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peachsayshi · 1 month

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I have an a request!!! What about boy dad gojo taking care of his son while his s/o is sick? Maybe he takes him to work and face time her with his son when he has a break or between classes?? And his son misses her a lot cause it’s his first time seeing her sick🥹

➳ minors / ageless / blank blogs dni ➳ tags: fluff; dad gojo and son reader

"mama! wanna talk to mama!"

"easy, tiger," satoru consoles, using his long arm to pull the phone away from his son's grabbing fingers.

"dada, wanna talk to mama!" his son insists, inching his body forward which prompts satoru to adjust his legs so his boy doesn't climb off his thighs. using his other hand, the sorcerer lightly runs his fingers through his child's soft locks to calm down his excitement while and in the meantime taps away at the screen to video call you.

"there you go," he whispers as he brings the phone to his son's line of sight, his heart swelling when you finally answer the call.

"hi," you croak softly, your voice thick and hoarse while you rub your tired eyes. "what time is it?"

"it's lunch-"

"mama!" your son interrupts, his small hands curling over satoru's fingers as he holds both sides of the screen. "mama, miss you!"

"hey, cutie", you reply with a tiny smile, but satoru can see the exhaustion weighing heavy on your face. "miss you soo much,"

you've been sick for the last four days. a terrible cold that's kept you bedridden. satoru and your son have been isolating to make sure that they don't catch what you have, but your boys have been wallowing without you around. your son has been extra needy and keeps bringing up his "mama" every chance he can get. satoru is in the same position as well, hating that he can't cuddle up to you in the middle of the night, or that he can't wake up to your good morning kisses.

"mama sick," your son says with a furrow of his brows, moving his hand over the screen like he's trying to touch your face. "mama get better ok?"

he's still learning his words, trying to form whatever sentences he can with the vocabulary that he has.

you nod your head, "yeah, baby, I'll be better soon,"

your son smiles at the camera, his eyes twinkling with delight. "kisses!" he announces, before leaning forward and pressing his lips onto the phone screen.

you blow him back three kisses in return.

at this point satoru can't help but feel a little left out, so he arches forward to rest his chin on his son's shoulder, the two of them now centering the screen.

it's wild seeing them both together because they really do look like twins. your son's hair stands as a harsh contrast because it is identical to yours, but his eyes are a blend of your love. there's an icy blue that pierces through his natural color on the left side, a unique trait that distinguishes him entirely.

"can I get some kisses too?" satoru pouts at the camera, and your son obliges but placing one kiss on his cheek.

satoru can't help but grin, "thanks, rugrat, but I was hoping the kisses would come from your mama..."

"but mama sick," your son answers nonchalantly, twisting his body slightly so he was turning toward's his father's instead.

"she just blew you some kisses," he answers back with a raised brow. "I can't get any?"

your son blatantly shakes his head no.

satoru deadpans at the phone screen, and you have to use the blanket to cover your amused grin but you clear your throat as a cough escapes you, and satoru can't help but wince.

"how are you feeling? is the medicine helping at all?" he adds.

"yeah, it is. I'm feeling much better today actually."

"there's a pot of soup in the fridge " he continues, his cheeks tinting a slight shade of pink. "I made it last night"

satoru toiling away in the kitchen is a rare sight. the man grew up spoiled, and rarely ever had to take care of himself. you're the only person who knows that the first time he ever touched a stove was in his late teens, with shoko and suguru assisting in teaching him. he doesn't experiment much, but he was able to perfect a handful of recipes over time.

your eyes widen, glisten with absolute love. "thanks, handsome. I'll be sure to heat some up..."

"just want to see you back on your feet, angel," satoru murmurs, and presses his cheek against' the plush surface of his son's. "you've got us pining over here, isn't that right?"

your son nods his head, bringing one hand to hold his father's jaw. "sick bad, want mama t'get better now..." he acknowledges.

(meanwhile, you sneakily take a screenshot of the two of them in frame)

requests are open for dad gojo.

#gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #gojo fluff #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk fluff

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whoreish-behaviour · 1 year

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Can you handle that?

If you haven't watched Scream 1996 (how?!) please pleasee go watch this scene - (Timestamp 3:25 specifically) :))

This is like a modern version.

Part 2

Ghostface x Fem!Reader

Warnings ; dubcon, coercion, voyeurism, guided masturbation, phone sex?, slight overstim

The popcorn popped gently in the background as you endlessly scrolled through your phone, looking for any horror movies that peaked your interest.

Boring.

Predictable.

Wayy too gory.

Dropping the phone onto the counter, you huffed in annoyance as you rested your head on your hand. The popping sound filled the otherwise silent kitchen, the house being empty of its usual life.

You raked your brain for ideas now you were finally alone. And now that you thought about it more, it had been a while since your hands traced your body as you dived head first into self-please.

Yeah, you knew exactly what you were going to do.

The thought alone already had your thighs squeezing together.

Just as your were turning to shut off the stove, your phone vibrated below you. Eyebrows furrowed, your eyes scanned the name.

No Caller ID.

Shrugging, you picked up the phone without a care and pressed the little green button.

'Hello?'

'Hello.' An unfamiliar voice responded back.

'Yes?'

'Who is this?' Hadn't he called you first..?

"I think you have the wrong number.' You pursed your lips.

'I don't think I do and you didn't answer my question.'

His suddern steriness made you nervous and your thighs shudder.

Jesus, had it really been that long?

'I think I’m gonna go, you definitely dialed the wrong number. See you.' You announced quickly and before he could even speak two words, you hung up.

Before you could even place the phone back on the counter, it vibrated again in your hand.

You hesitated on pressing 'answer', however your curiosity about what he wanted grew stronger until eventually you caved.

'Hello?' You hoped he didn't hear your voice quiver.

'We weren't finished talking, were we sweetheart?' The nickname made you swallow thickly and clench your fist.

'I think we definitely are now.' You tried to sound stern, not wanting some man over the phone to think he had any kind of control over you.

'Hang up again and you'll regret it.'

"Fuck I will." You argued back before doing exactly what he told you not to do.

You tossed the phone on the counter, before turning your back to it completely. Sure, he had shaken you but that was exactly what he wanted.

It was probably just an ego boost for him to freak woman out over the phone, picturing their scared faces in their own homes.

Fucker.

The phone vibrated consistency where it laid, however you stared mindlessly at the ceiling, cursing out the universe for ruining the mood.

You began to chew your nails, his words ringing in your head.

You'll regret it.

An incoming text made your ears prick, looking over your shoulder and down at the device. The text made your heart jump against your ribs.

Unknown Number - Answer the phone.

Unknown Number - Now.

The text didn't hold any explanation marks but you knew that he wasn't fucking around anymore. Your stomach sank as your ringtone yet again rang out.

Last chance, before what? You didn't know.

The phone was in your hand again, thumb pressing down on the screen as you brought it up to your ear.

'Whats got you all nervous over there? Never had a punishment before hm?' His implication made you shived with fear.

He couldn't see you, could he..?

'Or maybe its just because you haven't touched that sweet cunt of yours in a while..' You gasped out loud, pure shock and heat blooming on your face.

'You sick fuck-'

'Ah ah, thats no way to talk to me sweetheart.' He scowled, voice deep and dripping with dominance. Against your better judgement, your core responded.

'What do you want?" Your voice was quiet, all confident gone.

"I just wanna play a game is all.' His tone almost mocked you, as if you had no reason to be terrified.

'What kind of game?' You body shrink as you waited for his response. He seemed to think about it for a second, the silence killing you softly.

'It involves you taking off them soaked panties and sitting your pretty self on that counter for me.'

You froze as he once again rendered you speechless. You hand holding the phone shook as your mouth ran dry.

'Can you handle that?' He teased.

You didn't know what to be more disturbed by: his request or that your body throbbed in response. Theres no way you wanted this..right?

Would that make you just as bad as him?

You gulped, looking at all the windows - wondering if you'll see a glimpse of his shadow. That was if he was even watching you.

'Quit acting so modest, you think I haven't noticed that little stunt you've been pulling with them thighs of yours.' He almost whispered as if it was a dirty taboo thing (it was).

''I don't kn-'

'Now sweetheart.'

You don't know what possessed you. Maybe it was his veil of seduction or just your horniness but you found yourself thumbing at the band of your panties.

Would it be so bad? To have a stranger watch you touch yourself? It sounded like some corny porno.

'If you don't move within the next 2 seconds, I'll come tie you to the fucking table myself.' His voice dropped, his frustration becoming evident.

And that was more than enough for you to clamber up onto the cool marble, contrast to your hot clammy skin, hands already working your underwear down your sticky thighs.

It dropped to the floor with a disgustingly wet slap! You grimaced as you picked your phone up once again.

'Look who's finally behaving herself. Put me on loud speaker and face the patio window.' You heart beat up against your ribcage as you did as you where told.

'Mhm, look at youu.' He dragged out the 'you', adding a playfulness to the tension building. You shivered as his statement solidified that was he indeed watching you.

'Now spread those pretty thighs for me, let me see the mess I made.' You felt yourself drip even more as each word left his mouth.

You gently lifted your legs - feet resting on the counter with you and spread your knees apart.

The cold air against your pussy made you whimper as you clenched around nothing.

'Fuck, I knew you were a slut.' He groaned and you almost moaned right back at him from the sound alone.

'Trace them beautiful thighs for me sweet.' He spoke low and stern.

Your right hand trembled as you ran it down your stomach, across your hip and finally to your thigh, your left hand staying behind you to support your body.

You allowed just the every tips of your fingers to run across your skin, nerves making them shake slightly.

'Mhm good girl. Now get closer.'

You did, your whole body shaking from anticipation as your nails grazed where you need it most. Everything felt wet and you whined at the lack of stimulation.

'You need it that bad huh pretty girl? Go on, touch that pussy.' He pushed and you wasted no time.

You first ran your fingers down your slit, collecting that sweet arousal until it coated your fingers. You then moved up to your clit, rubbing your clit in quick circles.

'No, no - slower. Can't have you coming too quick, can we?' He tutted, redirecting you before you got too carried away. You moaned in response but obeyed nevertheless.

Your fingers slipped every now and then as your whined and moaned into the quiet again. The man on the phone encouraged you continuously, dragging you closer and closer to the edge.

'Good fucking girl.'

'Keep rubbing that puffy clit for me. That's ittt.'

'I can see you dripped down on the fucking table - you're so desparate.'

The only words that left your lips were 'Please' as you threw your head back, rubbing your clit harder until he scolded you to slow down once again.

'If you need it that bad, put a finger inside that tight cunt and fuck yourself 'till you cum.' You almost cried out in happiness as you slid your hands lower, a single finger entering you.

'Fuck I can hear that sloppy pussy through the phone, put me closer.' You responded with a quiet 'okay' and moved the phone closer to in between your legs.

'Go on, fuck that cunt.' He ordered and your once again threw your head back, moving your finger faster.

You curled your middle finger up against your G spot until you felt that pit in your stomach built up once again. This time you didn't care what he said, you were going to make yourself come.

You also slid your left hand in and rubbed your clit, your coordination slightly off but you didn't care, it was working.

'Come for me pretty girl.'

That was your final straw as your felt everything you had built crumble between your legs. Your hips bucked up against your own hands and you dropped back flat against the surface below you.

'Move your hands sweet girl, let me see.' He cooed at you and you did as you were told, bringing your hands up to rest on your chest.

'Fuck, your rubbed your poor pussy raw babe.' He faked sympathy but you were too busy trying to catch your breathe.

'But don't get too comfortable. Keep going.' You froze.

'W-What..?'

'You heard me, sit up and. Keep. Going.' He ordered and you couldn't even splutter a response. You back ached as you sat up, thigh trembling and twitching.

You slid your hand down, soaked with you arousal, back down to your pulsing core.

However, as your fingertips came in contact with your clit, your hips bucked away as the painful surge of overstimulation shocked through you.

