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heich0e · 1 month

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"are you like... into that?"

you tear your eyes away from the screen a few seconds after rintarou says it, too rapt by what's unfolding in the movie scene to look away too soon.

"what do you mean?" you ask, glancing over to the other end of the sofa where he's seated. he's slumped down in the corner of the sofa, nestled right into the valley between the cushions where he always sits—which has resulted in a permanent sort of vaguely rintarou-shaped indentation that you hide using throw pillows when company comes over.

he's watching you very intently from his side of the sofa, too intently almost. you'd thought you'd felt his eyes on you while you were watching the movie, but you aren't exactly sure how long he's been staring, and now it leaves you wondering what exactly he's up to.

rintarou nods towards the television on the other side of the room, you look back at the screen once more and see the male lead still at the centre of the scene. he'd just gotten into a fight—shirtless, glistening with perspiration, and a strangely erotic trickle of blood trailing down his philtrum. you swallow a little as you become engrossed in the movie again, forgetting momentarily that you were ever asked a question at all.

"so?"

your eyes snap back to rintarou—who's still focused only on you, but with a slightly more disapproving look this time.

"what?" you ask him, a bit huffily. you're still not even sure what he'd been asking you in the first place.

"you've been ogling that guy since he got the shit kicked out of him," rintarou says pointedly, lifting a hand and gesturing towards the television. "you into that or something?"

there's something kind of accusatory in his tone.

"wha—hu—no," you stumble over your words in your haste to defend yourself. "i've told you i'm not into hardcore stuff. and that would constitute like... doctorate level BDSM."

rintarou's lips purse slightly. "do you think that guy's hot?"

"i mean... yeah," you answer after contemplating it for a moment. "i didn't really think so before but he's kinda sexy in this scene."

"he just got the shit kicked out of him," the boy at the other end of the sofa responds flatly.

"so you've pointed out," you answer. you turn back to the screen, watching as the battered male lead winds a roll of bandages around his ribs, then drags his knuckles roughly across his lips to clear away some of the blood that clings to them. your tongue peeks out to moisten your own unconsciously. "don't you think there's something kind of hot about a guy with a bit of blood on him?"

"is this a trick question?"

you look back at rintarou again, and find him still fixated on you rather than the film. he's pouting a bit, and it kind of makes you want to laugh. instead, you push yourself up from your own little nest at the opposite end of the sofa, crawling down towards him.

"rintarou, are you jealous because i called the bloody guy sexy?" you ask him as you pause at his side, resting back on your haunches.

he nibbles on the inside of his cheek—a habit he's had as long as you've known him—and for the first time in possibly the entire 54 minutes this movie has been playing, he averts his eyes from you.

"...no."

you do laugh then, swinging one leg over his lap to perch yourself atop him.

"you're being silly," you say to him as you balance yourself with your hands on his shoulders. his own come slithering up to settle at your waist, and his grip is a little tighter than you expect. he's still sulking though, refusing to look at you.

there's a loud crash in the film playing on the screen behind you, but you don't turn to look at it—you doubt that would help the situation at hand very much.

"rin," you coax him, making your voice as sweet as possible.

he doesn't look at you, but he does seem to bite the inside of his cheek a little harder now.

you dip down close to him, your mouth hovering over his and your eyes level. "rin-ta-rou."

he finally looks at you, his lips parting in surprise at your sudden nearness. you're so close that your mouths brush slightly thanks to that subtle movement, and he leans into the warmth of your lips to kiss you properly after getting such a small taste of it.

rintarou pulls away after one long, deep kiss, slouching back into the sofa again—but this time pulling you down with him into his little him-shaped indentation—holding you tightly to his chest as he gets you both comfortable. you let him maneuver you however he wants to, placating him with your docility to make him feel better, and keeping any comment about his jealousy to yourself—at least for now.

the two of you eventually find a comfortable way to rest, entwined together on his end of the sofa but both with a clear view to the screen to resume your spectating of the movie.

"what's so hot about a guy with a nosebleed anyway? i used to get them all the time when i was a kid," rintarou mumbles bitterly after a few moments, and you feel the words reverberate through his chest as you rest with your head upon it.

you laugh lightly, and your boyfriend's arms tighten around your waist.

he pipes up again after a few moments more pass in the film.

