfolding it, eyes quickly scan the letter to get an idea what it's about.

you've done plenty of care packages before. never did you get a personalized thank you letter back, so, this was a first. the letter starting off by thank you for the package and that he enjoyed the items, especially the "sweet treats". the two words put in quotations as he referred to what you referred to them as in your own letter. your own brain cringing slightly as you remember what you wrote.

again, thank you for all that you do and enjoy the sweet treats!

and while you expected the letter to end after thanking you, it didn't. additional lines asking about you. the sets of questions ranging from asking how long have you been doing the care packages to general questions about yourself. then, at the very end, after signing off as 'ghost', you couldn't help but notice the chicken scratch of handwriting that added:

p.s. you don't need to respond back if you don't want to, just figured it be nice to get something back in return. thanks again.

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon riley #simon ghost x reader #simon riley fluff #simon riley cod #simon riley x reader fluff #simon ghost riley x reader fluff #simon ghost riley fluff #ghost cod #call of duty #୨୧˚whiskey writes˚୨୧ #୨୧˚whiskey writes ghost˚୨୧

[suguann]

When you first introduce him, Simon instantly knows that he hates your now ex-boyfriend—especially after he broke up with you only two months into the relationship, and the reason behind it sets his teeth on edge.

You’re perfect and so sweet; how could he—

“He broke up with me because…I um…Do I really have to say it? It’s embarrassing.” 

He bumps his knee into yours because he really fucking sucks at saying the right thing when the moment calls for it. “You don’t have to say anything.”

With a huff, you get a little flustered and glance down into your glass of beer, brows furrowed. “I couldn’t make him fit.” 

It’s so soft, but he hears it as if you’d shouted it across the bar.

The only thought he can think of is that your ex-boyfriend is an idiot once he has your back pressed up against his chest and trembling thighs spread over top of his. Three of his thick fingers already work deep inside of you, filling the room with filthy squelching sounds and your breathy moans.

His thumb carefully drags over your clit, loving how you twitch in his arms. “See? Someone just needed to stretch your little pussy properly, huh?”

“Mhm.” You nod, pressing yourself further into him, thighs butterflying open. “It feels so good.”

“You’re so loose and wet. I bet my cock would slip right in.”

Your walls clench and flutter around him, and it takes everything in him not to toss you onto the bed and fuck you into his sheets. “Simon, can you fuck me? Please?” 

It’s hard to deny you when you ask so sweetly, but he can’t give you what you want—not yet. You whine when he pulls one of his fingers out, but it cuts off into a surprised squeak when he grabs your smaller hand to bring it between your thighs. 

“Put one of your fingers inside your pussy.”

You turn your head to look up at him, kiss-bitten lips pulled into a pout. “But—”

“Come on, love, be good for me.” Teeth nip your jaw as a warning. “I know you can be so good for me.”

Slowly, you ease your finger in beside his with little pants of his name. His cock jumps against your back as he watches your cunt open up to suck in the intrusion—it makes his stomach twist. Simon traps your finger between his and curls them alongside his inside you, tearing a sharp cry from your chest.

“You’re so gorgeous.” His words are raw, rumbling somewhere deep within his chest. “I’m gonna make you feel so good. So full. Better than your boyfriend ever could.”

Masterlist

#simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley smut #simon riley imagine #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x you #ghost x reader #ghost imagine #ghost smut #cod smut #cod fic #cod imagine #cod x reader #mw2 smut #mw2 x reader #mw2 imagine #.things i write

[elexaria]

simon swore up and down he’d never want kids, he was certain he’d end up just like his old man and he would rather die than let a child grow up how he did. he tells you, “look at the state of me, yeah? not exactly father material, am i? i’m tapped in the head, ‘ts not fair to give a kid any of that.” as he taps his temple with his pointer finger.

years pass, and those words echo in your mind as he holds your chubby baby in his rough hands, one gently splayed on their soft tummy while the other supports their head. he’s gently suspending your baby in the air, mimicking helicopter noises as they squeal and giggle happily. simon has the biggest grin on his face as your 3 year old begs him to let them have a turn as a rileycopter, small hands tugging on his cargo pants with pouty lips.

not exactly father material, simon? you beg to differ.

#elexaria writes #cod x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #ghost #ghost cod #simon ghost x reader

[imagine-shenanigans]

thinking about you going up to three broad shouldered men in a bar because your crazy ex/some random creep/etc is following you and you beg them to pretend they know you. You slide into the empty space at the table theyve commandeered and right as the other guy comes up a scary looking big motherfucker with a balaclava and eyeblack slots himself right in next to you. You press yourself into his side when the creep comes up and you call Ghost your boyfriend, and Ghost (as you later learn to call him) grabs your hip possessively, tucking you in closer.

He doesn't let you go, later, when the creep fucks off. Instead, he slips your phone out of your pocket and puts his contact inside. Texts himself and slips it back into your pocket while making eye contact. Blows smoke in your face and snorts when you wave it away, huffing at him and sticking your cute little tongue out at him.

You have fun with the military men that night, Ghost even walks you home to feel safe. You wake up the next day, happy to be safe and sound, and go about your day. Forget all about Ghost for awhile, because he never texts you first.

Weeks later, youre in the middle of your kitchen when he walks in, a copy of your key in his hand. Slots himself in behind you and rests his chin on your head even when you panic and claw at him.

What? He's home now, came home to you, his partner. Just like you wanted, right? You wanted him, now you've got him.

#ghost cod #cod #mod strawberry #strawberry writing #just a disjointed thought i might expand on later #hes large and yummy your honor #amd a freak

[ghost-proofbaby]

MORDOR (a barista!eddie x barista!reader au)

summary: you take a chance, and decide to call mordor.

warnings: fem!reader (use of she/her pronouns), mentions of life struggles (reader's turn to go through it), references to previous addition in this series so might be a little harder than normal to read as stand alone! this is really just me projecting on my need for eddie munson to comfort me

wc: 4.8k+

the full menu

You’re late. So, so fucking late. 

It panics Eddie. He sat in his car for that extra hour just waiting for your ridiculously bright yellow Jeep to pull in beside him, and when you still hadn’t by the time Nicole arrived, his chest twisted. When Nicole gets out of her car, and you’re still not there, his stomach churns.

Where are you? Are you okay? 

You hadn’t texted Nicole. You don’t call the store as the two of them flit about and try to manage opening without you. And when the time arrives to unlock the doors for the customers, Nicole finally excused herself to try and call you herself. 

Eddie scorns himself for not having your number. How stupid is it that you two have made a pact to be friends, and yet here he is weeks later, still not having your number.

“Any luck?” he asks, trying to level his tone when Nicole returns and he’s turning on the ovens.

“Nope,” her brows furrowed as she quickly scoots behind him, heading towards the front register, “It went straight to voicemail. Which, I mean… she’s never been late. Not like this.” 