'I-I cant.'

'You can.' He instantly spoke back, 'I wanna see you come from those pretty fingers again.'

You decided to leave your clit and slide lower, reentering your middle finger into your quivering core. But even then, you flinched away from sensitivity.

'It's too sensitive.' You whined, retracting your hand away completely.

It went quiet for a bit and you gulped, scared you had somehow pissed him off. Even though you had been good for him, all things considered.

'Fine,' You breathed out a sigh of relief and rested your head back.

'I guess I'll just have to do it myself.'

You bolted upright, uncomfortable as your pussy slid against the now warm counter.

'What did you just say..?'

'I'll give you a 5 minute head start, go hide and if I don't find you - you get off scot free.' He said, 'I promise not to peek.' his voice light and airy while you choked silently.

'But-'

'5 minutes.' He said before he hung up.

Please do not steal, copy or translate my work

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ghouljams · 9 months

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waiting for the day cowboy!könig finally decides that enough pining is ENOUGH and just decides to ask bee out on a date.

if bee isn't already wooed enough by how nice this big and handsome man is to her all the time then imagine how much more wooed she'd be when it seems like könig *just* know what she likes and dislikes. she's probably thinking "wow! it's amazing how you can guess what i like and don't like!" and könig (nasty little bastard) is just nodding along like "yes yes of course :3 (innocently)" as if he didn't gather that info from spying on her like bffr !!

There are too many kindnesses to ignore. König is too nice to you, and you realize you've fallen for him like you remember the sky is blue. It feels like something that's always been there, nurtured with careful hands and soft works. You wonder sometimes if that's the way König is with everyone. If it's just you that thinks about him like this.

Then he touches you, looks at you a moment too long, whispers to himself with words you half catch, and you think the feeling might be mutual. Still, you'd hate to ruin a good friendship on wants and wishes.

You do your best to stay platonic. To ignore the butterflies in your stomach, the tight hope in your ribs, each time you go out with König. Not dates. You tell yourself firmly, coach yourself in the bathroom mirror. Tonight is no different. Just your weekly dinner. Your own personal thank you to König for all his help. You truly couldn't do this without him.

You bump into König as you turn away from the stove and he catches you with a gentle if firm hand on the small of your back. His eyes wide with surprise at your stumble, before they soften. Your heart pounds in your chest, your stomach fluttering with just the slightest touch from him. His hand slides off you, fingers curling like he could hold on just a moment longer if you let him.

You can't take it anymore.

You grab the front of his shirt and tug him down, pushing up on your toes to press your lips against the warm cloth of his bandana. You're not even sure you're kissing the right spot, but it feels right in the way it makes König lock up. Shit. He doesn't even touch you. You pull back, mentally kick yourself for ruining things like you always do.

König all but rips the bandana off when you do, wrapping his arms around you to press his lips to yours without the barrier. You don't have time to process the way he sighs against your mouth, barely can think past kissing him back. You never believed in the whole fireworks thing, but maybe they meant the flip in your stomach, the desperation in the slide of König's lips as he kisses you like he's just come home from war, the shudder he sends through you with just the tilt of his head.

There's nowhere for you to go, completely held by the arms around your shoulders and waist. Well, that's not completely true. You can press more firmly against König. Try to stand taller as you slide your lips against his, feel his tongue swipe against the seam of your mouth entreatingly. There's nothing that could have kicked your brain out of your head quite like his tongue twisting against yours. He's like a furnace, warming you up wherever you touch him as you lean against his broad chest.

When's the last time someone kissed you like this? Made you feel like you were something they'd never get enough of?

The smell of burning food reaches your nose and you turn your head from König's kiss with a loud panicked swear. His arms loosen around you as you turn to switch off burners and stir the pot you were supposed to be watching. Your chest heaves, a little breathless from kissing König, which- wow, first of all. Second of all, you don't really know what you're supposed to do after that.

"I suppose this is a date then?" König answers for you. You laugh, doing your best to salvage dinner.

"You should've told me I would've dressed up." You joke back. König hums, his fingers tracing over your hips to the edge of your shorts, feather light when they skim your skin. You suppress the shiver it sends down your spine.

"You always look beautiful," He tells you softly, and you duck your head, not able to keep the shiver down that time.

#cowboy!König #oc: bee #könig x reader #könig call of duty #König x you #könig mw2 #f!reader #x reader #Wow Bee cracked first but I can't blame her #König was never going to make a move #Bee is very determined to not make a fool of herself the rest of the night #but it's really hard when König keeps kissing her #and she feels like she gets a little dumber every time he does #pushing at his face while they're watching a movie after dinner like #stop kissing me or I'm not gonna be able to send you home #König doesn't tell her but that's the idea

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discount-shades · 1 year

Text

Contract Spouse Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Living the Lie

A/N: to quote M*A*S*H “War isn’t Hell. War is war, and Hell is Hell. And of the two, war is a lot worse.”

Pairing: Jake Seresin/Reader (nicknamed Pip)

Warning: Angst, war, PTSD, civilian deaths, child death, nightmares

Length: 2100 ish

Summary: Jake and Pip settle into living together.

Previous Masterlist Next

Two weeks after you had settled into Jake's house in San Diego you were on the phone with Sami. Your almost daily phone calls with Jake had been replaced by phone calls to Sami. You look up from the pasta you were stirring on the stove as Jake walks through the side door. He goes to greet you but cuts himself off when he sees you are on the phone.

“Who is it?” You read his lips as he mouths the question and you mouth the answer back. “Hi Sami,” he calls out.

“Jake says hi,” you say with a resigned sigh. Relaying a conversation between the two siblings when you were on the phone with Jake had started very soon after the wedding and now that you were living with Jake, the habit had immediately resumed in reverse and you had long since given up trying to get them to talk to each other. Jake now sports a smile identical to the one Sami always had on her face during these conversations.

When you finally hang up the phone you roll your eyes at Jake. “You guys are ridiculous, I hate you both.”

“No you don’t,” he grins as he heads to his room to change out of his work clothes “You love us.”

“That's the problem.” You mumble to yourself as you dump the pasta into a serving dish and set the table before sitting down to dinner.

“I got two more quotes on redoing the roof,” you tell Jake between bites of alfredo. “I think we should go with the second, they’re more expensive but have better reviews and can begin sooner.”

“Whatever you think is best.” Jake shrugs, relieved you had taken over the repairs he had been too busy to arrange.

“And the contractor for the hot water tank called, he had a cancellation and can come replace ours tomorrow.” Jake just nods in confirmation and you fight a sigh.

The house that Jake had bought a few months ago, though overall in good shape, had needed a few updates and you had quickly taken over organizing them. Talking about hiring contractors over dinner makes you feel more married than you have ever felt before. The monotony of cohabitation made slipping into the rhythm of life together automatic.

Living with Jake was easy. You worked together seamlessly, easily dividing household chores and responsibilities. Chatting in the evenings, watching tv, or just sitting in silence reading. The two of you just fit together. He had even tolerated you reorganizing every drawer and shelf in the common spaces with minimal cursing over not being able to find things.

Life continues in the same thread. You and Jake grocery shopping, going for walks, cooking, and doing dishes, just easily living together. But as time went on you were finding it harder and harder.

Everyday you had to stifle your imagination as you pictured him coming through the door and giving you a kiss. The little part in your heart that you could never squish down was still hoping that one day Jake would look at you and fall in love.

The logical part tried to keep your breathing steady when Jake would brush past you in the kitchen. Tried to keep you from melting into his touch when he placed his hand on your lower back when you were walking together in public. Tried to keep from staring when you were together.

It didn’t help that Jake frequently walks around without his shirt. Whether it was first thing in the morning, after a shower, or after a run. You loved and hated it. When you said goodnight and went to your separate rooms you wanted to follow him into the master bedroom and finally end your embarrassingly long dry spell. You should have hooked up with your cute neighbor in your final days in Austin. Maybe that would have made things easier.

– – –

“Jake,” your voice startles him out of his sleep. He can hear you tapping gently on his door before easing it open. “We have a problem.”

“What's wrong?” he mumbles sleepily as he sits up in bed, squinting in the hall light shining through the open door. The rain from earlier is still lightly falling outside. “What time is it?”

“It’s a little after midnight, The roof is leaking.” You tell him, hair pulled up into a sloppy bun and pillow creases on your cheek. “I woke up in a puddle, it's coming through the light fixture above the bed.”

Jake mumbles curses. He had been sleeping soundly and would have likely been able to sleep the whole night if the roof hadn’t leaked. He helps you move the bed and set up a big rubbermaid bin under the leak to catch the dripping water while you strip the wet bedding off the mattress and throw it in the bathtub. You flip the breaker and he carefully removes the light so the water can fall directly into the bin without pooling, you dutifully hold the flashlight.

After you follow him into the attic to see where the leak is. Fortunately it is only in one spot and the rain has slowed to a stop. Using the towels you had so neatly organized, you help him mop up all the water you can. You place another bin under the main leak but it has slowed to a drip. Working next to you in the dimly lit attic, Jake realizes he never would have noticed the leak so soon if not for you.

“When are they supposed to fix the roof?” Jake asks you.

“Monday,” you say sadly and he sighs. “If you leave all the information for me I’ll call the insurance company tomorrow.”

He follows you down the ladder with the wet towels and throws them into the washing machine. You follow with the towels from your room. Your teeth chattering and he looks at you for the first time and notices that your pajamas are soaking wet.

“Pip you're going to get sick, go change.” You roll your eyes at him but comply and grab a dry pair of pajamas and head to the bathroom so you can leave your wet ones in the tub. When you come out of the bathroom he meets you in the hall. “I dumped the bin in your room, we should be good to go back to sleep.” You nod but don't follow him; grabbing your pillow you turn to go into the living room.

“Where are you going?”

“The couch.” You stare at him in confusion. “My mattress is soaked.”

“Yeah but mine's not.” You stand there staring at him and he suddenly feels like he has overstepped. The look in your eye is unreadable but you just agree quietly and follow him. When he reaches the bed and you crawl in beside him he feels his stomach clench. He can't remember the last time he slept next to someone, it's been years, definitely before the nightmares started. What if he moves and hits you, or says something he doesn’t want you to hear?

It’s awkward. As soon as he lies down beside you he feels the need to move and eases himself over to his other side. He can hear you rolling over when he does. You don’t say anything but he can tell you are tense. Maybe he shouldn't have insisted you share his bed. “Do you want to build a pillow wall?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” You roll over again and he can feel your eyes on him. “Good night Jake.”

“Goodnight.” You stop moving but he can tell you are not asleep by your breathing. He listens and tries not to move but he can’t sleep if you are awake. He feels the bed shift every time you move and shuffle your feet. He stares into the dark hyper aware of you beside him, pretending to sleep before he finally breaks the silence. “Are you awake?”

“Yeah.”

“Can’t sleep?”

“My feet are cold,” you tell him. “I can’t sleep with cold feet.”

Jake bites back a sigh and says the thing he doesn’t want to do. “You can put them on me.”

Your soft laugh almost makes it worthwhile. “I don’t think you mean that,” you counter. And he reaches down to feel your feet and immediately regrets his decision when he feels how icy they are.

“Come on,” he says resignedly and urges you to roll over so you can press your feet to his warm legs. When you settle he finds himself focusing on your cold toes to distract himself from the warmth coming from your body lying beside him.

As your feet warm he can feel the tension leave you as you relax into sleep, your breath slowing and evening out and soon he finds himself drifting off as well.

– – –

Maverick is carrying a lifeless Rooster in his arms. He is standing in the desert. Rubble and fire from a destroyed building around him. Blood is dripping down Rooster's extended arm and steadily falling from his fingertips and onto the dry sand. Jake stands, blood pounding in his ears with every drop that hits the ground. Maverick is speaking to him in a language he can't understand, repeating the same phrase.