"you don't want me to start fighting or anything, do you?" he asks you skeptically.

you've effectively lost track of the movie's plot now, but you don't really care that much.

"no, rintarou, i don't want you to start fighting," you reply, patting his chest reassuringly. "you'd get your ass kicked anyway."

"well, apparently you're into that," he mutters.

"will you be quiet and just watch the movie, nosebleed boy?"

(a week later, rintarou sends you a photo from practice—having gracefully taken one of motoya's receives to the face—with an angry red welt on his cheek, blood dripping from his nose, and an obnoxious smirk on his lips. unfortunately, you are kinda into that.)

#suna x reader #suna rintarou x reader #hq drabble #hq writing #writing

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heavenlyhischier · 2 months

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𝐃𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 | 𝐍𝐢𝐜𝐨 𝐇𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐫

word count: 1.5k

summary: You knew you loved him from the moment he said your name.

warnings: none really, just fluff! does kissing need a warning??

note: this is inspired by your bones by chelsea cutler and some of the dialogue in the end was heavily inspired by the lyrics.

It started out as an ordinary October day. You woke up and had a relatively easy day at work. You went home to get ready for dinner with some friends, carpooling with some of the others to save everyone a little bit of time and money. Dinner flew by with only minimal playful arguments, and those of who were there made the decision to meet up with another group at a bar in the city. You thought it was going to be the usual group of people you typically saw, but then you saw him.

When you walked to the back booth that often occupied the same group of people, you saw a few unfamiliar faces swimming in the sea of ones you recognized. You went around and greeted those who you knew, and introduced yourself to those who didn’t. Names were being thrown at you so quickly you could barely keep up, but when he spoke, you forgot all about them anyways.

Gentle brown eyes were staring into your own, a small smile that left dimples indenting his cheeks on his face as he kept his gaze on you. He was the only one who made a point to stand and greet you, sticking his hand out for your own as he kept his other nervously shoved into his pocket. You took his hand as you forced your name out, your cheeks and neck flushing as embarrassment flooded your body at how strained it sounded.

You could hear the playful giggles of your friends from beside you, but you let them fade into the background as he repeated your name back to you. The way the letters fell from his tongue left a permanent impression in your mind, and you knew you were screwed from then on. The moment his hand dropped yours, his voice still ringing in your ear, you knew your life had changed, but you had no idea just how it would change you.

That night, you left the bar with Nico’s phone number and plans to see each other that following Monday for dinner. You hadn’t been so nervous to go out with someone before, and you had recruited two of your closest friends to help you get ready and to ease some of the anxiety that had been bubbling in your chest since that Friday night. They helped you pick out the perfect outfit, helped calm you down when you wanted to spiral, and reminded you to have fun and enjoy yourself before they left.

When Nico arrived, you had the biggest smile on your face when he presented the beautiful bouquet of flowers he’d gotten for you, with the advice of your mutual friend who had told him what your favorite was. You had bashfully thanked Nico, asking him it was okay if you put them in a vase before you left. He caught you off guard by saying of course it was, but only if you let him do it for you. You watched as he assembled them for you with a racing heart, and you knew. You knew he was everything you had been waiting for.

“Ready,” Nico softly asked after placing the vase in the center of your dining room table, smile wide and eyes bright.

“You have no idea,” You grinned.

One date turned into multiple, and before you knew it, the two of you were officially together. He did everything for you, and you for him, and you were the happiest you’d ever been before. You had never felt so content, so excited for the future with someone than you when you were with Nico. He made the uncertainty of life seem exciting and worth experiencing, and you gave him a sense of purpose outside of hockey. You gave Nico something to look forward to every time he stepped off the ice, and he’d been waiting for that feeling for so long.

Your friends often told you that you were now unrecognizable, but it wasn’t because you had changed anything about your appearance. It was because you were so undeniably happy and it wasn’t often that they saw you without a smile on your face. They had never seen you so carefree and excited about life before, and no one wanted you to ever go back. They had always told you that you deserved a love that consumes you in all the best ways, and you had found that with Nico.