“Should we be worried?” 

It’s a stupid question. He’s already worried. He’s frazzled enough to say fuck it, toss down his apron, and send out a search party for you rather than worrying about the store.

“Maybe,” Nicole shrugs, as if this doesn’t concern her as much as it does Eddie. As if there’s not sirens going off in her head as well. As if your sudden lack of punctuality is something to just shrug off.

As if your absence doesn’t rattle her the way it rattles Eddie. 

An hour passes by. Eddie gets more restless. Constantly looking to the store’s front door, incessantly checking outside the drive thru window for any sign of you or that damn Jeep. Every time the phone rings, Eddie has to curl his hands into fists to let Nicole answer rather than him. Each time, when he looks at her, the subtle shake of her head tells him it’s not you. His tongue nearly bleeds from how he chews on it with his molars to stop from asking her if she had tried to reach you again. He knows she has, notices how she spends extra time in the back, no doubt sending texts and useless calls alike your way.

If it were any other coworker, both Eddie and Nicole would be fuming. Concern would be replaced with irritation

He’s actually reaching to untie his apron and informing her that he’ll start trying to reach you instead when you finally come bursting into the store, a full two hours late to your shift. 

“Fuck,” you whisper-exclaim as you power walk through the lobby, “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” 

“You’re here!” he doesn’t bother keeping down his volume at the sight of you, flooded with immediate relief.

You’re okay. 

“I’m so sorry,” the apologies immediately begin to pour from your lips as you nearly trip rounding the corner into the back room, Eddie hot on your trail, “I’m so, so sorry! Shit, I- I just slept through my alarm, and had a late night, and-“ 

You’re digging your apron out of your bag when he finally reaches out to softly grab your arm, squeezing gently in an offer of comfort as you finally pause. 

“It’s fine,” he promises, “Everyone is late every once and a while.” 

Nicole was in the bathroom, but he’s sure that she’d say the same thing. The entire morning, both her and Eddie had been more worried than anything. Not mad, not irritated, but worried. 

And yet, you’re still on the verge of tears as you look up at Eddie, “It’s not fine. You had to open the store all on your own, and I know that’s stressful, and I saw all the missed calls but my phone was on silent. I mean, my shift’s already half over at this point. And I just-“ 

You cut off your rambling with a shaky breath. It breaks his heart to see you so upset, so guilt-ridden over something that happens to the best of you all. 

“It’s okay,” he stresses once more, another squeeze on your arm, “You had a late night? Is everything okay?” 

You open your mouth to answer him, the no already forming on your lips, when Nicole returns from the bathroom.

“Oh my gosh, there you are!” she exclaims.

And just like that, Eddie’s chance to be there for you as you were for him has vanished into thin air.

—

Your shift may have lasted several hours less than it was meant to, but you’re convinced it’s the absolute worst hours of your life. Which is saying a lot given how your life has gone to shit the last two days. 

You were already falling behind on classes, and your bank account was in the negative due to tuition payments. Your mother was calling every day to spend hours on the phone under the guise of catching you up at what you were missing at home, when in all reality it was just her complaining without taking a breath or allowing you to say a single word. You had to take your cat to the emergency vet when he wasn’t eating, only to find out he probably just didn’t like his current food anymore after a series of very expensive tests. Thing after thing, punch after punch, was being thrown your way. It was all just a bit much. 

And then you were late to work. Slept in after forgetting to set an alarm after a late night of staying up and listening to a friend rant over the phone. Burnt your hand not once but twice on the ovens. Spilt an entire cup of hot coffee on yourself. 

Life was out to get you. 

And the only good thing about today was Eddie. 

When the clock finally signals for the two of you to step off the floor, you’re sighing out in relief. You have no idea what the next issue will be waiting for you off the clock, but you’ve accepted that the day couldn’t get worse. And yet, as you go to grab your bag, wrapping your apron by muscle memory as you watch him, your stomach churns at the thought of today’s time being cut so short today. You just like being around him. You like making inside jokes, sharing quick glances, making one another laugh until your stomachs ache over stupid things in the midst of chaos. He’s a guiding light, something to look forward to, a wonderful break from reality that you just… you just cherish.

As you’re tearing up suddenly at the realization along with the heavy weight of your week, you recall that conversation last week. The word you two had assigned for when you needed a break.

Technically, it was probably a joke. Or to be used to ditch work. He probably hadn’t meant it.

But you have to try.

“Hey, uh, Eddie?” you ask nervously, fiddling with the straps of your bag as he’s patting his pockets for all his items.

“Yeah?” he doesn’t look up yet, doesn’t see the forlorn look across your face.

Just say it. If he doesn’t get it – no harm, no foul. If he gets it, and rejects the motion – oh well. The worst he can say is no. 

You have to swallow hard, take a sharp breath, before you can get the single word out. “Mordor.” 

He freezes mid-pat, hands hovering over his front pockets as he slowly looks up. 

“What did you say?”

“Mordor,” you repeat yourself, with a little more confidence to your tone this time. The worst he can say is no. 

For a second, you become convinced he’s forgotten all about that conversation in the parking lot. You really don’t blame him; half the time, you guys discuss anything and everything with minimal importance. Those early and surreal mornings are always more about spending time with one another, with a friend, than it is about actually processing the things said.

But then, two things happen. Firstly, the wrinkles between his brows smooth out. A second passes. And then – they return. 

Sloping ridges and mountains in that small space, each and every bit of them etched with worry. For you. The corners of his mouth deeply downturn and all the white noise of the front of house fades away the longer he looks at you with such care. 

“Mordor?” he echoes, “Like, as in… as in our code word?” 

You feel as if the moment you speak up, all that strength you had mustered throughout the shift will shatter. You’re tired and you’re beaten, you’re desperate and you’re hoping. You don’t even care if he tells you he doesn’t have time to properly sit and unwind with you right now – you’d settle for just a hug. The same arms that bump against yours and that sometimes stretch along your space to grab things from around you, the same arms you’ve seen strain as he insists on carrying heavy kegs for you, the same arms you just want to wrap around you, if even for a second, and squeeze. 

Who knows? Maybe, if he squeezes tight enough, he can put all the broken shards of the week back into place. It’s not his job to fix it, but you’re convinced for a moment, he’s the key to everything just feeling okay for nothing more than a mere second. 

You nod. If you answer him with words, you’re going to cry. The tears are already eagerly burning your corneas. 

He says your name softly, gentle enough that you have to pinch your eyes shut and take a shaky breath to avoid any spillage of your emotions. 

“Are you okay?” 

“No,” you try to make it a laugh, as if this is a joke, “I, uh- not really?” 

“Is it because you were late today?”

Your voice cracks and your eyes squeeze shut tighter for a second as you answer with a weak, “Kind of.” 