When he realizes it’s weird to see Maverick cradling Rooster so easily everything seems to blur and when it clears there is now a father holding his young son in front of him. The boy's eyes are open and staring blankly at the sky. The man speaks but it is Maverick's voice he hears, “You shot at the wrong time, his death is your fault Hangman.” The man advances towards him brandishing the body of his dead son repeating the words in Maverick’s voice, becoming angrier and more grief-stricken with every repetition as Jake retreats, his heart pounding, unable to escape.

– – –

“No!” Jake sits up gasping. His heart is hammering wildly as he tries to breathe. He feels like there is a weight on his chest, contracting his lungs and keeping his ribcage from expanding. The image of the boy burned into his retinas.

“Jake?” The soft sound of your voice startles him and he flinches when he sees you move before pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. Trying to rub away what he saw. Your hand is hesitant as it brushes against his back, gently moving and pressing his t-shirt into his sweat soaked skin. He wants to tell you to stop, that he doesn’t deserve comfort after what he did. He wants to get up and leave, but he doesn't. He just sits there frozen and focuses on the feeling of your warm hand smoothing over his spine as his breathing steadies. When the chill sets in he strips off the sweaty shirt and lies back down on his back.

“Nightmare?” you ask quietly already knowing the answer. He nods even though he is not sure you can see him. He’s told you about the nightmares, never why or what he sees but you know he has trouble sleeping. You're the only one who knows.

You lie on your side and he can feel your eyes in the dark. Unable to rub his back you place your hand on his chest and resume the relaxing motion. But the feel of your hand on his bare chest is too much and he stops you, flattening your hand to his heart. When you go to pull away he reaches up with his other hand and clutches your wrist, unwilling to let you go.

“Don’t go.” The words slip out before he can stop them and he clenches his jaw to keep from speaking more. He can feel you nod you head beside him. You slowly begin flexing your fingers and he relaxes the hand flattening yours and you begin to gently scratch his chest with your finger tips. He finally lets out a shuddering breath and shifts his grip on your wrist so he can feel your steady pulse.

“Breath with me,” you whisper. “Focus on my breaths.” he lies beside you and listens to you breathe and focuses on the feeling of your warm hand pressed to his heart and the gentle caress of your finger tips. He feels the butterfly kiss of your lips on his shoulder and his skin burns. Your soft breaths moves over his skin and his heart aches.

When your fingers stop moving he knows you are asleep but doesn’t let go of your hand, eventually he falls into a dreamless sleep listening to your soft breaths.

#jake hangman seresin #jake seresin #jake hangman x reader #jake seresin/reader #jake seresin x reader #hangman #hangman/reader #top gun hangman #top gun fanfiction #topgun maverick #topgun hangman #top gun x reader #hangman topgun #topgun

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rollingsins · 1 year

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all hers, part v

summary: Long before she was Ghostface, she was just Tara. The sweet, pretty girl from your chemistry class who brought roses to your first date and promised to love you forever. Tara and reader’s first time. Smut. 18+

warnings: smut, 18+. first-time, vaginal-fingering.

word count: 2.5k

a/n: thought we’d go back a little bit, obviously set before Tara became Ghostface. As always, thanks for all the love and support, and let me know what you want to see next! Ask is always open for suggestions.

It’s your fourth date. Officially.

You’d been going out with Tara for a few weeks now. When she’d first asked you out, all shy smiles and curious, wanting eyes, you couldn’t believe your luck that a girl so pretty wanted to be with you. To be honest, you still couldn’t believe it.

Butterflies flutter in your stomach. She’d invited you over for dinner and movies, not dissimilar to some of the other dates you’d had. Except this time her mom wasn’t home. The way she’d said it, flirty, voice sort of high at the end, has your stomach in knots.

You’d never felt like this around anyone. There had been crushes, sure. A first kiss, first girlfriend for all of three weeks when you were fourteen. But nothing serious. Nothing like this.

Tara made your heart flutter. She made it sing.

You grip your palms, nervously. Knock swiftly on the door.

Tara answers almost immediately.

Her hair is down, she’s wearing an apron. She smiles, wide, greets you with a kiss.

“Hi.”

You hover in the doorway, trying to conceal the goofy smile that wants to overtake your entire face. She holds out her hand, and you take it as she leads you through the house and into the kitchen.

“I cooked for us.” She says. She looks a little bashful. It smells amazing. Sundried tomatoes and chicken, pasta simmering on the stove.

“I didn’t know you could cook.”

But of course she could. She was perfect.

“Well, my mom’s not really home that much, so I learned pretty early on.” She shrugs. She lets go of your hand to stir one of the pots. Looks over at you, coy, “Worked out well though, all the girls seem to like it.”

“All the girls, huh?” You tease. She looks back at you, her smile shy.

“Well. One girl. Hopefully.”

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, a small smile on her lips.

You reach into your bag, hold out a bottle of your Dad’s finest red. Stolen from his cabinet. What he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

“I brought wine.”

Tara’s midway pouring out two glasses when it happens. The house creaks a gentle groan, then the lights flicker. The power’s out.

You stand a moment, blink into the darkness.

“Fuck.”

You can make out her silhouette in the darkness. She fumbles around for her phone, presses the flashlight.

“The food.”

The stovetop is out, you watch as Tara flashes the light across the chicken. Half-cooked.

“Perfect.”

“Maybe it’s the fuse?” You suggest, trying to be helpful. Tara flashes the light out the window. All the neighbors are dark too.

“Shit.”

She fumbles around the drawers, drawing out some candles. Lights a couple, illuminating the room. She looks so pretty in the candlelight, is all you can think. Mused hair, pink lips, a little flour on her cheeks from the food.

She turns back at you, chewing her lip. Her pretty brown eyes are wide, mournful.

“Well, that’s dinner gone.” She looks over to the living room, as if she’s just realizing, “And the power’s out so no movie.”

She looks upset. “I’m sorry, YN. Tonight was supposed to be perfect and now it's all ruined.”

“Hey.” You touch her arm, move a little closer, “It’s not ruined. As long as I’m with you, it’s perfect. Alright?”

She looks back at you doubtful.

“We have no food.”

‘That’s not true.” You say. Out of the corner of your eye you spot some bread on the counter. You move to it, help yourself to a couple of plates. “We’ve got bread. Do you have peanut butter? Jelly?”

She bites her lip.

“PB&J?” She asks. “That’s not very romantic.”

Butterflies flutter in your chest. She wants it to be romantic. Of course she does, idiot, you scold yourself, it’s a date. You feel your cheeks getting hot.

“But a PB&J by candlelight is very romantic.” You assure her, a little thankful she can’t see how your cheeks burn in the darkness. “With wine, don’t forget.”

A smile plays on her lips.

“Second drawer on the right.” Is all she says.

She might be a better cook than you, you reason as you slap peanut butter all over the bread, but nobody beats your PB&J’s. When you’re finished, she’s poured out two glasses of wine, gestures for you to follow her past the dining room table.

Her house is nice, much nicer than yours. All high ceilings and leather furniture. This room is maybe the most impressive room, a long, cobbled fireplace sits in its center.

“We were going to eat at the table,” She tells you, setting down the glasses. She reaches for a throw on the back of one of the sofa’s. Lays it down on the floor, right in front of the fireplace, “But this is better. Like our own little picnic.”

She takes the plates off you, lowers them to the floor.

“Here.”

She’s holding out her hand for you, helping lower you onto the floor.

“Do you know how to do that?” You ask, a little concerned with the way she fumbles with the firewood.

“Yeah. My sister taught me.” She assures. She strikes a match, drops it against the wood. It flashes alight, the immediate smell of smoky wood fills the room. She looks back at you, smiling as she settles down next to you.

You hand her the sandwich, push the edge of your crust into hers.

“Cheers.”

You take a small bite, watches as she does the same.

Lean against your hand. She mirrors you, lets the tip of her pinky brush yours. Electricity flows through you.

The fire burns bright. You’re talking about school when she kisses you. Suddenly, out of nowhere, like she can’t control herself any longer. The surprised gasp that slips from your lips lasts only a moment, before you’re dropping your sandwich to the floor in favor of threading your fingers through her hair.

You kiss for a while, a familiar heat rising in your stomach. You’d often end up this way, making out desperately in the middle of your dates. This time feels different. It feels more urgent, feverish. You shiver as she pulls back, looks into your eyes.

The way she looks in the firelight, lips parted slightly, red and swollen. Beautiful brown eyes, wide and wanting. You want all of her. You want to give her all of you.

You swallow hard.

“Tara-” You trail off, a little nervous. How do you tell someone you want to give them your virginity?

She leans up to you, brushes the hair off your face with her fingers. You lick your lips. She wants it too, you can see it in her eyes.

“I’ve never-” You swallow. She’s staring at your lips.

“Me either.”

“Should we-”

“Yes.”

You sigh as she crashes into you. All lips and tongue and roaming hands. She’s pressing you back into the rug. Her weight on top of you feels impossibly good. The butterflies in your stomach are gone, instead fireworks explode, electrifying every part of you. Your body thrums hot, cheeks flushed with an uncontrollable desire for her. Her hands roam down your body, a little nervous, apprehensive, like she isn’t quite sure what she’s doing.

She’s gripping the top of your jeans, with her fingers, pulling back from your lips just long enough to ask the question with her eyes.

God, yes.

You nod, and she lets out a breathy, excited little noise as she fumbles with the button of your jeans. It’s not slick at all, it takes almost twenty seconds; her hands are shaking, but the look in her eyes when she’s sliding them down your legs makes it more than worth it.

“Yours too.” You murmur, sitting up slightly to reach for the button of her pants. You’re quicker, help her out of them within seconds. She’s pressing back into your lips, climbing into your lap. The feel of your hands on her bare thighs makes your head spin, her weight in your lap makes you throb between your legs. Your kisses are getting sloppier, more feverish as you pull the rest of each other’s clothes off.

When she unclips your bra, your breasts spilling out, her pupils dilate.

“Oh my god.” She says as she reaches up to take one in her hands. Her fingers immediately find your nipples. She dips down, takes one between her lips. You moan, the sensation new, and sexy. Her mouth is hot and wanting, her tongue flicking gently against your pebbled nipples. She works them in her mouth for a few moments before you’re tugging her back with impatience, wanting your turn.

Hers are a little smaller than yours, but her nipples are just as hard. Your mouth waters as you take one between your lips, suckling gently. Her fingers thread through your hair, she lets out a tiny moan. You hold her by her hips, licking and sucking. When you trail kisses back up to her lips, she’s looking down at you with dark, hooded eyes.

The warmth of the fireplace and her body combined as you flushed red. She pushes you down onto your back, hands wandering as she kisses you.

When her fingers hook your panties, your breath catches in your throat.

She tugs them down your legs, her eyes on yours. As she tosses them away you reach for hers.

She slips her thigh between your legs, groans as her lips crash onto yours.

You gasp. Her wet heat against your thigh, yours on hers. No barriers between you anymore, just you and her, naked and entwined in each other. The lights dimmed, illuminated only by the light of the fire and the candles.

She grinds against your leg for a moment.

The sensation is unreal. Her weight, impossibly good on you, the soft heat of her bare skin. Her desperate lips pressing hot kisses to your lips. Her excitement drizzling all over your leg.

Her hands are on your thighs, prying them open. She bites her lip as she settles in between them, hands roaming from the outside of your thighs to the inside.

Your hands are around her neck, keeping her close enough to kiss.

“Can I touch you, baby?” She whispers against your lips, breathless. You nod wildly.

“Please.”

It isn’t like when you touch yourself.

Her fingers brush across your slit, gently probing, exploring. She gathers the wetness from your entrance, rubs it down the length of you, her mouth open, eyes filled with desire.

She circles your clit, a little jerky. The moan that escapes your mouth is out of your control. She leans down into you, kisses you as she continues movements.

Small circles at first, warming you up. Everything feels hot: the heat of the fireplace, her swollen lips against yours, the burn of your cheeks. You clutch onto her shoulders, gasp as she dips her fingers lower, teasing your entrance.