Your first Summer with Nico, he had invited you to Switzerland to see his home and to meet his family. You accepted the offer with no hesitation, and that’s how you found yourself currently curled up in his lap as the sun beat down on your skin and laughter echoed around you. His arm was wrapped around your waist, fingers rubbing against the damp skin as he talked with his siblings.

Your head was tucked into the crook of his neck, your hand resting comfortably on the toned muscles of his stomach as you subtly gazed up at him. The sun hit his eyes just perfectly, making them shine brighter and showcase the mixture of dark colors in the most breathtaking way. You couldn’t help but smile as you watched him, the same warm feeling you always got when you even thought of him spreading from your chest. Though, you weren’t sure it had left since his deep, accented voice had said your name in the bar many months ago.

“You gonna stare at me all day,” He teases, his hand flexing on the skin of your hip as he looks down at you.

“Yeah, if you’ll let me,” You hummed, playfully poking your tongue out at him.

“I’d let you do anything, you know that,” He rolls his eyes, before settling back on your face, “Are you having fun?”

Both of you pause for a fleeting moment, keeping your eyes trained on the other. Your mind briefly drifts to thoughts of the last several months you’d spent with him. You truly had never felt the way you felt for him before, and the fact that Nico felt the same way for you baffled you every day you spent with him. If you asked him, though, he’d tell anyone who would listen how insanely lucky he was to experience the love you had to give.

“I am,” You nod, a delicate smile on your sunburnt face, “Thank you for inviting me.”

“Wherever I am, you are always welcome. No matter what, meine schatzi,” He quietly says as he places a small kiss to your temple, ignoring the way his brother and sister are watching him with bright smiles. He squeezes the flesh of your hip before he continues, “C’mon. I want to show you something.”

“What,” You ask, pushing yourself away from him as you furrow your brows.

“You’ll see.”

You carefully step off of his lap, meeting Nina’s gaze as she smiles, which you return with one of your own. Nico stands, nodding to your sandals as he helps you into the light dress you wore as a coverup. He slips his shirt on over his head, stepping into his shoes before taking your hand in his own and tugging you down the dock, away from his siblings. You let him guide you away from the crowd of people and to a more secluded corner of the beach until it was just the two of you.

“Why are we hiding from everyone,” You raise your eyebrows, turning your head to look at him.

He tugs you into his chest, dropping your hand so he can pull you in closer as he says, “Just wanted to kiss you in private.”

You loop your arms around his neck as you shake your head in amusement, your melodic laughter being smothered by his mouth as he presses it to your own. You melt into him, your soft lips molding against his as his fingers press into the material of your dress. His chest is pressed against your own as he moves his mouth with yours in the type of kiss that leaves your mind hazy and warmth flood from your chest through every inch of your body.

Nico pulls away from you, his forehead pressed against your own as the two of you breath in sync. Your eyes stay closed as you let yourself remain in the moment, thinking of nothing but the feeling of him against you and the ghost of his lips on yours.

“I love you,” You mumble, eyes fluttering open to meet his, “I love you so much. Wherever you are is where I wanna be.”

“I love you,” He stressed, his eyes dancing across your face, “I love you all the way down to your bones. You make every hard day worth it and every good day the best day of my life. I know we still have some time to get there, but I can’t wait til you're mine forever.”

“I’m always yours forever, no matter what.”

#nico hischier #nico hischier x reader #nico hischier imagine #nico hischier fic #nico hischier one shot #nico hischier fluff #nhl imagine #hockey imagine #new jersey devils

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toshidou · 1 year

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taskforce 141 - favourite positions . . .

Characters // Simon "Ghost" Riley, John "Soap" Mactavish, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Captain John Price

Tags // 18+ ONLY, afab reader, creampie, biting, squirting, smoking, dominant Price.

AN // don't ask me why the price one was so long, because the only answer you're going to get is "excruciating brainrot"

(if you don't know any of the positions, don't be afraid to get on with some googling. i promise it'll be totally worth the bug-eyed stare you'll be getting from your assigned FBI agent.)