You let your eyes snap open again, try and seek out some everpresent warmth in his honey brown ones as your vision blurs a bit with shameful tears. 

You’ve never realized just how many shades resided in those irises, all warm and cool browns alike swirling. They almost match the espresso, you come to realize. And it’s funny, to think about the way all your other coworkers whisper just as scary and grumpy he is the moment he’s out of earshot. It’s funny how customers seem to crumple timidly beneath his disassociating gaze when he finds himself lost in thought on bar or warming. Every single other person who has stepped foot in this store seems to have one impression of Eddie, and it’s not even a proper shadow of the man before you. 

All soft edges. All care and all warmth. He’s not scary, he’s not grumpy; he’s careful and considerate, a little shy at times, a little hesitant at others. And you can only imagine why he’s that way, when you can see someone entirely different reflected in those goddamn honeyed eyes in this moment. 

He takes a step forward. Opens his mouth to speak. Goes as far to even begin to reach out a hand. And then he’s interrupted. 

“Thank you for your patience,” Nicole chirps into her headset as she comes into the back room, turning a corner with determination and snatching a sleeve of cups off the shelves as she continues to speak over the drive thru channel with ease, “Can we get you started with anything to eat today?” 

His mouth closes and his hand drops as you both glance down at the floor, completely silent as you wait for her to finally retreat back out onto the floor without a second glance at the two of you. 

The tears still burn and blur your vision. 

“Okay,” Eddie says the moment the two of you are alone in the back once more, “Okay. Mordor it is. Come with me, sweetheart.” 

Sweetheart. It rolls off his tongue and it wraps around you before he reaches out and grabs at your hand, only connecting palms and avoiding intertwining fingers before he’s tugging you out the back door. 

Not even through the front. As if he wants to save you the embarrassment of a walk of shame with teary eyes and defeated shoulders.

“We can’t-” you start to protest, but he’s already wrangled the key that is left in the back door – impressively quickly, as even you struggle with that fickle lock at times – before he shoves the door open wordlessly and yanks you out with him wordlessly. 

The door doesn’t even slam shut. It feels like a dramatic moment where it should, but it only closes back with a whisper and soft whoosh of air. 

“They have to do a trash run anyways,” he reassures you when you look back at the unlocked door with worry, referring to the overflowing trash that would soon be taken out to the dumpster in the distance, “It’s fine.” 

The soil crunches beneath both of your sneakers as he makes a beeline to his van. No questions are asked, just as you two had joked about. 

The sun is still favoring the Eastern sky despite growing warmer in the late morning. Eddie’s van is stuffy when he initially unlocks it for both of you to jump into the front, him being sure to open the passenger door for you and only shutting it closed once you’ve securely settled into that seat you’ve spent countless early hours in. 

He starts up the vehicle once he’s in his driver’s seat, but makes no move to drive off as he stares at you. 

“What?” you whisper, voice still strained as you toss your bag down by your feet. 

All he says in return, still gentle and still warm, still glowing brighter than the man everyone seems to think he is, is a reminder of, “Seatbelt.” 

You obey that half-spoken command. You don’t ask where you two are going once he shifts into drive the moment the click sounds in the small space.

—

Eddie drives for a while. He gets onto the freeway in the opposite direction of your way home, and you probably should be worried, but you aren’t. You have no mental capacity for consideration of how you’ll get back to your car, whether your coworkers will worry about it remaining in the parking lot, or whether Eddie even knows where he’s going. Hell, even his slightly erratic driving doesn’t affect you. 

You just stare at the trees as they pass by in a blur. Your mind numbs, smells of a rainstorm in the distance slips into the cabin of the vehicle through the cracks in the back windows, and you just let go. 

If your mother knew what you had done today, you would have absolutely been reamed a new one. 

Eddie slows at an unfamiliar exit, just after the two of you pass a small green sign that reads NOW ENTERING HAWKINS CITY LIMITS. 

“Hawkins?” you murmur your first noise of the entire drive. 

“You ever been?” Eddie asks as if you hadn’t been catatonic the entire way here. 

You prop an elbow up on the door, fist digging into the side of your face as you lean and take in the scenery now passing by a bit slower, “Can’t say I have.” 

“Well, then,” he keeps talking, and it’s sort of comforting after the long silence, “Consider yourself lucky.” 

That gets a snort out of you. One that has his head turning quickly to look at you as he slows at the first redlight after the freeway, a grin twitching on his lips softly as he takes in the sight of you. 

He must think you can’t see him staring, because he continues to do it, until the light has changed green and he’s made no move to press on his gas.

“It’s green.”

“Huh?”

You look over at him, his rosy cheeks and diverted eyes at being caught, and repeat yourself with more emphasis, “The light’s green, idiot.” 

“Oh, shit!” 

Another snort, another rapid (albeit shorter) glance on his part. 

He’s got a nice smile. Even if he might totally be a secret serial killer who was just jumping at the opportunity to murk his unsuspecting and vulnerable coworker in the middle of the woods. He could get away with it with a smile like that. 

It’s only once he’s turned onto a dirt road that leads out into the woods that you really care to finally ask one of the first questions you probably should have asked the moment you got in his van – “Uh, Eddie? Where… Where are you taking me?” 

“Trust me,” he insists, both hands gripping his wheel with care as he navigates the car into thicker foliage, “I promise I’m not going to, like, murder you.” 

“Sounds like something someone who is going to murder me would say,” you put in a little extra effort, offering him the joke and more than a snort this time. 

You don’t miss the swell of pride that lifts him to sit up just a tad bit straighter in his seat. As if your joking, as if your laughing, was something he was proud to elicit from you. 

“Guess you’ll just have to wait and find out, then.” 

He drives pretty deeply into the woods, until the road turns rougher and the treeline is thick enough you can’t catch clearsight of the main road anymore. You really should be worried, but all you do instead of mustering up any anxiety is roll down the window. It makes him glance at you, but you don’t pay that look any mind. 

The smell of rain is even stronger, heavy as it mingles with the scent of pine and dirt. It somehow dances between something familiar and something new, a distant memory that unlocks and soothes some of that tightness that had been residing in your chest for a week now. It doesn’t smother, but it does gather up in your nose, tickling in the slightest. You swear, if you were to focus hard enough, you’d pick up on the comforting smell of a burning campfire somewhere. It just seemed like the kind of appropriate scent to add to the essence of it all. The strings of light that break through leaves in golden hues, the cloud spitting out of his back tires as he clearly goes just above the recommended speed for this old road, the pleasant chirp of a bird that whistles right past – the essence of pure comfort to someone like you. 

It kind of makes you wish you lived in Hawkins, just as you assumed Eddie did. 