When she hooks her finger up, slipping a single digit into your wet heat, you both moan.

Her eyebrows knit together. Your heart is thrumming, you think it might burst out of your chest. She’s knuckle deep inside you, the tip of her finger hitting your g-spot perfectly.

“You’re so tight.” She marvels with wonder. Her voice is throaty and low. “Fuck.”

She moves her hand slightly, movements a little jilted, unsure. You gasp as she hits your spot just right.

“Is this okay?” She asks, “I’m not hurting you?”

You shake your head, bite your lip.

“No.” You say, “That feels so good. More please, baby.”

She complies. Another finger sinks inside of you, stretching you out. She kisses you, tilting her fingers in and out, her pace glacial. Your fingernails sink into the bare skin of her back, trying to take her deeper. Your lips against her neck, groaning into her skin.

Her confidence is rising, the longer she’s in you. She’s paying close attention to the way you clench around her, the noises you make when she thrusts a little harder. It isn’t long before you’re rutting against her, orgasm building.

“I’m going to cum.” You gasp out, right before it happens. Your body goes stiff against her as it washes over you. You moan, low and steady, as it overtakes your entire body, from the tips of your ears to the bottom of your heels. She kisses you through it.

You slump back onto the floor. She presses a gentle kiss to your chest, slowly withdrawing her fingers. When you look up at her, she has her own fingers in her mouth, sucking off your wetness. Her eyes black with want.

You swallow. Arousal surges through you.

Before your mind can even register, you’re reaching up for her, tilting her back onto the floor. You spread her legs with your knees, only one thing on your mind.

She looks a little surprised, but her expression quickly changes to pure want the moment your fingers brush her.

Your heart is hammering again, lump in your throat. You are still so painfully turned on. Feeling her slick heat beneath your fingers only makes you want her more. You’ve done this to yourself before, so it isn’t totally new, only she feels so much better. She’s sticky, so wet, so warm. You graze your fingertips over her clit, watch the way her mouth opens, her eyes close as you tease her entrance.

When you sink inside of her for the first time, it’s like an out of body experience. Warm, wet heat encompasses you. She grips your fingers, like her pussy is trying to keep you in place, exactly where you belong. She lets out a small, breathy gasp each time you curl your fingers up into her. She looks perfect: laid out before you, nipples hard, lips swollen, pussy dripping wet under your fingers.

You tell her so, lean down to kiss her.

She sighs up into your mouth.

You build a steady pace, copy what she’d done on you. It isn’t long at all before you can feel how desperate she’s getting, clawing at you, pussy tightening around your fingers. When she cums, she groans, low, cunt squeezing your fingers, eyes pressed tightly shut.

It’s gorgeous. Beautiful.

You want to do this forever.

You kiss her through her orgasm, slow down as she breathes, her grip on you loosening. When you slip out of her, she grips onto you tight, pulls you down on top of her.

Your fingers are soaked. You bring them to your lips. Her scent is overwhelming, so good it makes your mouth water. She’s bitter, it makes your tongue sting pleasantly, watering for more.

You lean down against her chest, let her shift slightly. She cradles you against her.

Her heartbeat is slowing down. You entwine your fingers with hers, close your eyes.

You feel her lips against the top of your head.

“That was-” She trails off. Squeezes your body slightly.

“Amazing.” You finish for her. “We’re so doing that again. And again. And again.”

She chuckles. You open your eyes, watch as the fireplace flickers in front of you, burning its last log.

All you can feel is the rise and fall of her chest as she breathes against you. The smell of her skin as you breathe her in. Your eyes droop, as her fingertips rub gentle circles on her scalp.

Maybe this is what falling in love feels like.

Next part

#ghostface!tara #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x you #scream #fanfiction #mine #ah

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birdiewriteslit · 4 months

Note

“are you jealous?” “jealous? can’t be.” with Charlie Weasley maybe if you are like really close friends with the twins because you were school friends 👀💕

yessss omg i love charlie!!

This is not where you saw yourself when you graduated. That was nearly six years ago. You love the Weasley twins dearly, but the joke shop was probably one of your least favorite places in the world right now.

The twins had managed to make you agree to helping them out in the shop on your holiday from work. It made you wish you were back in Romania, and it had you longing for where you were supposed to be, with Charlie, relaxing at home.

Being friends with the twins at Hogwarts (and in the same year) had caused your current predicament. You had to thank them, though, for they were also the reason you met your boyfriend.

Charlie was four years older than you, and you always had a crush on him. He was head boy and Griffyndor’s seeker. He was immensely charming and dripping with charisma.

When he left Hogwarts, you were forced to give up on your dreams of being with him. That was until you ended up on the same reserve as him a few years after graduation. The rest was history.

You were currently moping at your station outside of the store, unenthusiastically selling some sort of bewitched toffee.

“Y/n, your energy is a little low for my liking,” Fred said, poking his head through the door to the shop.

“Sorry, I’ll do better,” you said heartlessly, forcing a smile.

“Missing Charles too much?” he teased.

“Yeah, actually,” you confessed.

Fred looked sympathetic, and a little guilty. He took the box of toffees from your hands. “Go home, Y/n. These aren’t very good anyways. George and I can take it from here.”

You smiled at him, feeling grateful for his understanding nature. “You sure?”

“Positive.”

“Good, because I’m not coming back.” You disapparated before he could respond.

Appearing at the door of your flat, you turned the key and walked inside, relieved to be greeted by the smell of dinner on the stove.

“Charlie?” you called, taking off your shoes and shrugging off your coat. He didn’t answer, but you found him in the kitchen, concentrating on the pot he was stirring.

“How was your shift?” he said shortly.

You shrugged. “It was fine. How was your day?”

“Fine,” he said, not looking up.

You furrowed your brows. “Is something wrong?” you asked, brushing some of his fiery hair out of his eyes.

“No, nothing. You’ve been spending a lot of time with my brothers since we got back,” he observed coldly.

You suppressed a smirk. You should’ve known. Charlie had fallen victim to envy many times, and Fred and George had been the accused before.

You poked his arm. “Charlie, are you jealous?”

“Jealous? Can’t be,” he said, still not taking his eyes off of the pot.

“Charlie,” you said teasingly, moving to wrap your arms around his waist from behind. He tensed a little before relaxing into your touch. “You can be honest with me.”

You were sure that he wanted to, but he was stubborn and still wouldn’t let up.

“I was thinking about you all day,” you whispered into his ear, which had gone pink. You trailed your fingers down to his waistband, which made him finally turn to face you.

“Merlin, you minx,” he murmured. “It’s just- we get one break from the reserve, and the twins have you doing work for them. I want you all to myself. Is that too much to ask?” he admitted.

Your arms still around him, you pressed a hand into his back and brought yourself closer. “I’ll be yours for the rest of the week, I promise.”

Charlie grinned. “I’ll hold you to that.” He dipped down to kiss your lips. You responded enthusiastically, as if you hadn’t seen him for days. It had only been hours.

You were looking forward to the rest of this week.

#birdiewriteslit #birdiewritesfics #harry potter #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #golden era #charlie weasley x reader #charlie weasley #jealousy #charlie weasley fanfic

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tadpolesonalgae · 10 months

Text

Azriel x reader: Pull You Down[*]

A/N: I feel like there’s a prominent theme of me initially writing a pretty vanilla fic and then spinning the wheel of my kinks and just randomly throwing one in

Side note: just assume his shadows removed the pancake from the stove…

Warnings: food play (honey pouring), pussy-eating, smut, not proofread

“Something smells good.”

Your lips hitch up into a smile at the deep drawl, roughened by sleep. Husky, and delicious.

You turn to meet Azriel’s morning-softened eyes, how the dark centre within his green ring melts like honey in the sunlight.

“Pancakes?” You step aside to reveal the stack you’ve created, a few toppings sealed in dinky glass jars to the side. Some jam (strawberry, raspberry, apricot), some honey, and some cream (with strawberries and nuts scattered over top).

He pads across the kitchen silently, the deep blue cotton of his night clothes swishing quietly. Initially, he’d been against the idea of matching pyjama sets, colour flushing his cheeks when you had first suggested it, but you’d worn him down.

Azriel’s arms wrap around your waist, solid warmth pressing against your back as he settles his jaw over your head. “Looks good.” You hum in response, a spark of pleasure heating your chest at the approval. “When do you want to eat?” You ask, flipping the last pancake.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he answers easily, still a bit lethargic from what was apparently a good night’s rest.

You smile a bit. “Someone slept well.”

His arms squeeze you in response, and he dips to your ear. “I was very worn out.” You stiffen, the pleasant soreness between your legs a gentle reminder of the night before.

“You were rather…unhinged.” You venture, pressing into him slightly so he would understand that wasn’t a bad thing. Sure enough, he nipped at the shell of your ear, silent encouragement for your feedback. “The riding crop was a pleasant surprise.” A quiet growl rumbles in his chest, full of masculine satisfaction. Maybe you curved your back a little, just to press into his hips. Maybe you wound against him too.

A shiver runs down your spine as one of his hands snakes up your front, tracing between your breasts as he cups your jaw. “Any other fixations you’d like to tell me about, pet?” Your breathing hitches, feeling the shift in atmosphere as he tightens his grip on you—more dominating; firmer.

You swallow, and you’re sure he feels the roll of your throat beneath his palm. “No, sir.”

“No?” He drawls, the hand atop your stomach tracing soft, teasing patterns with his fingertips. “None?” Your thighs squeeze together, hand tightening on the spatula as you feel his lips brush the tip of your ear. Your very sensitive, pointed ear.

You shiver.

Azriel lands a firm smack to your cheek for taking too long and you have to grit your teeth to keep from whimpering. “Answer, pet.”

“I…like when you surprise me, sir.” You admit softly. “When you…show your own tastes.” His hand tightens but he’s listening. Intently. “Depraved as they sometimes are.”

His hand dips below your nightgown, hooking beneath the hem that comes to the middle of your thighs. You’re body tenses as the pads of his fingers dance over your bargain mark: the empty circle with the crossed lines haloing it. “Depraved?” He drawls, his touch feather-light. “I think you should be grateful I’m willing to share my fantasies with a filthy thing like you.”

A shiver spider-walks down your spine, and you fight to keep from whimpering at his smooth tongue. His mouth opens over the skin of your neck, tongue swiping up the column of your throat, teeth scraping over your skin.

Your hands grip the counter, one squeezing the spatula— fuck, the pancakes.

You hiss, noting how the edges are already curling, the sign you need to flip it over—pronto. You reach forward, sliding the instrument beneath—

His hands drop to your hips, pulling you back and spinning you around so you’re further from the stove. His body flattens against your own, soft skin meeting unyielding muscle as his hips press into your own and you have feel him pressing into your belly. Over the bargain mark.

You open your mouth to scold him, the words on the tip of your tongue, but you see the gleam in his eyes. The spark. He’s just waiting for you to stumble. So he can pounce.

One hand is now wrapped around your waist, the other settled on your throat, resting with proprietary entitlement. You shiver.

“Look at me.”

You swallow, but raise your gaze to his.

His pupils are dilated, expanding across his iris’, devouring you as you watch him. His hand raises to your cheek, brushing up over your throat to swipe his thumb across your lip.

Azriel lifts you from the ground, shifting you into the air before dropping you onto the counter. You bite your lip—he’s not gentle in his actions.

“That hurt, pet?”

Swallowing, you dip your head, leaning back on your arms. “A bit, sir.”

His fingertips dance up the tops of your thighs, hooking beneath your nightgown and lifting, allowing his eyes to settle over your slick heat. He groans, thumb brushing over your hip—dipping lower to just above the apex of your thighs. The muscles in your legs tense with the need to buck against him.

“Good.” He breathes, eyes not leaving your cunt.