Simon “Ghost” Riley - Doggy style

He knows it’s cliché as fuck, but there’s something about being able to hold your hips as he loses himself in you that just drives him fucking wild.

Especially when he fucks you so good, your arms give out, your back arched so perfectly before him. You look like the definition of ‘face down, ass up', so much so that the sight alone has his eyes rolling straight to the back of his head.

He’ll make you hold that position for as long as possible, veins popping in his arms as he holds your hips up for you, cock drilling near torturously against your fluttering walls, clenching each time his balls slap against your throbbing clit.

It's addictive, being able to watch how well you take his cock, blackened eyes locked on the way your pussy takes every thick inch of him, strong fingers prying apart the reddened globes of your ass to get a better look at how prettily your cunt spasms around his shaft, at how your velvet walls desperately attempt to suck him in to the hilt.

And it always takes every ounce of strength within him not to cum on the spot when he glances up and sees your face tilted to the side from where it's pressed against a drool soaked pillow; lidded, molten eyes pinned on him from under your lashes, perfectly pink lips stretched open, leaking endless breathy whines and soft moans of his name that have him turning near fucking feral.

When he's getting close, he'll plaster his chest to your back, hands coming down harshly, planted either side of your head, low grunts and harsh breaths panted against the shell of your ear, "that's it, sweetheart, takin' my cock like you were fuckin' made for it, made just for me."

Anytime he has your skin within reach of his mouth, he never hesitates to bite down, adorning every inch of your skin with teeth indentations that bruise, semi-permanent reminders that you're his (the knowledge that you wear his marks when he's away are sometimes the only thing that get's him through).

He'll lean back up before he climaxes, not afraid to admit he has an addiction to watching the way his cum dribbles in thick rivulets down your thighs, unable to stop himself from dragging his spent cock up your sweat and cum slicked skin, gathering his seed on the reddened tip, only to lazily push it back right back into you.

(Sometimes that alone has the blood rushing right back to his dick, fucking you straight into round two, no breaks required. That's the effect you have on him.)

John “Soap” Mactavish - G-Whiz

No matter how it starts, you will always end up in this position, your legs thrown over Johnny's shoulders, his hands gripping your outer thighs so hard you know he's left bruises, again.

Not that either of you are complaining, not when you know just how wild having you like this drives him, frenzied eyes darting constantly up the length of your body, from your fucked out face, down to the way your tits bounce with every aggressive cant of his hips against your ass, finally landing on the piece de résistance, your perfect little hole, stretched so beautifully around him.

There are many reasons this is favourite way to fuck you senseless, almost too many to name. Whether it be the way he can drag his fingers up your quivering legs, holding your knees from where they hook over thick, built shoulders, using them as a leverage to fuck into your pussy harder, harder, harder, just like you're senselessly begging him for between hiccupped breaths.

Or maybe because he knows that when he's away, the only thing you'll be thinking about as you frantically grind your core against his pillow will be this. The perfect way he rolls his hips, hitting the angle that has you screaming his name every single fucking time without fail. Thick, rough fingers rubbing harsh circles against your abused clit as you squirt around his cock, shaking hands forming an ironclad grip on his wrist that lets him know that you're teetering on the edge of insanity, body unable to work out whether it wants him to stop, or if it needs more.

He knows it's always the latter.

"C'mon hen, I know you can gimme more, show me how pretty you look when I fuckin' ruin ya."

When he's finally done with you, his cockhead buried against your cervix, pumping you full of every drop of cum he has to offer, he'll litter the side of your thighs with feather-light kisses and gentle praises, all uttered against your skin with a giddy smile that won't leave his lips for hours afterwards.

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick - Pretzel Dip

Without a doubt, there's nothing that Gaz could say he loves more than eye contact. The intimacy he feels from keeping his gaze locked to yours as you fall apart on his cock has kept him awake on more nights that he cares to admit whenever you're apart.

Plagued by the image of you half leant on your side, head lolling as your energy dips, all consumed by the pleasure that rolls through your nervous system in continuous, agonising waves. Haunted by the memories of one of his thighs sandwiched betwixt both of yours, clenching around him in unison with the walls of your pussy as he drags his cock against it in torturously slow, deep thrusts.