He finally slows the van into a clearing, never once scolding you for rolling the window down. He leaves you as you twist your body in what must be an uncomfortable fashion to rest your chin on the top of the door, cheeks and nose just barely peeking out of the car. Every slap of the breeze on your face feels as though you’re releasing another bit of worry to the wind, your chest continuing to grow lighter and lighter. 

“Alright, Sunshine,” he clears his throat, throwing the van into park. The clearing is very obviously a small campsite – you can make out a fire pit just a few paces away and the perfect space cleared of rocks, “You call the shots. What are we gonna do?”

“What?”

Eddie leans over the center console, getting closer to you as thunder rolls in the distance, “What do you want to do? You called Mordor, so whatever is going to help you, we’ll do.”

You want to tell him that just doing as he has, not saying no and not asking questions as he drove the two of you out into the middle of nowhere, helped. The fact that he hadn’t hesitated when he’d processed that you’d said Mordor was already doing wonders for the storm that had brewed within your chest. You’d managed to snag extra time with the boy who had a way about making everything alright, and that in itself was able to erase some of your week from Hell.

But he’s looking at you, awaiting a real answer, so you say the first thing you can think of, “Do you have your copy of The Hobbit on you, by chance?” 

“Oh, say less, sweetheart,” Quickly, Eddie fumbles with his seatbelt and unbuckles himself, swinging open his door and clambering out onto the soft ground waiting below. He waits for a moment, hands on his hips as he looks at you expectantly, “Well? C’mon. I promise you the back seat is far more comfortable.” 

“Does that line usually work for you?” 

“I don’t mean it like that.” 

“Every fuckboy means it like that, Eds.” 

You don’t know it, but his heart swells a little bit at the nickname. 

“Good thing I’m not a fuck boy then,” he leans back into the van a little, smiling wildly, “Now come and join me in the back of my van in a totally platonic, definitely not suggestive way, Sunshine.” 

He doesn’t have to ask twice; you’re climbing out to follow him to the back of the van, not even flinching as you both slam your doors shut in sync and you giggle the entire way. It’s just his effect. Everything is lighter with him around, and you’re starting to believe he should be the one called Sunshine instead of you. 

“M’lady,” he bows dramatically, swinging open the heavy doors for you. 

The climb in is a bit awkward, but you don’t even think about it as you take in the nest of an arrangement Eddie has set up in the back of his van. There’s an old comforter spread out across the entire floor of it, with several smaller blankets bunched at random with a few pillows. 

“Are you sure you’re not a fuckboy?” you question as you’re careful to not touch the blankets with the sole of your shoes, twisting and beginning to unlace the sneakers that had seen better days. There’s stains of various sauces and syrups from work, and surely milk layering the bottom of them. You’re positive if you investigated close enough, you’d even find coffee grounds lodged between the ridges of the textured sole. 

“Positive,” Eddie follows you in, reaching and shutting the doors carefully behind him. He’s less meticulous about his own boots, hardly undoing the knots and kicking them off into the same corner you’d placed your shoes, “I solemnly swear you are the first to see these freshly cleaned blankets.” 

“What about before you cleaned them?” 

“Sweetheart,” he throws himself down on one of the worn pillows, laying right beside where you have your knees drawn up to your knees. He’s flat on his back, hair flaring out in a halo around his head as he looks up at you with big, brown eyes, “You’re killing me here.” 

You can’t help it. The two of you are probably not nearly close enough for what you impulsively do, but you’ve had a hard week, and his hair looks damn soft. 

Your fingers are reaching out to trace over some of the wild and thrown out strands of curls before you can overthink it. Curling caramel and honey softness, you try to not let your breath catch as your pull up on the strand and let it run between your knuckles rather than just fingertips. 

“Yeah?” you smile gently, watching him melt as you twirl the end of the curl you’d been playing with around the length of your finger, “Any specific requests for your funeral?” 

He plays along, trying to not get too lost up in the barely-there feeling of you playing with his hair, “Your attendance, obviously. And probably some good music. Preferably Metallica – again, obviously.”

“Oh, obviously.” 

“Actually, d’you think you can get Kirk Hammett himself to attend? That’d be the best outcome. My only request, actually.”

“You’d rather Kirk Hammett attend your funeral than me?”

“I’ve got priorities here, Sunshine.” 

Your fingers have traveled up to his scalp now, scratching gently as you both are consumed in withheld laughter and brilliantly shy smiles, letting go of heavy weeks and succumbing to all of the sunlight crammed into the back of Eddie’s van. 

“Alright,” your fingers pause their scratches, “I believe you were meant to read me a bedtime story, Munson.” 

“Bedtime story? It’s not even afternoon yet,” Eddie scoffs, throwing a hand up as he digs beneath one of the small, fluffy blankets in the corner. When his hand comes back into view, it clutches that same copy of The Hobbit you’ve seen on the back desk at work on multiple occasions, “Alright, well, make yourself comfortable.” 

Eddie shifts to sit up, your hand falling from his scalp as he piles a few of the pillows from beside him to prop him up as you mentally debate your options. 

You could just lay down beside him. Not touching, just listening. The arrangement was comfortable enough and you have no doubt that it would still be exactly as you needed after all the stress. 

Or you could be daring. You could do more than listen; you could lay your head in his lap, or maybe rest your tired temple against his shoulder. Your could press up against him tightly under the excuse that the space back here was limited and you could selfishly indulge in all that he was willing to offer for this afternoon. More than brushing touches, more than playful glances. 

You could feel the skin of his arm against your own bare shoulder and for a moment, you could just pretend. 

Don’t overthink it. Don’t overthink this. 

You opt for the lap. It’s more comfortable. Less intimate, you convince yourself. 

When your cheek presses into the rough denim stretching over his thigh, you can feel him tense up momentarily. Everything seemingly stops for just a second – even his breathing. But by the time you notice, it’s already resumed. You start to worry you’ve overstepped boundaries, gone too far for two coworkers playing pretend as ‘friends’. 

This definitely isn’t what he meant. First you played with his hair, now you’re laying your head on his lap. You need to learn personal space, personal boundari-

All thoughts evaporate as Eddie suddenly tugs one of the blankets over you, letting it drape comfortably over your shoulder. 

“Shall we begin?” 

Eddie’s voice was made to narrate Tolkien. It becomes apparent between the way he enunciates each word to paint a beautiful fantasy world, his fluctuation changing for each character without missing a beat. His voice takes on a slightly deeper timber than his normal speaking voice as you listen to the storm that had been teasing the entire drive finally break. Hard winds knock against the sides of the van occasionally, the patter of rain echoing off the metal roof of the van. Thunder becomes more frequent, and you couldn’t be sure, but there must be lightning somewhere above the trees to match it. But it doesn’t reach the two of you, the random bursts of light easily mistaken for swaying shadows through the windshield. 