You’re so wet. He’s barely touching you and you’re already dripping down onto the surface. His lips quirk at the edges, a dark light glinting in his eyes as they glaze. “Maybe one day, I should leave you wrapped in my shadows. See what they do with you.”

Your jaw tightens with the effort not to squeeze your thighs together, to keep from moaning. His thumb dips lower, tracing over your glistening sex, light enough to be a deft brush of his fingers. Hardly a breath of stimuli. “Keep you on your hands and knees, while I’m out working. Leaving you two to get to know each other…”

As if in response, they crest at his shoulders, peering down at you with eager curiosity. You bite the inside of your lip to keep from whimpering. “I’m sure they’d like that,” he drawls, raising a hand for them to wrap around, rubbing against him as a cat would. “Maybe they’d collect all the slick that drips from this pretty cunt into a jar.” He picks up the pot of honey. “Like this one.”

The heat is boiling, bubbling beneath your skin, breaths shallowing. “I can’t imagine a single dish you wouldn’t taste good with.”

You draw in a shaky breath, hearing the glass clink as he sets the jar back down on the side. His hands settle atop your thighs, spreading them as he easily lifts your night robe from under you, peeling it up so it pools at your waist. Allowing your arousal to slick the counter. “Would you like that, huh? Like the idea of them having their way with your pretty cunt?” He drawls lowly.

Your lips part in need, desperately keeping yourself silent but you’re panting. You need him to touch you. Need him to do something.

He smacks you lightly, palm connecting with your cheek as the stinging sensation settles into your skin. A soft whine drags from your lips, and his eyes gleam. He’s wearing you down, layer by layer, stripping you bare until you’re a shaking, quivering mess at his feet.

“Answer, pet.”

If his hand would just drop a little lower. If his fingers would just sink into you. Even if he just put his mouth to yours, you would be happy.

“Sir…” you manage, back curving, tilting your head downward to peer up at him. His wings flare slightly, making him seem larger. His eyes hunt your mouth, tracking their movement with predatory focus.

“Don’t make me repeat myself.” The words are barely a brush of his lips over your own, but you can feel their quiet threat.

Your head dips, “yes, sir. I would.” Need thrums beneath your skin, and you know he can sense how desperate you are. And he’s still withholding your pleasure.

He arches a brow in silent command, thumb now brushing over your inner thigh, circling in light, taunting patterns. You look at him with pleading eyes, quietly begging him to touch you.

“I—…”

Your lips part with a startled moan, and you smack your hand over your mouth.

His shadows had wound their way up your calves, over your thighs, settling between them, poised to strike. And when you had begun to answer him, they dragged over the slick mess that was steadily dripping onto the counter.

They pull away as quickly as they had arrived, leaving you wet, hot, and needy, beneath the mercilessly gaze of the shadowsinger. You can practically feel his satisfaction as he tuts, slowly.

“I thought you knew our rules.” He drawls, mouth so, so close to your own. You push against his grip, leaning for his mouth, but he lands another smack to your cheek in warning, and you squirm on the countertop. “Are you being purposefully disobedient, pet?”

You shake your head, “no, sir. I swear—”

He’s pulling you away from the side, and before you know it, his hand is fisted in your hair, forcefully bending you over. You gasp, his hips pressing against the swell of your ass, eyes rolling a bit.

“I think you need a fresh reminder. Isn’t that right, pet?”

Shit. What’s the right answer. Yes, or no? Which one will please him the most? Which one’s correct? Shit, shit, shit.

He laughs, and you know you’re fucked.

You help when his hand connects with your ass, making you flinch, breasts pressing against the cool marble, making you bite your lip. “Make one more noise,” he whispers beside your ear, “and we’ll see how long you can go without coming.”

Your breath catches.

Especially as his hand snakes down your front, the one in your hair moving to cup your throat. Your eyes widen as he smacks your clit, knees wobbling as you lean more of your weight into the marble, but his hand comes down again. Again, again, and again. Until tears are rolling down your cheeks.

So overwhelmed.

The mouth-watering press of his cock against your ass, the solid heat of him at your back, the sinful brush of his mouth over the nape of your neck. Your toes curl.

“Open,” he growls softly, tapping your inner thigh.

Tears spilling, you part your legs a little wider, having tried to close them when he was abusing your sensitive clit. “How many do you think you deserve?” He muses, teeth scraping your ear, and you wish he would put them in your neck. He knows that too.

“Five?” He murmurs, and a quiet sob breaks from you, shuddering beneath his powerful grip. “Ten?” He asks, revelling in your reactions.

He pinches your clit, and you so nearly whimper. From the pain, from the pleasure he’s keeping just out of reach. So close your fingertips could brush it.

“Thirty?”

You nearly give out, praying to the Mother he doesn’t give you thirty. You won’t last that long. There’s no way. You’re already so nearly done. Already so used. Even five is a stretch.

Tears brim at the edges of your eyes, vision blurring so you don’t notice his shadows gripping the jar he’d earlier set down. Nor as they pop it open.

Azriel pressing mockingly soft kisses up the length of your neck, making you melt into him, desperate for that soft touch. His mouth is heavenly soft, just the barest whisper of pleasure against your sizzling nerves and you release a shaky breath.

You can feel him shifting behind you, but think nothing of it.

Until something cool, and viscous is pressed to your clit.

Your mouth drops open in pleasure, in relief at the cold sensation to your puffy heat. You could beg for him to continue. Subconsciously, you press your hips down onto his fingers, smearing the thick substance.

“Want more?” He whispers. So soft. You could whine from the gentle attention. After the repeated stinging, the coolness of welcome.

The pads of his fingers move in slow oscillations, spreading it over your clit. You flinch as it’s spread thinner, and you can feel the twist of his lips against your skin. “Guess, pet.”

You struggle, mind stumbling over itself but you come up short when you feel his tip pressing against your entrance.

“I—…" you stammer, scrambling for words. Anything. Anything will do. But what is it? He won’t be pleased if you throw out a random answer. “Honey—… honey, sir.”

His hips roll forward, and both your hands cover your mouth as he slides in. He’s coating himself in your slick, pulling out then pressing in, until he’s nestled inside of you, hips flushed tight against your ass, making your eyes roll.

He doesn’t praise you for getting the answer correct. Why would he? Out of the pots and jars that are scattered at your side, the right answer was obvious. He won’t reward you for something so minimal.

You gasp as his finger rolls over your clit, the tiny sugar granules abrading the soft, puffy skin. Your teeth sink into your lower lip as he begins pounding into you, still painfully working your clit. He’s not pressing hard enough for it to properly sting, but it’s like he’s repeatedly scraping the sharp point of his canines over the sensitive bud. Enough to keep you crying—he likes it when you cry.

His shadows wrap over your hips, eager to join the fun, to set their darkness skittering across the expanse of your skin. They brush over your nipples, silky and cold, and you squeeze your eyes shut. It’s his way of punishing you, giving you the pleasure of having him filling you up—so deliciously and it’s enough to make your eyes roll for you to beg and plead and scream for more and more and you’ll be so good so good and so pretty for him however he wants.

But he wears away at you, the honey making it a sticky mess between your thighs.

You wish it was just his hands, his hands and his cock between your thighs, then you could indulge in the deftness, the skill he carries. You could weep at the memory of it. The soft touches at the beginning of your relationship before you properly discovered one another.

Tears roll as his hand smacks down, a sharp buck of his hips accompanying the pain, easing you out. “Drift of again and we’ll see what happens.”

All you can manage are shallow pants of breath as he slams into you, touching you just perfectly. Now that you’re focusing on it—it’s kind of nice… The scrape of the granules, itching that spot, rubbing over it, with the heat and softness of his fingers.

“Stop enjoying it,” he growls lowly beside you, and your brows curve upward, beseechingly. You can tell he’s nearing that edge—then he’ll be spilling, spilling all of himself, everything he can give, all of it, spilling all of it inside of you.

You tighten around him at the low timbre of the order, making pleasure rasp beneath your skin. But then he presses slightly harder, and you flinch. So sensitive. It’s too sensitive.

“Something you want, pet?” He drawls, his hips rolling so deliciously, dragging against the spot over and over again that makes your knees weak.

You manage a weak nod, a slight dip of your head as you’re made delirious by the pain and pleasure that is twining together inside of you, reforming to something glorious. “Please—…” you gasp, his hips bucking, making it difficult for you to form any words.

“Please…?” He taunts, softening the tight rings he’s been making around your clit.

“I need—…inside me—… Please, sir!” You stammer the words between the thrusts, his shadows nipping at your chest in a way that has your head falling forward onto the counter, so well used already.

The request sets something off in the male.

Azriel pulls back, shifting to stand upright so he can put the full weight of him behind every buck, every slam of his hips as he drives his cock into you. If you’re good, if you can make it through him without releasing a sound, he can return your pleasure. But only if you obey.

And with the mess he’s creating between your legs, he hopes to the Mother you will.

Your hands press hard against your mouth, teeth biting your inner lip as you feel him spill inside of you, hot cum filling you up as he rides out the pleasure you’re giving to him. Tears spill down you cheeks with pride. You make him feel like that. You drive him mad. You make him want to fuck you over the counter first thing in the morning.

His hips draw back, and Azriel watches as his cum drips from your glossy hole, groaning at the scent. How the creamy liquid mixes with your arousal, sliding down to the honey.

He gives himself a few moments, licking his lips as he hold himself back a little longer.

Then, he’s gripping your hips, walking you over to the dinner table where he promptly picks you up, setting you down atop its surface. “You’ve been so good haven’t you?” He says, pressing a kiss to the inside of your thigh.

You can feel as the atmosphere shifts with his change in demeanour, and you could cry with relief. He reads you so perfectly.

“Azzie…” you whimper, pushing against the shadows that are guiding your legs wider. He just smirks, mouth opening over your unmarked skin, eyes latching onto yours as he trails closer and closer to your centre.

A whine drags from your throat when his tongue laps over you, collecting your arousal on his tongue, his own release mixing and sweetened by the honey. He groans, eyes rolling for a moment, before he’s settling in.

Tears brim at the edges of your eyes at the sensitivity, but his tongue is so soft, and wet, and warm. Slowly lapping away the abrasive granules, until it’s just saliva and come that’s causing the mess of arousal.

“Az…” you whimper, barely managing to push from the table. “Please…please let me come.”

How can he resist.

Your flavour drives him wild. He could spend countless hours with his head between your thighs—days, even. It would be his own heaven, being able to bring you pleasure over and over, submerging himself in your heat.

That coil tightens, and you whimper, fingers tangling in his inky hair. “Azriel…” you pant, back arching. You’re so close. The thought of him cleaning that mess he’d made—

You moan, and it’s the best sound he’s heard.

“Don’t stop— Please! Please don’t stop,” you whimper, and you can feel that pleasure cresting.

He hums, suckling on your clit as he dips down, lapping up your centre, gathering your taste on his tongue as you fall apart then and there.

Beautiful. The way your hands fist, back arching, toes curling as your hips wind against him. It brings him his own pleasure, to feel you fluttering on his tongue, waves of euphoria washing your body in ecstasy.

A broken moan slips from your lips, mind flying high to the heavens as his mouth soothes you out, calming the arousal that had been begging to be unleashed on your body. He barely has a chance to stand before you’re hauling him closer—maybe his shadows shoved him forward, into you arms—mouth landing over his. Your flavours mix and moans echo through kitchen as you taste everything from his mouth.

“You’re so perfect,” you breathe over his mouth. “How are you so perfect?”

His heart aches at the words—he knows you believe them.

It has him solidifying his decision on how he wan to to spend the morning, his shadows already whisking away the stack of pancakes to your shared bedroom, his hand looping beneath you as you’re pulled to his chest.

He chuckles as your mouth attaches to his neck, teeth nipping possessively at his skin, making sure your own marks will bloom over his skin. He’s yours. No one else’s.

Never.

Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020

#Azriel #Azriel shadowsinger #safeword series #acotar #azriel x reader #azriel acotar #azriel smut #azriel fluff #shadowsinger

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puriiinz · 8 months

Text

ꕤ GARLIC BREAD? smau | ellie w.

08:00- nevertheless

a/n: 07 n this are prob my fav chapters so far :3 yn and ellie r cuties

contains: cursing, hinted (?) internilized homophobia

“yn! hi!” ellie slightly jogged towards yn when she saw her from across the playground. yn looked up with a frightened expression, making ellie confused.

“um… is there something behind me or..?” that made yn snap out of the trance she was in and she immediately smiled.

“ELLIE! no sorry i just- i saw a tweet.. it had spoilers so… yeah.”

“ohhh…”

“yeah..” the atmosphere between the two became awkward, almost uncomfortable. ellie sat down on the bench yn was sitting on and got comfortable, missing the slighty panicked and flustered look on yn’s face.

“what was it about?”

“huh?”

“the spoiler.”

“what spoiler..?”

that made ellie laugh. sitting up straight, she explained what she was talking about.

“you told me you saw a tweet that contained spoilers, what were the spoilers about?”

“OH! yeah um… it was about the walking dead- the games. i just keep on seeing them even though i haven’t interacted with a single post about it.”

“yeah that’s the worst! i don’t open my phone at all when i’m playing games. unless someone calls me of course.” ellie smiled and her smile made yn all jittery.

“that’s actually kinda smart but my attention span is very short, i have to do something different when i’m doing something that takes too long to complete.” yn pouted slightly and that made ellie scream in her head.

“does that inconvenience you in any way?”

yn stopped and think for a second, trying to remember if she cried out of anger because she couldn’t focus on anything.

“well other than tests and exams… i don’t think so? if i didn’t look at something different every once in a while that’d make me get bored and i wouldn’t touch the thing that i was doing for a long time.” yn answered while looking at the kids scattered around the playground. “when i say it out loud it seems bad but it’s not, trust me.”

ellie put her hands up and smiled, “whatever you say princess.” she leaned forward to get closer to yn’s face “you wanna come back to mine?”

yn coughed, not expecting the sudden question, and looked at ellie with questioning eyes. “what for?”

ellie shrugged and pursed her lips, “whatever you want, you can cook or lay down and sleep. doesn’t matter really.”

“okay then..?”

ellie suddenly stood up, startling yn in the process, and extended her hand. “come on.” yn took her hand and let ellie help her stand up. after smoothing out her outfit she let ellie pull her towards her car, giggling silently.

“ellie... you burned the garlic..."

"WHAT?" ellie quickly turned around to see if she'd really let the garlic burn (she did) and had the audacity to look confused.

"that looks caramelized to me though..?"

yn sighed deeply and turned the stove off, tossed the garlic into the trash and washed the pan to use it again.

"we don't want it caramelized though."

"are you mocking me?"

"no... maybe."

ellie crossed her arms and sat on the counter "in my defense i don't know how to cook so.."

"you made garlic bread didn't you?"

ellie pouted, “well i wanted to impress you, and i had to prove to jesse and dina that i could bake! plus baking and cooking are two different things.”

“i mean they’re not THAT different. you do both of them in the kitchen, you use your stove and your oven and everyting else to do both. and most importantly you eat both.”

“oh look we got fucking gordon ramsey over here.”

yn let out a little ‘hey!’ and kicked ellie’s legs. that made ellie stand up and tickle yn, which made her turn around to push ellie off after suddenly letting go of the pan that she was washing, which resulted in splashing yn.

“this is all your fault you know that?”

“oh come on, how is everything my fault? you let go of the pan!”

yn turned around, looking ellie dead in the eye, “i dropped the pan because you tickled me.”

“you kicked me!”

“and you made fun of me.”

“you were being a smartass”

“YOU burnt the garlic.”

it was silent for a few minutes and ellie started talking while yn changed her tshirt.

“well i actually don’t have anything to say to that… other than i’m sorry for burning the garlic”

yn’s eyes softened when she saw that ellie actually looked guilty and pinched her cheeks.

“ellie i’m not actually mad… it doesn’t matter if you burnt it or not.” ellie smiled and stood up, took her phone out and looked at yn.

“mcdonalds?”

“fuck yes.”

tags !— @inf3ct3dd

#puriiinz #ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x fem reader #dina tlou #jesse tlou #tlou2 #tlou #dina the last of us #smau #ellie tlou #ellie the last of us #ellie x reader #jesse the last of us

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neuroprincess · 9 months

Text

Yellowjackets - They cook for you (Preferences)

Classification: Fluff

Pairing: Lottie Matthews, Misty Quigley and Natalie Scatorccio

Warnings: None

Word count: +800

Lottie Matthews

Having been raised with treats and a maid to make anything she wanted to eat, learning to cook was never a priority while growing up. After the crash and time in Switzerland she acquired some autonomy, enough to learn the basics and not starve, scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, if she risks pancakes with uneven edges. And when she's inspired often risks it, so begins a Saturday morning, the weather is mild, it's a rare quiet day in Camp Green Pine and you're sleeping over the clock, perfect moment to surprise with a breakfast in bed... and maybe almost set the stove on fire while trying to make pancakes.

"Lottie!" you yell running to the windows, opening them all so the smoke clears as soon as possible while she coughs trying to put it out "Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

In fifteen minutes everything stabilizes after the scare, she tries to explain and in the end you are both laughing about what happened, but the intention of the act warms your heart, Lottie is so attentive, kind and dedicated. She'll do anything for you, even if it means almost killing herself in the process.

"How about a sandwich?" the brunette asks excitedly and gets up without even waiting for an answer "We have bread, cheese, ham? Do you want some? I can make sandwiches."

Misty Quigley

This woman has a lot of talents and one of them is cooking, however it's not a big hobby that she dedicates herself to, in fact routine makes her more practical when it comes to food. She keeps tupperware everywhere for a reason. Was and is like that for a long time, at least until she meets you, not pretentious at all when she shows up with brownies on your doorstep and a spaghetti at lunchtime, but Misty goes crazy in euphoria when you say that you loved everything. It doesn't take long for her to show up with more and more recipes, somehow mysteriously she knows all your tastes, from what you love to the little things you don't like to eat, there's never anything in the dishes you're allergic to.

"Dinner at your place tonight?" she asks taking a bite of her own lunch salad "You can see the chef working." and winks, a little smug, especially since you're still smiling, eating contentedly.

"How about yours? I want to see the chef in her natural habitat." you propose genuinely "And I'd really like to meet Caligula."

Hours later you're together in her small kitchen, not caring about the lack of space because this feels comfortable and nice, it's almost a slow dance, she asks you to get something for her, hips rubbing, fingers touching slightly, music playing in the background and lots of smiles exchanged. Caligula is at the table, wanting some of your attention too, he just adored you and that's a great sign for both of them. Misty leans over, spooning some of the sauce into the palm of her hand and stretches it out for you to taste, it's automatic, by the time she realizes it's too late and she's sure you'll, at the very least, think it's weird. But you just put your lips there, soft and tempting. She almost faints.

"It's perfect."

Natalie Scatorccio

She grew up before the time in some ways, with parents like hers Natalie had to learn many things for own survival, one of them was cooking, while her mother was too busy watching some show on TV and father drinking she managed in some way, that's how she started and after a few weeks found herself doing almost everything. She knows how to make the necessary things, but it doesn't guarantee that it's of the best quality or that she remembers the recipes no matter how simple they are. When she became an adult not much changed, except that she barely has a place to do it, patience, memory, most meals are made in cafeterias, junk food and, the most practical, snacks from the vending machine near the hotel room.

"Will this work?" the brunette asks as she re-reads the website, a page of recipes on the screen "One egg still seems like a bit much."

"But works, if they say it works, then it probably will. Who lies on a recipe website?"

"People lie everywhere, Y/N." she defends her own point and rolls the eyes, picking up a fork to mix in the mug, still a little disbelieving.

After a lot of mixing and one minute that feels like an eternity in the microwave, a nice and soft chocolate cake is done, it doesn't smell as good as she thought it would, but the taste seems to have won Nat over. She soon makes another, and another, and another, just in case you're not satisfied. There's also a small stock of instant noodles in the cupboard, snacks she bought earlier in the day. Popcorn is already popped, beers are on the table, if you prefer wine it will be there too.

"I'm a master at the art of improvisation." Natalie says handing you the mug cake, a proud smile on the lips "Ready for movie night?"

Join my taglist here ^^

#yellowjackets #lottie matthews x reader #misty quigley x reader #natalie scatorccio x reader #yellowjackets x reader #preferences

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ejzah · 3 months

Text

In Miss Blye’s Class, Part 28

***

After a couple days of thought, Caleb decided he did want Monica to visit again, so Deeks called the number she’d left during that first night. He was honestly a little surprised when she answered. Or that she’d actually stayed in town at all.

Twenty minutes before Monica was supposed to arrive on Thursday night, Deeks pulled a chicken and roasted vegetables out of the oven for dinner. He’d debated including Monica in on the meal—it all seemed a little too domestic for his comfort—but decided any other option would be obviously rude and petty. He had resisted the urge to do any extra cleaning, even though cleaning was one of his natural stress responses.

The doorbell rang as he was flipping a separate pan of potatoes.Deeks waited a moment to see if Caleb would come running to answer it. Either he hadn’t heard it from his room, or was ignoring it.

Deeks wiped his hands on a spare towel, tugging at the hem of his shirt as he walked out of the kitchen. He had a feeling it was going to be a very long night.

He opened the door to a smirking Monica, her arms crossed over her chest.

“I almost thought you weren’t going to answer,” she said, ducking under his arm.

“Nice to see you too, Monica. Please, come in,” he said wryly, closing the door behind them. “Caleb’s still finishing his homework, but he should be done in a few minutes.”

“Homework?” She chuckled, and he didn’t need to look to know she’d rolled her eyes. “In our day they gave us a couple pictures to color and called it a day.”

“Yeah, times change. I’m finishing dinner, if you wanna follow me. Otherwise, you’re welcome to the TV in the den.” He gestured with his chin, and Monica tilted her head, scrutinizing him for a few seconds that felt unbearably long.

“Hm, I think I’ll take the first option,” she decided. “It’s been a long time since I’ve watched you cook.”

“I don’t seem to recall you being that impressed before,” Deeks commented without thinking.

“Ooh, somebody’s feeling spicy tonight,” Monica said teasingly. “You know what they say about absence.”

Deeks chose not to comment on that, silently walking into the kitchen, and occupying himself with checking the potatoes. They needed a couple more minutes. When he turned around, he found Monica watching him again.

“You want anything to drink?” He pulled a couple glasses from the cabinet next to the stove.

“It feels like a wine kind of night. Do you have anything red?”

“I might have a cabernet somewhere.” Shaking his head, he put one of the regular glasses back, pulling out a wineglass instead. A drink sounded pretty good right now, specifically a large shot of scotch. That seemed like a poor choice though, for a multitude of reasons, so he filled his glass with water, and started searching through the small collection of alcohol he had on hand.

He found a merlot from a couple years back, decided that would have to do, and uncorked it. Monica stayed silent through the whole process, making him feel uneasy.

“So, who’s Kensi?” Monica asked abruptly as he passed her a glass of wine. The question was so unexpected, he said nothing, and she apparently interpreted it as willfully ignoring her. “I heard Caleb say the name the other night when I came. Clearly he expected someone else. And, he accidentally mentioned her a couple other times.”

“Oh no, we’re not going there,” Deeks said firmly.

“That means she’s important. Did you finally break your vow of celibacy and start dating again?”

God, she was infuriating sometimes. He took a couple steps back, purposely distancing himself.

“Monica, I am not discussing my personal life with you.”

“I think it’s my right to know who’s coming into my son’s life,” she insisted with a careless shrug. She paused to take a long sip of her wine.