He saves fucking you like this for when he's finally reunited with you, uses it as one of his many motivations to return home safe, because when you're finally cradled in his arms once more, it's only a matter of minutes before he has you just the way he wants you: on your side and shaking. It works for you as well, unable to prevent the wetness that gathers between your thighs when you learn that Kyle is mere hours from returning, knowing what will inevitably come the second he walks through the door.

He doesn't let his eyes leave yours for a second, barely remembers to fucking blink, because he knows how flustered you get when he looks at you like this, like a man starved and the only thing that could ever satiate him is you.

He'll keep the pace languid, if only to watch the way soft gasps turn to keening pleas, adorable little begs falling from your mouth when the contentedness of his return transforms into unbridled desperation, not a single thought residing in your mind other than the all consuming need to cum.

He'll only begins to really fuck you when he feels the coil in his gut start to wind, unable to hold back the animalistic urge to pound you into the mattress, his gaze turning from soft, to predatory in mere seconds. It's the only hint you get before he's splitting you in half, watching you with wild eyes as you grip onto the bedsheets in a last ditch attempt to find purchase, to keep you somewhat anchored as his cock slams into you at near inhuman speed.

Neither of you last much longer after that, frenzied hips stuttering to a standstill as the coil finally snaps, lidded eyes still remain fixed to yours, only closing when he leans down and captures your lips with his, cradling your tired neck with such care, it has you preening into his touch.

"God, I've missed you, gorgeous."

"Missed me, or my pussy?"

"Am I not allowed to say both? I feel like I'm not allowed to say both."

"... I mean I missed your dick. Can't say as much about the rest of you -oof- no! No hickies, I have work tomorrow you fucking heathen—"

John Price - Cowgirl

There aren't many things John can say he loves more than watching you ride his cock. Of course, he loves his cigars, and will never pass up a glass of whiskey after a long night. But this? Nothing comes fucking close.

No, none of those things are a patch on the sight of you fucking yourself on his cock, hands much daintier than his could ever be planted squarely against his chest, wisps of curled hair peaking from between spread fingers as you use his torso as leverage to bounce harder, faster on his twitching length.

He lets you do all the work, lidded, relaxed eyes languidly taking in the way your face twists in frustration, eyebrows pinched together, annoyed little humphs exhaled past downturned lips as your energy rapidly depletes, thigh muscles burning from overexertion battling against the need to please, to wipe the smug, cocky smirk from the Captain's lips and leave him breathless instead.

Sometimes, if he's really looking to rile you up, he'll reach his hands down towards your waist, savouring the way your eyes light up, only to see that optimism snuffed out the second he reaches for his trouser pocket, hanging just below his hips, and pulls out a fresh cigar and his favourite lighter, the one you bought him. A purchase you sincerely regret every time it's used to taunt you.

He'll hang the rolled tobacco between self-satisfied lips, maintaining steady eye contact as he flicks open the cap of the stainless steel lighter, and sparks up. No matter how hard you try to keep your reactions at bay, they always slip through, fingernails biting into his skin, inking red crescents into his chest, rising to the challenge he sets, even if you know you're giving him exactly what he wants.

The taunting will only get worse, every drop in your pace has him smirking, fingers that remain attached to the cigar pull it from his lips, letting smoke billow from his open mouth, watching as it curls in playful tendrils, caressing your face as they pass by. Always followed by words that aim to goad, rasped out in a low, intoxicating tone so condescending that it has your knees shaking.

"Need help already, sweetheart?"

"Look at how much your thighs are shaking. Is that from exhaustion, or my cock?"

"Come on now, thought I taught you how to ride dick better than this, love."

And like clockwork, you snap, fingers plucking the lit cigar from his mouth and stamping it out against his discarded shirt. There are many ways you've fired him up enough to finally fuck you. But for a second you fear that the line may have been well and truly crossed.

"Now now, pet, I think you might live to regret that."

You'd get little other warning before rough hands come to grip the plush of your waist, lifting you enough to allow him to plant his feet against the bed and fuck up into you so hard you have little other choice than to collapse against his chest, fingernails leaving biting red lines across skin as you feel his cock hammer against the convulsing walls of your cunt, somehow deeper than you knew possible, dragging against pleasure points you didn't know existed until Price had come along and effectively ruined you for any other man.