Here in this van, with just you and Eddie and the adventures of Bilbo Baggins, it feels as if nothing bad can touch either of you. Not long weeks, not irate customers, not pessimistic friends or family – nothing. A certain bubble of safety has been created here, and you revel in it. Preen in the certainty of a few hours rest as Eddie’s fingers begin to tangle in your hair and return the favor of playing with your own strands. A simple pattern; he starts at the scalp, runs the fingers all the way through until they trail down the slope of your neck and curve of your shoulder. On occasion, they even slip to caress the top of your spine through the blanket.

Somewhere between the warmth of the soft blanket enveloping you in the scent of clean laundry and the soothing repetitive motions, you find yourself slipping away into sleep. Well-deserved, very much needed sleep that welcomes you with open arms. It’s not quite the hug you had craved from Eddie back at the store, but it’s a hug all the same, and it does hold you close just tight enough to make you believe the afternoon is capable of pressing all your broken pieces back together. If not forever, then just for now. The comfort of it all only has you nuzzling your cheek deeper into the muscle of his thigh.

The lap, it turns out, was the right choice.

Little did you know how grateful Eddie was for your choice of position. Better for your head to rest on his lap than for your ear to be pressed to his chest and hearing the current thunder of his heart that challenges the storm beginning outside the van, beating far harder for you than a friend’s would.

eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @hideoutside @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin @ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87 @thebook-hobbit @babez-a-licious @eddies-acousticguitar @d64d-n0t-sl66p1ng @aysheashea @kellsck @cosmorant @billyhvrgrove-main @micheledawn1975

ghost's taglist: @emmaisgonnacry @figmentofquinn @bebe07011 @barbedwirebats @ayooooo0 @neverlearnedcivility @munson-enthusiast @digwhatudug @wow-cam @daddysmodifiedprincess2 @cancankiki @gothmingguk @nix-rose @thesesuggestedblognamesbegreat @chevelle724 @madaboutjoe @take-everything-you-can @josephquinnsfreckles @thebanisheddreamer @water-loos @dailyobsession @whenshelanded @happy-and-alone @alwayslindie @royale1803 @onegirlmanytales @whyamiheresomeonehelp @mrsjellymunson

join my taglist!

#ghost's writing #coffee shop blues #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fic #barista!eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #if you squint #playing around with povs don't mind me

[ghostinthelibrarywrites]

if you have time i would love to see what you do with prompt number #5 “i can’t believe i married you” with geraskier please!! i feel like geralt would say this when jaskier is being silly and ridiculous but also jaskier would use it when geralt gives him only one good morning kiss instead of two lol. but only if you have time!!!! 💖✨💖✨

Jaskier is still half-asleep as he shuffles to the fridge, his eyes bleary and unfocused after a late night of composing. Hoping for a few slices of last night’s leftover pizza, he opens the fridge, only to let out a little shriek of surprise when he finds a pair of bulbous eyes staring back at him.

“Geralt!” he yelps. “What the fresh fuck is in our fridge?”

His witcher appears in the doorway, already dressed and ready for the day. “A drowner head.”

“Right, good,” Jaskier says. “Let me rephrase. Why the fuck is it in our fridge?”

“It didn’t fit in the freezer.”

“Geralt!”

Geralt’s lips twitch. “Its brains are useful for potions. I’m going to harvest them later.”

“Not in our kitchen, you’re not.”

“Would you prefer the bedroom?”

“Geralt, I swear to Melitele, if you get drowner brains on the duvet—” Seeing the grin on Geralt’s face, Jaskier breaks off, scowling. “I cannot believe I married you.”

“Hm. Jask, we’re not married.”

Ah, right. They’ve been together so long, Jaskier forgets that sometimes. Their friends and family are always complaining that they act like an old married couple anyway. “And if you keep putting drowner heads in the fridge, we won’t be!”

Geralt comes to press a kiss to Jaskier’s forehead. “Go take a shower and I’ll make coffee and deal with the drowner.”

“You’ll make the coffee before you touch drowner brains, right? Avoid cross-contamination?”

“Drowner brains are good for you. Protein.”

Jaskier huffs and turns on his heel to leave the kitchen. “I want a divorce.”

“Again, not married.”

Jaskier starts up the stairs, calling over his shoulder, “Then we should get married just so I can divorce you.”

“Okay.”

“Okay!” Jaskier makes it to the top of the stairs, then pauses, registering what they just said, and turns around. “Geralt?”

From downstairs, there’s the rumble of Geralt’s answering hum. “Hm?”

“Did we just get engaged?”

“I think that’s traditionally what comes before marriage and divorce.”

Jaskier hurries back down the stairs so fast that he nearly trips over his own two feet. He finds Geralt standing right where he left him in front of the fridge. “Do you really want to get married?”

Geralt looks at him like he’s started singing in gnomish. “Sure.”

“Sure?” Jaskier lets out an exasperated laugh. “Geralt, my love, this is one of those things where I’m going to need an unequivocal yes or no from you.”

Geralt leans against the front of the fridge, frowning slightly. “I never thought you wanted to get married.”

“What?” Jaskier is bewildered. “When did I say that?”

“Back when you were dating Vespula.”

“Geralt, I was twenty-two when I dated Vespula! That was nearly a decade ago! Of course I didn’t want to get married.” Jaskier throws his arms around Geralt’s neck. “I never thought you wanted to get married. All that witchers walk alone bullshit.”

Geralt’s lips twitch. “I think that ship has sailed by now, Jask. I think it sailed about five minutes after we met.”

“Well yes, probably,” Jaskier says. “So, Geralt, will you marry me?”

“Seems like a lot of trouble to go through just so you can divorce me over drowner brains.”

“Darling, you should know by now that it’s going to take more than drowner brains to get rid of me. I told you when we first moved in together and I’ll tell you now, you’re stuck with me.”

“Romantic.”

“You know you love it.”

Geralt’s eyes crinkle as he smiles, pressing a kiss to the tip of Jaskier’s nose. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

The few times Jaskier has pictured proposing to Geralt, he’s imagined grand gestures: singing a love song in front of a crowded stadium of fans, holding a sign as he jumped out a plane, a moonlight boat ride and a four-string quartet. But standing with Geralt in the kitchen, still in his boxers with a drowner’s head in their fridge, somehow feels more right than any of those fantasies.

They just hold each other for a moment before Jaskier pulls away. “Want to go get breakfast to celebrate?”

Geralt’s eyes are soft with fondness as he watches him. “Did you propose just for an excuse to go get pancakes and mimosas?”

“Like I need an excuse to get pancakes and mimosas.” Jaskier is smiling stupidly. “Let me go get showered. I can be ready in twenty minutes.”

“See you in an hour.” 

“Har.” Jaskier turns and hurries up the steps. In the bathroom, he draws back the shower curtain, slapping a hand over his mouth to stifle his shriek at what he finds inside. “Geralt!”