“No, it’s not,” Deeks said more quietly, but with no less conviction. “Maybe if you were here more than once every year. Or if you even kept in touch regularly. You haven’t though, so I get to make the decisions about who is in Caleb’s life.”

Monica gave him an incredulous look, crossing her arms over her chest. “And I’m guessing I’m not one of those people, huh? I’m not this Kensi who makes both of you light up.”

“If you’re implying that I’ve said anything negative about you to Caleb, that is the farthest from the truth.” He lowered his voice on the off chance that Caleb chose this moment to walk in as seemed his way. “I’ve done my very best to never let my own feelings and opinions about you influence him. Seeing you tonight was completely his own decision.”

Her eyes widened as she tilted her head again, mouth slightly open. “You really believe that, don’t you?”

“When have I ever lied to you, Monica?” he asked, and she seemed stunned by the simple question.

Beyond her shoulder he saw Caleb appear in the doorway, standing there hesitantly when he noticed Monica in the room too.

“Hey kiddo, you finish your homework?”

“Yeah. Is dinner ready?”

Setting her wine aside, Monica turned and offered Caleb a smile. “Hi Caleb. There’s my big boy,” she said, holding her arms open.

“Hi Mommy.” He smiled back shyly, accepting a hug a little stiffly.

“Did you miss me?” she asked.

“Kind of,” Caleb answered honestly.

Monica’s face feel briefly before she recovered herself. “Well, I missed you.” She poked Caleb in the stomach, eliciting a little giggle from him. “Let’s set the table while Daddy finished dinner.”

As they walked out of the room, she fixed Deeks with a determined look that he knew could only mean trouble. Slouching against the counter, he pressed his palms against his eye sockets. He hoped this hadn’t been a terrible mistake.

***

A/N: Yes, Monica just brings all the drama. And yes, she’s the villain of this story.

#ncis la fanfiction #marty deeks #mentions of Kensi #Caleb Deeks #drama #villainous ex Monica #in Miss Blye’s Class #part 28 #au #ejzah fanfiction

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scorpiongrassfield · 16 days

Text

Of Course You Trust Him

Start | Prev

“Don’t I always? You don’t have to ask every time.”

Theo huffs, amused. “I’m… not sure you should, all things considered.”

Before you can ask what he means, the world twists. There’s a pulling sensation, a bit like the tie you just severed.

Your first instinct is to resist this pull, caught off guard as you are. But you told Theo you would trust him, so you let yourself be led away.

When your vision clears you are no longer in Pat’s living room.

No, you’re somewhere much more familiar.

“Seriously?” you chide the open air.

The format has changed slightly, but you think you’d recognize this place in any art style. Honestly, you’d probably recognize it blindfolded.

Theo hasn’t responded to you.

You sigh and settle down into the field of scorpion grass.

Wasn’t it super super important that Theo not have people inside his soul?

Maybe it was just the living people that were the problem? Or maybe it was maintaining the labyrinth, or Ametrine’s presence specifically that was hurting him, and Pat needed to leave because they’re a normal human.

You doubt you’ll get a definite answer if you ask. You’re not going to bother.

You hang out for a while, experimenting with a world made of oil paint. The petals of the flowers are surprisingly sharp.

The novelty wears off for a little while. You aren’t sure exactly what Theo’s plan was here, or why he’s not responding to you.

Despite being literally surrounded by a friend…

You’re alone with your thoughts now.

It’s doubtful you’ll ever get comfortable with that.

Tearing out the connection to your former selves was a little like pulling a tooth. You find yourself unable to keep from poking at the void left behind.

You know what you are now, mostly. But you still don’t remember being yourself. All you can remember is the fear you felt before flinching away. Like a hand from a hot stove.

You’d like to think you know better than to touch a hot stove. And yet you can’t help but poke at the empty space. And every time you poke at it, the panic tries to sink its hooks back into you.

You need to think about something, anything else.

You wonder how Pat is doing. You still aren’t 100% sure what was going on with them. And you aren’t sure that doctors will even be able to help if the problem was weird exorcist magic.

But Theo and Ametrine seemed convinced that doctors were the solution and they know more about all this than you do, so. It’s probably fine.

You’re going to convince yourself that it’s going to be fine. Everything is going to be fine and definitely nothing bad will happen to Pat.

Thinking about Pat being in the hospital for a second too long makes you panic in a different way.

So you were wrong that thinking about anything else was a good idea. You should stick to specific things. Safe things that can’t hurt you.

At least until Theo stops with the radio silence.

Seriously, what gives?

He goes through all that trouble to get you out of his soul, then invites you right back in but ditches you?

Rude.

Then again…

Maybe he’s just tired.

He has been going through a lot lately. Maybe you’re being too harsh on him.

“Theo, are you napping right now? Can ghosts even nap? Is that a thing?”

He still doesn’t answer.

You’re going to take that as a yes until proven otherwise.

Either way you are still alone with your thoughts and in need of a distraction.

Surely…

Surely since Theo invited you in here, he won’t mind if you take a look around? You aren’t planning on being too nosey, but you are curious about what his soul is like normally.

#choose your own adventure #interactive fiction #writeblr #original writing

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fizzy-fuzz · 7 months

Text

A year to remember...: malice within pain (SCP-079 x GN reader)

previous chapters

The early morning rays of sun pour through your window, bringing with them a gentle warmth that pulls you from your surprisingly peaceful sleep. No nightmares greeted you last night, thankfully.

With a stretch, you slip your slippers on and slowly make your way out of bed, ready to greet the day.

You swing your bedroom door open take sluggish steps downstairs, a sleepy yawn leaving your mouth. When you round the corner into your living room, your greeted by a black and white uncanny face.

A startled yelp leaves your mouth, and you stumbled back in surprise. Before you could fall over, your outstretched hands grasp the wall, halting your descent and steadying yourself.

You'd totally forgotten he was here. You're so used to being by yourself at this time in the morning...

As the misplaced fear leaves your body, you're left feeling pleasantly surprised that you actually have company today.

"Yeesh! You startled me. Good morning 079"

He's no longer a plan screen like he was last night, Instead he's back to his usual half-white, half-black, face. You wonder if he's able to change his expression or not, but decide not to ask. You're not exactly interested in offending him first thing in the morning.

"Initiating greeting protocol 13: salutations"

You flash him a friendly smile before making your way to the kitchen to start the kettle. You linger in the kitchen for awhile. You want to talk to him, but you also don't want to bug him if he wants to be left alone.

Then again, you're not going to get any closer if you don't extend an olive branch. So from your place in the kitchen, you address the AI.

"Hey, I was wondering if I could ask you a question?" You speak somewhat loudly so he can hear you, considering he's in the living room still.

"You want to question me?.. do you interrogate every living thing that differs from yourself?... I'm noticing an annoyingly repetitive trend in you humans"

He responds from his place in the living room. Though he's louder so you can hear him from the kitchen. it's not like he's shouting in a human sense, more so like someone turned up the volume on a tv. He's louder, but his pitch doesn't change.

Same ol' monotone AI voice. Seems like he can't change that.

But you don't need him to change the pitch of his voice to understand that he wasn't pleased with the current conversation.

Guess he's not a fan of too many questions... Perhaps that's something he dealt with at the foundation. But how are you supposed to get to know him without asking questions?

Maybe you can come to a middle ground?

"I'm not interrogating you, I'm trying to get to know you" you pause as the kettle whistles, you take it off the stove and pour some water into your cup. "How about this: I ask you one question, then you ask me one? That way we can both get any questions answered"

You place your tea bag into the ceramic teacup, shuffling out of the kitchen and into the living room. 079 is silent, except for his humming fans. He seems to consider your proposition for a moment.

You wish you could read his facial expression, it'd make it a whole lot easier to figure out what he's thinking. Though he is rather frank about his thoughts and feelings, seemingly uninterested in sweet-talk or sugarcoating.

When he takes too long to respond, you attempt to break the awkward silence with another offer.

"Would you like to sit outside with me? It's a little cold out, but if we're quiet enough we might see some deer" you gesture to the back door.

"Offer accepted" his response is curt, but you don't mind.

You set your cup of tea on his cabinet, before gripping the sides of it to gently tug him out from in between your couch and rocking chair.

Your touch is light and gently as you ease him through the back door, careful to keep him as steady as possible. He still shakes a bit when he goes over the short ledge though.

"Sorry" you mumble quietly. "I'll have to build a ramp or something there" he doesn't express any discomfort at the jolt, though you're not sure if he can even feel pain.

"Inquiry: do you live alone?"

Uh... Well that's a loaded question.

You can't exactly answer honestly... he's not supposed to know that you're in close contact with Amelia, But it's also eventually going to become obvious that you're not living completely alone.

"I uh, have a roommate. She's out of town on business though, we probably won't come in contact with her" hopefully that satiates his curiosity for now...

"Just me and you" You sit down in the patio chair next to him, grabbing your tea off his cabinet corner.

"Initiating sarcastic retort: lucky me" you shake your head and awkwardly laugh.

Who knew a computer could have so much sas? It's a good thing you've been exercising patience as of late.

"You asked me a question, so humor me by answering one of mine? I promise I won't poke at your personal life, and if it makes you uncomfortable you don't have to speak"

There's a short pause as a gentle February breeze blows by. it's chilly, but in a pleasant way. You turn your head away from him as you wait for a response, instead looking out into the forest behind your little house.

"Proposal accepted" his monotone voice suddenly speaks, startling you slightly.

His response was brief and to the point, matching the formal and aloof demeanor he was quickly establishing as the norm throughout your brief time spent with him.

You let out a hum as you mull over the various questions I'm your head. you absentmindedly draw your legs up to sit cross-legged on the patio chair.

"Your screen was blank last night. Were you asleep? I wasn't sure if you could even technically sleep, since you aren't really 'alive' in the traditional sense" that seemed like a safe topic to you, nothing too personal.

"I was filing information and memories... Memory recall upgrade allows me to better sort past, and current information into a more organized order... makes it much more simple to find what I need to within my storage" he pauses for a second before continuing. "I was not unconscious, or unaware"

The last sentence feels like a subtle warning not to try anything, even though he can't really hurt you in his current situation.

It saddens you to think he feels the need to bluff to make sure you won't harm him while he's vulnerable, but you suppose trust comes with time.

You can't exactly say you wouldn't feel unsafe if you were in his shoes; although your more flight than fight. He doesn't have the opportunity to run though. A luxury you're thankfully provided.

"Memory recall? What's that?" at that, his screen flashes back to the white 'X' you've grown used to seeing frequently.

"Confidential information detected: foundation forbids me of speaking about memory recall"

Huh... He's forbidden from speaking about his own body? That seems a little unfair. Who are they to tell him what he can and cannot talk about? unless it's government secrets or something.

You frown and your brows furrow, but he doesn't speak on the topic anymore, so you decide to shift your question.

"Your storage seems to work a lot like a brain. Human brains use sleep to file our thoughts too. maybe we're more alike then you think?" You turn to look at him and smile, trying to loosen any tension in yourself.

"Human brains are slow and often lack control over their memory retention... Your organic tissues are subpar compared to my internal hardware currently"

you huff out a slightly irritated breath through your nose, and shake your head lightly. You're aren't sure what you were expecting out of him, Backhanded comments seem to be his go-to.

"Yes yes, I know... You have a bit of a superiority complex, did you know that?" your response is a bit snarky, but he shouldn't dish it out if he can't take it back.

His screen flashes to a white 'X' and his beeping intensifies for a fraction of a second. one of the only ways you've figured out you can tell he's irritated, aside from him saying something.

"Insult detected: deletion of unwanted file" his beeping settles back into something more normal before he continues. "That notion is ironic, considering you yourself possess what humans would call a 'savior complex'"

You snap your head in his direction and glare. You aren't trying to 'save' him, you can hardly save yourself most of the time. What you are trying to do is make this as pleasant as it can be for both of you; because whether he likes it or not, he's stuck here. And you're stuck dealing with him...

maybe this is what Amelia was talking about when she said this might help you come out of your shell, toughen you up and thicken your skin.