It wouldn't take much to send you careening off the edge, pussy clamping down on his cock hard enough he can't help but follow, rough, deep groans reverberate through his chest, where your head is still firmly planted, exhaustion creeping through every aching muscle as you whimper pathetically into red, welted skin, finding comfort in the soft tickle of his chest hair against your tear splotched cheeks.

"Did so well for me, love, always make me feel so fuckin' good."

Because no matter how much Price loves to provoke you, he'll always be there to soothe you afterwards, with soft caresses and consuming kisses.

A pause—

"Can't believe you put out my fuckin' cigar, and on my favourite shirt, no less."

"It was the least you deserved, John, and you know it."

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fayeriess · 6 months

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⋆｡‧₊°♱༺ SINNED SOIL ༻♱༉‧₊˚.

astarion ancunin x gn!reader

summary: after a restless night, astarion finds himself seeking comfort. your tent is where he finds it.

warnings: some angst?? a little fluff, not proof-read

a/n: this is my first one-shot for bg3, and i'm lowkey excited?? not as familiar with the game as i'd like to be ( on my first unfinished playthrough ) so bare with me

There’s a nagging in the crevices of the fluid that occupies Astarion’s skull; aside from the tadpole wriggling about - making home directly in his frontal lobe. He tightens his jaw, grinding his teeth together so harshly that he could feel his spine reverberate in the process; a small pinch near his salivary gland.

This is a recurrence- something he hates dearly with his non-existent soul; thinking. Even though his heart no longer thrummed in his chest, the air was long gone from his lungs, and cold permanently tainting his body, he still had his thoughts.

More often than not, that bothered him severely. No, it tortured him as he lay mindlessly blinking in the darkness of his tent, arms pin-straight by his side, lips pressed together to keep from wobbling slightly.

He supposes he could cry, albeit having to be silent about it. Astarion’s done it before; in the musky abyss in one of Cazador’s many dungeons underneath his luxurious castle of torment, but it’s difficult tonight. Clenching his left fist, he felt the blood drain from his knuckles as the even ridges of his fingernails indent his frigid palm, the muscle of his tongue darting out between his teeth to graze over chapped lips.

Through the silence that seemed to suffocate him slowly, his pointy ears perked at the constant chirping of crickets and the crackling of the firewood a few feet away from his bedroll. Astarion was coming to realize that those sounds sounded oddly serene; nature. The grass, the moon, the sun. Oh, how warm it had felt on his marble skin. A nice low heat to the teeth-chattering ice that sat dormant in his veins. He could practically bathe in it, arms outstretched toward the big ball of fire in the sky, trickles of light seeping through his pores, heating every fiber of his being.

It basked his figure in a glow so bright and fuzzy that Astarion swore his dead heart actually skipped quite a few beats, a low buzz in his sternum. He cherished it.

It was something he would never utter aloud, his sharp tongue suddenly dulling when he felt his gaze soften during interactions, a subtle but noticeable change in his mood he always tries to mask with his cracking facade. Vulnerability did not look good on him as much as his prized tunics did.

Letting a sigh seep out into the chilled night air through glossy, spit-covered teeth, Astarion shuffled within the comfort of his bedroll, his bones cracking slightly as he rose to his knees slowly. Blinking back the burn developing in his sockets, he lifted an index finger to wipe at his hooded lids, sharp canines puncturing a pillowed bottom lip.

Secretly, he hoped that no one would be able to tell how stressful he’s been lately, especially you. You could always read people like an open book; a story laid bare before you - cut and dry and easy to decipher. It didn’t take much for you to come to simple conclusions in dire situations of need. Everyone else in your small group could attest to that with blind faith.

That was something that made the pale elf roll his eyes in slight distaste, as if your actions were something that inconvenienced him severely, as if everything you said was something he was supposed to agree with. But, you weren’t like that.