“What?” Geralt calls from downstairs.

“What the fuck is in our shower?”

“Oh,” Geralt says. “That’s the rest of the drowner.”

“Excellent. Just so you know, I’ve changed my mind about that divorce!”

***

Tag list: @kueble @mollymawkwrites @feral-jaskier @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde @dawnofbards @thisislisa @tsukiwolf42 @mosaicscale @rockysstupidity @fontegagrilledcheese @kuripon @help-i-need-a-cool-username @julek @flowercrown-bard @eveljerome

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt/jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #ghost's writing #prompt fills

[shutupheathersorryheatherr]

"I'm yours, you're mine. Like Paradise."

Summery: Han Jisung has a bad day and it ends up in you too dancing in the kitchen.... just lots of fluff. A slice of life if you will

Warnings/info: Physical touch (in a non-sexual way. just reader and han being all lovvy dovvy), mentions of reader and Han having sex a lot (safely & consentaully) , reader in gn!, Jisung had a bad day but it aint angsty, mentions of going to go take a shower...? Idk man im tryna include anything that might be triggering, jokes about getting premature arthritis (not spoken of in a way that talks down upon ppl with arthritis), mentions of food, kissing, swearing, lots of tooth rotting fluff, think that’s it pls let me know if I missed anything!

ps, highly recommend listening to the song while you read/ before or after you read :)

His arms curl around your waist. His pointer finger interlocking on the other side on the front of your belly. As his chin finds its way to nestle in the crook of your neck. He hums. To himself, to both of you, it really didn't matter. It was a beautiful sound either way. He hums something familiar to you, sounding like the same chorus repeated over and over again. A never ending sound of sweetness. But then he stops abruptly. At what would have been the mid chorus of the song. "Need any help?" He asks. You can practically hear the smile smeared on his face as he turns you around to face him.

His hair was damp and frizzy from running a town over his strands. It almost looked as if he had rubbed his hair on a balloon. That was when the surprise he was even there set in. Earlier, when he had gotten home, closing the door with a loud, and to any random person, dramatic sigh, you knew he was tired. Well, more tired than usual. He didn't even have to say it. Just by the look on his face you knew his joints and muscles were aching like he had run a marathon. Cause, he kinda did. He eased his feet out of his shoes and kicked them to the side without much care. With a promise to pick them up later, he dragged his feet to the kitchen table where you were siting. Scooted out a chair then plopped down next to you. He whipped a lazy and somehow strained looking hand over his face and chuckled.

Up until then neither of you had exchanged more than a few words when he came in. "It's official," He laughed, "I'm getting old. I wonder if I'm developing premature arthritis." His smiled peaked out from the bottom of his hand that was still resting over his eyes. "Same thing as yesterday?" You asked him. He nodded and shifted in his seat. "Same thing." For the past couple days, he and his members had been working on new choreo for a show coming up. And also for the past couple days, Jisung hadn't been able to get this one move right. If he wasn't forgetting it entirely, then he was stumbling over on it. And both times he'd requested to get dropped off at your place rather than the dorm. The night before he had come back more sulky than tonight. Tonight, was more him just being plain old exhausted. He had wanted to come over to see you. ("Facetime wouldn't have cut it tonight, darling. Not like it ever really does though." He said.)

Needless to say, it made you smile just as much on the inside as it showed on the outside how happy you were that seeing you and being around you made him happy. Even if it was just being in each other's presence but doing something completely separate, occasionally nodding your head other to ask a question or to see how each other's little thing or project was doing. To cheer him up, you both had joked about how he could just replace the move, coming up with more and more outlandish and crazy ideas of what that replacement move could be. Twerking or hitting the whip and nay nay of corse begin the top two options.

And this time again, he was at your apartment. Even more wiped out than before. Earlier, you got out of your seat and stood in front of him. Jisung buried his head into your stomach, your fingers finding their way through the maze of his hair, still a little oily and sweaty feeling from before. And you stood there, thinking wow, this feels so fine. So nice and relaxing. Like a deep breath of lavender scented air. You smiled down at the man who couldn't see it on your face. "Felix called in sick this morning. He was fine yesterday but..." He trailed off in defeat, " So that makes two people that can't make it." He mumbled into your stomach. God, you thought, if it was all discombobulated yesterday with Changbin being sick, it must've been even crazier today. "I know," He slurs, as if reading your mind, "It felt like we were preparing for an air raid in there. With everyone running around." "You sure you wanna go back tomorrow?" You asked.

He lifted his head from your belly at your words, his face looking just as disheveled as his hair now. He blinked slowly. "Yeah, yeah. We both know you have to." You said, looking towards the door to make sure he had locked it behind him. Suddenly, you were pulled in for a hug. His arms wrapped themselves tightly around your middle. It sure might've looked a little bit awkward to most people. You were standing up; he was all hunched over on the edge of his seat. "How about you go take a shower and I heat up some dinner?" You suggested. This, a similar form, was usually the time one of you'd would comment on how sweaty he was, then without fail he'd make some sort of joke about the ways you could make him even sweatier. Or he'd say something about showering together to "conserve the hot water." Which was an actual real problem in your building. So he wasn't terribly off base with that.

And half the time those comments and jokes about how it'd be better if you'd just take a shower together-- then, nine times out of ten ended in him reminding you how if you wanted, he could get you a penthouse with a view with a very much working hot water heater. (“Then you won't be able to ask if we can shower together. It'll never be necessary." You tease. To which he'd say, "I keep saying it, I'd wash the sand off the shore for you." "Ok, Poseidon. Go ahead and try.") Without fail every day, no matter how sweaty and gross he was. No matter how tired he seemed. When he came to your apartment, he greeted you with a kiss that felt like for a moment, you were only focusing on each other. Noting else. He usually couldn't even get to closing the front door before enveloping all your senses in him. In something that felt strangely like a peppy beat you could dance to. Like a song that you'd never get tired of.

The way he'd pull you in your waist so gently felt like he was conveying all his love for you in One. Single. Touch. It seemed like he showed up, no matter how tired he was for anything and everything. Not like you minded one bit though. ("Shit," you laughed one time as you opened the door for him one early morning. He had come over cause he wanted to have breakfast with you. "What am I, wind? Seems like I blow you right to my door.") But now, with no complaints from you, it was back to the present with you facing him in the kitchen. The shower had seemed to pep him up a bit. He was closer to his smiley self now. He nodded his head over to what you were heating up on the stovetop, food from last night.

You had two different pans going: one for the main dish and one for the side. Without thinking, Jisung moved from you to turn the burner down a little, seeing as one was heating up faster than the other and neither of you wanted just peas alone for dinner. "There's no music playing in here or anything?" He asked. He's right. You usually had something playing in the background. In fact, you too had collaborated and made a special cooking playlist for times like these. But you had been so lost in thought you forgot to put something on. You didn't answer him. "Thought you'd be asleep." You half asked him. "And yet you're still heating up food for more than just you." He smiled, going to the drawer behind you to retrieve silver wear and napkins.