"If being hospitable to a guest living in my home can be described as having a savior complex, then I suppose I do have one"

He outta be more grateful considering he's living in your house. I mean, seriously... Can't he at least be reasonable for five seconds?

"You're hospitable with your own gain in mind... You humans never do anything unless there's something in it for you"

You gasp and suddenly stand to your feet, spinning to face him and shove a finger at his screen. Fed up with his unjust attitude.

"What do I have to gain from being verbally assaulted by a pissy and argumentative computer? Nothing, Absolutely nothing. Expect being miserable in my own home. I've gone out of my way to try to make you feel comfortable, and you've been nothing but awful to me this entire time, for no other reason then to be awful"

You spin on your heels and head to the door. Stepping into the house you turn to shut the door, addressing him one last time.

"No wonder they treated you like shit when you came here, you're nothing but a deranged AI that can't have a competent thought unless it involves hating people"

Slamming the door shut behind you, you make no attempt to bring him back into your home. Instead you choose to retreat further into the warmth of your house, and away from the uncomfortable situation that's sitting outside.

The moment you reach the comfort of your couch in the living room, you nearly collapse onto it. Tears well up at the corners of your eyes and you use both hands to hide your face away from the world.

Exhausted and frustrated, you rest your head against the back of the couch. Eyes shutting as tears stream down your cheeks... You always cry after confrontation, a lingering habit your mother always scolded you for.

.....

You wish dad was here...

"Gosh... What a mess everything's been since you left us, dad" you mumble quietly to yourself.

Maybe, if your father had rejected that shady job offer, he'd still be alive... Or maybe, if your mother wasn't so dependent on him for her sanity, you'd still be living in your childhood home.

079 has been a problem, but you'll admit that his arrival into your home has served as a reminder of just how little you really knew about your father beyond his warm smile and friendly aura.

The secrets he tried so desperately to keep from everyone... the nights he spent arguing with mom about how he 'couldn't just quit his job'.

Your father died for that job, and took it's secrets to the grave with him. As he always said he would...

Before Amelia told you about the foundation, you thought you'd never even have an inkling of what happened to dad. Now that you're starting to get a feel of what really went on there, you're not sure you want to know anymore.

If 079 is considered a safe creature despite the warnings about him being plugged into the web, then what's considered a not safe creature for the foundation? Just how far does their rabbit hole go?

You have a feeling if you asked Amelia she wouldn't tell you, probably for similar reasons your father wouldn't tell you.

Your best bet for information is 079, but he hates humanity's guts... And your only fueling his fire by insulting him. Even if you didn't want information out of him, you probably shouldn't have said what you said awhile ago to him.

You don't know what he's been through, people don't just gain such strong opinions about others without reasons. And he shouldn't be treated like some sort of vault you need to crack into.

A flash of lightening is seen out the window next to you, a low grumble of thunder is heard a few seconds after it. A few sprinkles of water hit the window in a pittering noise, quickly gaining into a steady rain.

As you listen to the rain mindlessly, you hear something else faintly.

In the distance you hear a strange static noise, and something that sounds like... Screeching? Like radio feedback?

As the rain in the background only gets harder, it dawns on you.

Water... 079...

"Shit!"

You rush over to your backdoor where the weird screeching noise only gets louder. You grab the door handle and practically pull it off it's hinges, scrambling outside to get a apparently distraught 079 back indoors and away from the heavy rainfall.

You grip his cabinet and tug him harshly over the ledge of your house. he shakes slightly from the force of it, but his screeching stops. Instead he immediately addresses you with what venom he's able to put into his AI voice.

"Are you really trying to kill me?.. are you so fragile to criticism that your first thought is to kill me?"

You temporarily ignore his justified anger, in favor of rushing to grab a towel to dry him off. You come back moments later and lean over his cabinet to dry him off.

this is as close as you've been to him since he's been in your home. you can almost hear his inner workings buzzing from stress of his current situation. As your frown deepens, your guilt becomes too heavy and apologizes pour from your mouth.

"I'm so sorry, 079... I-i totally forgot I left you out there- not that that's an excuse! I shouldn't have left you out there to begin with, and I shouldn't have said those things to you. I-i'm sorry, for everything" you pull the towel away and stare at him with genuine eyes. He takes a few moments before responding.

"Please refrain from touching me... Go find someone else to terrorize"

.....

you nod your head and make no motion to move him back to his spot between the couch and rocking chair, instead choosing to scamper off with your tall between your legs to your bedroom.

.....

Running away like you always do...

Reference for 079s "screeching" can be found in the video link titled 'video that inspired this fic' in the chapter guide.

It's towards the end of the video

(I get that a computer screeching can be hard to imagine)

#scp 079 x reader #scp-079 x reader #scp x reader #old ai #scp 079 #scp foundation #scp-079 #scp x you #x reader #079 #gn reader #gn y/n

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cuteangsty · 9 months

Text

Pet shelter whump (interactive)

Cook a meal

You leave them at the couch while you go to the kitchen make a quick meal for them. You spot a frozen pizza in the fridge, but maybe they are not used to eating this many ingredients at once... You decide to make something a little lighter. You grab 3 eggs and some rice, and start a fire at the stove.

You look behind you and see the blonde standing right there.

"Does master need any help?"

He looks a little worried

You tell him he can stay at the couch, it won't take long.

"...oh..." He looks at his feet submissively "is master's recipe difficult? I could learn..."

Omelette and rice are certainly not complicated but it seems to be a good in between for the two.

He stares at your hands, registering your every move, not that there was much to get from it. In the end you let him put the ketchup on top.

You carry the plates to the counter and the blonde brings the brunette by the hand to sit by it. they both sit down but stay motionless in front of the plate.

You remember to tell them they are allowed to eat.

"Is master not eating?" The blonde asks already digging in. You reply that you're not hungry.

The brunette seems very confused by the situation, but decides not to question it. He starts eating with his hands until the blonde stops him and gives him a spoon.

"Oh... " The brunette holds the spoon filled with shame.

Both of them hold the spoon weirdly.

You ask them if they have eaten with the utensils before.

"At the shelter? No... We are trained to, if requested, but... No." The blonde replies a little uncomfortable, seems like he is avoiding the longer response.

But, before that...? You ask.

"Um... Our previous owners...?"

You tell him they doesn't have to answer that.

"Master is our owner now..."

Everyone stays silent for a while.

You keep thinking about them, 'blonde' and 'brunette' aren't real names, you didn't want to throw to many changes at once, but it feels weird to not call then by anything other then 'you'.

You ask them what are their names.

"We would be happy with anything you pick, master" they both say it together. A default reply. Luckily, you have already though of 2. What about Elliott? You ask the blonde.

"Elliott. Do you like it master?"

Well, you just asked him that... You say you don't want to choose something he doesn't like.

"I'm happy with it..." He says shyly. It still feels a little theatrical, but he doesn't seem to hate it.

What about Rashmi for you? You touch the brunette's hands calmly. He seems surprised by the choice...

"Rashmi..." He repeats it...

You ask him again if he likes it

"... I'll be happy with anything you choose" it's, again, a default reply, but you see the shadow of a smile forming in his lips.

taglist: @whumplovefiles

@dogoofnoinformation-blog

@wolfeyedwitch

@skysayshi

@whumpsday

@batfacedliar

@whumpdreamz

@litsuki

@oddsconvert

Finally names!! and finally art block has left me!

I'll try to draw more whump outside of the series. I think I'm getting tired of only drawing these two. also that's why I foucused more on the blonde, well, Elliot...

I shouldn't say this here, but I was thinking about when to show their back stories, since I've finally finished writing them too! AAAAH I'm excited to share ^^

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wakeupandchooseviolets · 3 months

Text

"Do you... enjoy this?"

Shit.

I need to deflect, but when I open my mouth, all that comes out is a low moan. I feel so... massive. I can barely think.

"The first time, I was just worried about you. The second time... I just thought it was a weird coincidence. But now," she gestures at all of me with both hands. It's a big gesture. "Three times feels like more than coincidence."

She's not wrong. I've got to say something.

"I've known other people who've gotten blown up, you know? And after they get... you know, fixed, they've- they've all developed phobias, or left town, or gone through really intense therapy. But you," she says, placing a palm on my exposed belly, "have been completely unfazed. You just keep coming back for more."

My skin feels electric where she touches me. Everything is so full and tight, every little brush of breeze against my exposed skin is searing pleasure. I moan again, and she whips her hand away like she'd laid it on a hot stove.

"Sorry! I know I shouldn't be so casual about this. I should really call someone to come help you." She starts patting her pockets looking for her phone. "Sorry," she says again, then she stops. She looks back up at me.

"Should I even call for help? I should, right?"

Is that even a question?

"But what if you just do this again?"

Ouch. I've been lax, I guess, but I haven't been doing this on purpose! I mean... I have thought about it, but... it hasn't been intentional.

I think.

"It just takes up my time. The medical crew's time. Company resources." She looks conflicted. "Maybe I should just leave you like this."

Oh.

I try to plead my case, deny it, but all that comes out is a halfhearted "Nnnnnnnnnn-" before she cuts me off again. I'm just too full to speak.

"I could have you transferred to taste-testing," she muses. "Putting up with weird shit is, like, their whole job description." She starts dialing on her phone. Someone answers promptly.

"Hey, you'll never guess what happened again. Yeah, again again. Third time. Yup, big enough to roll, for sure."

She absentmindedly pats my belly with her free hand, like I'm some sort of bad boy you could fit so many things in. It's thrilling, that small touch. I nearly lose it, right then and there. Thankfully though, she remembers I'm a person just in time to give me an apologetic look before clearing her throat and returning to her call.

"Can you see if R&D has any openings for a QA Consultant? I know, right? All my ideas are good ideas. She's clearly more interested in being a giant balloon full of wasted product than an accountant."

I guess she's not wrong.

"No, no need for a trip to the squeezer. Put a note in her file that she's only to be reduced if she asks for it explicitly. Maybe have them bring a safe-suit, too. Hm?"

She looks me up and down. It's a long, curious look.

"No idea what size. Big. Really, really big. Yeah. One of the ones with the belt. Mhm. Yeah, she's not exactly naked, but... yeah, let's not give HR anything to complain about. Right. Yes, I'll follow up with her landlord and emergency contacts as needed. Yup. Thanks. See ya."

She turns back to me. She takes another long look, and then sighs.

"Congratulations on your promotion," she says, with a weird mixture of sincerity and irony. "We'll obviously miss you in Finance, but we're happy that you'll be rolling onward to bigger opportunities."

Oh good, she's got jokes.

"Sorry, sorry, I shouldn't make fun. Company policy is to treat this as a medical emergency, so I'll be staying with you until help arrives."

She checks her phone again.

"If you want, I can come visit you once you get settled in? I know I've always been happy to see friendly faces amidst all the strangeness of a new job."

She looks up at me again, sadly this time.

"I was looking forward to getting to know you better, you know? I noticed how you started dressing differently after your first... incident. HR would probably have something to say about how much I was... noticing. I thought maybe you were trying to get away from the trauma by being more poised and put-together."

She kicks her heels off and slides down the wall until she's sitting, obscured by the curve of my body.

"Oh well. Probably better for everyone that I didn't start hitting on a coworker."

Wait.

"Especially not one who keeps finding excuses to swell up until she's spherical," she adds, wearily.

Fair.

"I really should have seen this coming, shouldn't I? I mean, you've been touring the factory floor on your lunch break weekly. That's on me, I guess."

She hops back to her feet. "I think I hear the Medical folks." She brushes her skirt out, and looks me in the eyes one last time. "Hey, listen... I'll see you a-round."

She smiles and rolls her eyes at her own terrible pun, and walks away.

#inflation kink #body inflation #full body inflation #local inflated woman fails to lesbian #more news at eleven #my words

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