Astarion figured that out under the glow of the moonlight, hidden by thick tree branches and surrounded by the overwhelming smell of dewed grass merely a month ago, back when his attempts to bed you were more than apparent. His brows had furrowed in confusion then, a small pang in his chest as if the knife lodged within the tissue of his heart was dipped in poison. He was confused. For the first time in a while the elf was confused as to why you didn’t take him as you saw fit that night.

Closing his eyes, Astarion took a wasteful breath, feeling as if it was needed in the moment as his lashes brushed against the blotches of watercolor black, blue and purple that adorned his under eyes, hand reached out to swat away the flap of his tent soon after.

Crimson eyes darted to look through the treelines, a sense of alert flooding through his body as leaves rubbed together, sounding like crumpled parchment as he averted his gaze to Karlach’s back, her nightwear frumpled as she hunched over, sharpening one of the many weapons laid out on the soil next to her; dirty and dull.

Shuffling past her as quietly as he could, Astarion blew air from between his lips in hopes of adjusting the snowy white coil of hair that blocked his vision, making his way to your tent. A certain hunger arose in him when his pointed ears picked up the sound of your blood flowing through thick veins, sweet like the rolls you’d occasionally bring to the camp from a nearby trader if they had a few.

His throat is dry, the thirst for your blood creeping up on him just like the soft spot for you had after you had confided in him after accidentally bearing witness to the angry scars that littered the expanse of his back, a constant itch to follow the raised skin. He knew you wouldn’t refuse his request to drink from you, having let him sink his teeth into the pulse point of your neck multiple times to keep his hunger at bay.

Nocturnal animals didn’t satiate his cravings as much as your essence did. It was a pull stronger than he ever thought possible, even if his belly was full - he was not, not until he had your sweet, sweet blood pooling at the tip of his tongue. Instinctively, his upper lip curled, teeth bared before he swiped the muscle of his tongue over them, swallowing the sandpaper that covered his esophagus.

“‘Starion?” Your small whisper carried in the wind, straight to his ears.

Within the thin fabric of your tent, he could hear you shuffling about before your head peaked out from the open flap, eyes still ridden with sleep looking up at his towering frame through long lashes. “What are you doing?”

“Restless night.”

At that, your brows furrowed, warm, clammy palm cupping his; an invitation inside your private space which he accepted without another word.

In the darkness, he could make out the array of worn out pillows covering every inch of the small space, alongside a couple of different items from past journeys and small trinkets that reminded you of your childhood; innocence lost. He figured it was something you were trying to gain back - a sense of control over your dysfunctional life.

Crouching down, his knees ached slightly, palms flat against the ground before making himself as comfortable as he possibly could given thoughts plaguing his mind. With narrowed eyes, he watched as you spun on your bottom to face him, knees knocking with his as you pressed your lips together thinly.

“I must admit I'm struggling to find peace tonight as well.” Mumbling, your hand raised to smooth over the goosebumps that had found their way to the surface of your arms, raising every individual hair. “Dreams become much too vivid to me now.”

Leaning as far back into the pile of pillows as he could, he could see your eyes, glossy and wide as they locked onto his. “Do tell, darling.”

His tone is slightly playful, a small inch of concern weaved between his words as his spine stiffened from his position.

Huffing, your shoulders lifted in a small shrug before falling back into place, ears growing hot from the embarrassment oozing through your pores. You weren’t one to confide in others about your state of distress, especially to those who you deem untrustworthy.

This was merely a Freudian slip, a loose tongue, but you continued despite everything in you telling you to sew your lips closed with thick thread.

“There was this… looming sense of dread in my dreams. I was in a field of tall grass, it reminded me of this meadow my father used to take me to when I was ten and one.” Your voice trailed, the scenery of a multitude of flowers and lucious, bright green grass appearing in the forefront of your mind. “I can still smell the manure of the nearby pigpens, but everything was just so bleak. I’m sure I was alone, and even though I somehow knew it wasn’t real, everything else felt like it was. There was a red rose sitting in a bed of white ones, almost as if it was being cushioned just for me.” He could hear the smile in your words, although from the tone of your voice, he could tell that it wasn’t a genuine one.