"How dare you." You put a hand to your chest in mock anger, "Maybe I'm just that hungry." Jisung came back over to you, and you caught a glimpse of him from the side al smiley again, stirring the pot of peas so they wouldn't stick. Suddenly, lot he had gotten the best idea of his life, he dropped the spoon in the pot and rushed to your room. He came back with a Bluetooth speaker he had gifted you a few months back and wearing one of your oversized zip up hoddies. At this point neither of you even had to ask, you both just shared cloths with each other. He pressed a couple things on his phone and voila! The percussion of the song he was humming earlier was heard loud and clear. Starting off with three bass chords being played. You started swaying to the beat a second before he pulled you in and interlocked hands with yours putting one palm around your waist, when the first lines of the song were spoken.

As much as he had a hard time with dancing today, he sure didn't mind swaying with you and messily trying to avoid your toes as he held your hand to the side of you two like he was preparing for a very highly refined waltz. His chin found its way to the crook of you neck again, trying to listen to the sound of your reverberating heartbeat over the singer's voice. He pressed a gently tender kiss to the middle of your neck. Where his lips just happened to fall. "Feels like I'm yours. Feels right. So fine. I'm yours. You're mine. Like paradise." He sang along, feeling as if he had written the lyrics himself to you for you. It was quiet, but the sound of his voice could have been heard throughout your apartment. It tickled the skin of your ear. You breathed out heavily as he sings along to the next part. "Give you the world if it was mine." As you both swayed along to the music, he skootched up backward and reached behind you to both of the stove top knobs to turn them off.

Which, you knew was true as much as you knew the sky was blue. His offers of buying you a whole ass apartment (or house if you wanted) didn't go unnoticed as you thought before. You knew deep down it wasn't just a little joke or some sort of chess piece pawn to get you to shower with him. Just bubbling under the surface was that lingering idea that he actually meant it all.

"You're so fuckin cheesy, you--" You got cut off with him hugging you tighter as an attempt to shut you up. You thought he might start off with some joke about well, you were the one who turned me onto this song so that's your fault. But he pulled away and held you by your shoulders, his arms stiff. "But I would. I really would." He said, barely being able to maintain eye contact. A smiled danced it way across your lips. You breathed him in. You tasted the moment on your tongue to remember it forever. You could only hum in response, snapping yourself out of your thoughts as you felt his thumbs lift off like the liftoff of a plan into neverland. You felt coolness spread to the aera where his fingers were previously. Sensing you needed some other type of reassurance to back up his words, he said, "Cause you feel like paradise. This feels like paradise." He left you by the stove smiling as he tip toed over to the cabinet to get plats for the food. He handed one to you without another word. "And no, I'm not just quoting the song." He shook his head. "What you just did for me back there?" He nodded behind him to the kitchen table as your mind flashed back to earlier.

"That was nothing." You said as you removed the lid from one of the pots. "Well, it sure was something." He laughed. Hearing the smile in his voice you turned back to him. "I'd do something much bigger than that every day. Cause I'm yours. And you're mine." You say to the man with a permanent smile on his face and frizzy hair before you. A minute later he scoops the full plates from your hands and places them on the table swiftly. Then saunters back over to you to capture your waist again with one palm and your hand in the other. Just before the singer starts ending the song talking about how its 'what a life', and almost in a whisper, sings about how she wants to share her life with them. You rock softly with him to the ending, and as you two sit down to eat, he hits play again. Yes, it was really like paradise.

End~~~~

aaalllllrrriiiiggghhhhhttt! so that was my first fic i ever posted! hope everyone liked it! I've written fics for other fandoms and stuff but uh nope never posted em but I randomly remembered a song I hadn't listened to in a couple years, and I thought of my mans Han when I played it. Almost too quickly hmmm...

2021 copywrite shutupheathersorryheatherr

#han jisung x reader #stray kids #han jisung #stray kids fluff #stray kids scenarios #han jisung fluff #stray kids fic #skz #skz jisung #skz fluff #felix skz #changbin skz #stray kids x gender neutral reader #Sade songs #just relating songs to k pop boys things lol #Ghost's writing #my babygirl hannie #stray kids ambw #han jisung x poc reader

[whinesandwhimpers]

down bad simon may look a little like this

You've stepped outside for some fresh air so when Simon walks out a few minutes after you and lights up a cigarette, your face immediately scrunches up in disgust.

He catches your expression. "Not a fan of smoking?"

"Came out for some fresh air."

"Hm, seems like more than that." He muses, turning his head away to blow out some smoke.

"I just think it's gross."

He's silent for a few moments and you think maybe he's offended even, but then he turns back to you and clears his throat.

"That one of your deal breakers then?"

"Deal brea—yeah. It is. Don't think I could bring myself to even kiss a smoker. Why? You interested?" You joke, expecting a laugh and dismissal of the conversation.

He immediately throws his cigarette on the ground and snuffs it out with his shoe, then walks over to the bin and pulls the half-full carton out of his pocket and throws it and his lighter out. Just like that. He walks back over to stand in front of you, his large hand coming up to rest on your cheek, an intensity simmering in his dark eyes as he looks at you.

"Yes."

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #down bad simon #my writing

[suguann]

Being a camgirl comes with its fair share of ups and downs, but you never expected one of the downs to be one of your unboxings from a fan going horribly wrong during a live stream—the proof of it still buzzing between your thighs beyond your finger's reach. 

A rush of embarrassment comes with knocking on your roommate’s bedroom door and asking him for help because you’re nearing the brink of overstimulation and can’t think straight enough to get the words out. It’s worse when he stands there and says nothing—all imposing with two tattooed arms crossed over his chest—while you try to get through a sentence without moaning. 

Simon looks at you with a cocked brow and something akin to amusement as he watches you squirm in his doorway. 

Then he finally says, “Get on the bed,” in a steady and low voice, opening his bedroom door wider.

You fidget under his scrutinizing gaze as you settle back against his pillows, biting back whimpers with a too-hot face and sweat dripping down your back. 

Him settling a knee on the bed makes you jump, “Let’s take a look, love.” 

Simon crawls up the bed, forcing your knees open, and you’re suddenly very aware of how broad and big he looks, towering over you—every part of you laid bare for him to see. A large hand presses right below your belly button, jostling the toy inside you, and this time, you can’t hold back the squeal that rips from your chest. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs, voice imperceptibly deeper, his lips twitching like he’s trying to hold back a smile. “Okay, you’re going to feel a slight stretch.”

You bite your lip. “A-alright—”

Slight doesn’t even come close to the fingers sliding into you, spearing your sensitive walls open and pressing into a spot where you’ve never been able to reach with startling precision. You remind yourself that he has to do this, that he’s just being…friendly, or whatever makes the lines less blurred. 

None of this stops the fact your lower stomach burns with the promise of another orgasm when his fingers brush against the egg vibrator before accidentally pressing it deeper inside.

“Ah, there it is.”

At the sight of your scrunched nose, he asks if it hurts. You shake your head; eyes squeezed shut in an attempt to hold back the stinging pleasure racing up your spine. “N-no,” you whimper.

“Relax, okay?”

Simon doesn’t comment on how you’re implying that it feels good. So good, you think, his thumb just barely touching your clit as he twists his hand to try a different angle. Then he pushes down on your belly again, and his long fingers finally grip the vibrator.

“Oh!” you moan at the feel of it dragging down your front wall, your fingers gripping the sheets. 

He has to tell you to relax again, his voice cracking, but you hardly hear it over your heart beating loudly in your ears. His fingers drag the toy out slowly, almost too slow that you can feel it bumping against every slippery ridge inside you.

“Ah, sorry,” he says when you twitch—unapologetic—using his thumb to rub soothing circles into your stomach. “You’re so wet. I need to make sure I don’t lose it again.”

You nod, cunt clenching down at his words.

And then Simon’s fingers curl up: your thighs start quivering, breath caught in your throat, and your jaw locks up until your orgasm ripples through you. It’s unending, the strongest one yet, and just when you think it’s over, you feel the press of his palm against your clit.

“W-wait! Simon,” you moan, pushing at his hand. “No more, I‘m sensitive!”

He gets you to fall over the edge one more time before finally slipping the vibrator out of you, letting it hum softly on the bed, and your exhausted body sinks into the mattress once again. Simon gathers you into his lap, rocking you back and forth.

You swallow lungfuls of air against his chest, head still spinning and walls spasming from the aftershocks. 

He murmurs in your ear about how good you are, kisses your temple, and rubs your sides, and it’s… enlightening. Moments pass before you finally return to yourself, and when he pulls back, his brows furrow at your pout.

“All good?”

You shake your head and go with honesty. “I didn’t think you’d cuddle me afterward.”

He smiles, thumb flicking your bottom lip. “You wanted me to fuck you?” 

Your mouth falls open. “N-no—”

Then he leans down, lips brushing against your ear: “Don’t worry, love. Good girls get fucked hard.”

#simon riley smut #simon riley imagine #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x you #ghost x reader #ghost imagine #ghost smut #cod smut #cod x reader #cod fic #cod imagine #mw2 smut #mw2 x reader #mw2 imagine #.things i write

[loveindefinitely]

task force 141 with a controversially young civilian girlfriend.

-> mentions of large age-gaps, referenced sexual content, alcohol use. afab!fem!reader. minor dubcon (everyone's drunk.)

thinking that you're studying in uni. working on the side to try and afford rent and, if you're lucky, some noodles every other night. you don't really get seen compared to your friends, who go out clubbing and spend their spare time on dating apps.

one time, your friend drags you to a bar. not usually your scene, considering its clientele is more for tradies, and military-type men. not like the stuck-up blue collar boys at your uni.

cue you getting drunk off your ass, barely even standing, when you bump into one johhny mactavish.

he holds your elbows, your chest crashing into his. gentle with it, too -- kind and sweet and grounding.

"y'alright, lass?" he asks, a small smirk on his face, eyes darting across your frame greedily. he, in all fairness, looks nearly as drunk as you. he stumbles a little with your weight.

you giggle, tilting your head to look at him. say something stupid like, "you don't look like a student."

his brows raise, his dimples deepen. "aye, very smart, hen."

you preen with the compliment, a cheesy grin stuck to your face. you make no move to stand up and leave. you think your friend just left with a guy anyways.

johnny moves you, muscled arm around your waist as he takes you to a booth.

three other men sit in it, only one looking somewhere in a ten-year age bracket to you. they're all impossibly large, filling out the space with ease. your stomach swoops, but you easily blame the alcohol.

manoeuvring you so you sit in his lap, johnny's hand is a comforting weight on your waist. he huffs a laugh.

"didn't realise we were goin' for jailbait, soap," the youngest one chimes, dark features shining in the pub's dim light. his eyes trail your frame silkily.

you can't stop the roll of your eyes -- your inhibitions have made you senseless. "'m not, 'm completely," you drag out the syllables, "legal."

a hand on your thigh makes you jolt, and when you look over, a blonde man with a black medical mask raises an unimpressed brow. "got a problem, kid?"

you shoot him a weak glare. "not a kid. weirdo."

the arm around your waist tightens, as does the weirdo's hand encompassing your thigh.

"not scared of anythin', are you darl'?" the final man in the booth asks, hands folded together where they rest at the table. he looks at least double your age, and that simple fact along with his drawling words has your core tightening.

"what's there to be scared of?" you ask, stupidly. your head tilts to the side, unknowingly moving to rest on johnny's shoulder. he doesn't comment.

"miss bein' young and drunk," gaz sighs, hand softly gripping the gin sat on the table in front of him.

"you look young," your brows furrow, not understanding. how old could he really be, to act so nostalgic of your current predicament? "how old are you guys?"

it's an embarrassing question -- makes you feel like a child all over again. but your interest is quickly peaking, and your need for answers overpowers your need for decorum.

johnny's the one to answer, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers.

"gaz, the pretty one over there, he's twenty-eight," he murmurs, heat stirring low in your gut as you nod mindlessly, meeting gaz's eyes.

johnny stokes his thumb over the skin of your hip, and you curl into him further -- stranger be damned.

"i'm thirty," he hums, and god, he sounds so fucking sensual you're about to melt into his arms. if you aren't already.

"the guy in the mask?" said man's hand tightens impossibly against your skin, fingers just shy of grazing your aching pussy, "he's thirty-seven. got a lot of experience, aye?"

you shudder.

"what about you?" you end up voicing, shyly meeting the last man's gaze. he takes a slow sip of his whiskey.

he leans back into the cushion, eyeing you carefully.

"forty-three."

your thighs squeeze together, and fuck, if that's not a turn-on. no matter how unsafe you should feel, surrounded by four military-grade, older men, it only manages to have you wet beyond belief.

all you can manage is one question.

"take me home?"

#⌨️ : love's writing #will defs continue this later #just #ughhhhhh #call of duty #cod mw2 #cod x reader #ghost cod #mw2 #simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #soap cod #polyamory #poly cod #poly tf141 #tf141 x reader #tf 141 #captain price #johnny soap mactavish #john price #captain john price #cod x you #call of duty x reader #soap x reader #price x reader #gaz x reader #gaz x you #simon ghost x reader #ghost x reader #ghost x you