“I reached out toward it, and then felt a slight pinch almost as if something poked me.” rubbing the pads of your thumb and index finger together, you stared at them, expecting a trickle of dotted blood to seep from the barely visible wound you had received in the meadow in the crevices of your mind. “It was a thorn, a big one at that. That’s when I woke up, and then I saw your shadow outside…”

The pause that followed was one of comfort, a way for you to know that the vampire before you was listening, grasping onto each word uttered through chapped lips, your warm breath on his face.

Astarion gnawed on his bottom lip gently, careful of his two sharper teeth as his gaze never left your troubled face, a twinge of empathy. “I have those dreams sometimes too. When I let my eyes drift shut, there’s a sort of vulnerability that follows; renders me defenseless.”

You nodded in the darkness, grasping onto the words that he forced out of his throat like bile, unwanted and already digested. Astarion was a secretive person, for many reasons that were acceptable, drenched in endless pain and suffering. “My skin still burns. It’s all so fresh.”

Scooting beside him, you cautiously took notice of the way he curled into himself, knees now tucked into his chest as he raised a hand toward his back, sliding it under his shirt to let his fingers ghost over the scars on his back. The muscles in his face contort, a pained expression painting his face, no developing laughter lines, no crows feet at the corners of his eyes. He was forever a little star; his name a memory of a past he can’t recall.

“He can no longer touch you.” You stated firmly, each word spat with venom. It was true as far as you were concerned. You’d never lie to Astarion. You’d never lie to any of your friends about the impending death that loomed over them, the blood that would be on their hands in the following weeks as you continue your trek to Baldur’s Gate.

“You’d think after being a slave for nearly three centuries that I'd bask in the glory that freedom has to offer me.” A curt, bitter laugh escapes his lips as he throws his hands in the air, “But I-I can’t, and I have no idea why.”

Twisting your neck just a couple of inches, you stared at the side of his face, bottom lip tucked between your teeth.

Astarion could hear how loudly your heart thumped in the solace of your ribcage, the blood flowing through your veins, the quiet hum of your throat as you swallowed. And for once - he wills himself to think about life without his affliction, even if just for a second before he could no longer stand to see himself so meek and small, so… helpless.

“It’s the fear he instilled within you. He tormented you your entire existence and it’s not something you can let go of so easily, I un-”

“Please don’t tell me you understand.” His words were nothing above a whisper as he leaned closer, the material of his sleep shirt rubbing against yours before you felt the chill of his skin on your upper arm.

In those rare moments of genuine words exchanged between the both of you in the safety of each other's company, you had never seen him so fearful. Fearful of becoming a slave for the desires and sexual needs of others once more, hands forever touching bodies he’d force himself to forget, washing the dirt and grime off of every crevice of himself with tears in his eyes and silent sobs. “I’ll never return to that, to him.”

“I won’t let that happen. You’re more than what he created you to be.”

Hesitantly, you wrapped an arm around his shoulder, causing his spine to grow rigid for the third time it seemed, before he melted under your touch, soft curls tickling the skin under your jaw before he buried his head in the crook of your neck, inhaling the scent of lavender and pine wood that always seemed to be glued to you. It wasn’t the first time you’ve touched Astarion like this, in an intimate way, without the premise of sex in the foreground, but this time felt different.

It was different.

You were more soft than he realized, weren’t you? Astarion thought himself to be nothing concerning a warm-hearted, selfless individual. He was anything but. Bred for destruction and submission, bloodletted countless times through frantic and harsh whips, lashes - anything that could make the smell of his coppery perfume permeate the air.

However, for once in his eternal existence Astarion realized he felt something that had grown foreign to him; love.

Love for you.

Love for himself.

And he’d be damned if the sinned soil of this earth took any of that away from him.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion x reader #astarion ancunin #astarion x tav #astarion bg3 #astarion x you #astarion imagine #baldur's gate 3 x reader #baldurs gate 3 x you #astarion

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sprout-fics · 10 months

Note

For my Thursday Thots, this came to my mind 🤭😳

I feel like König knows how to eat pussy. How, I do not know, but that man just KNOWS how to make Maus release her little squeaks~ I’m talking they could be in the most risky situations or areas, like in a broom closet or somewhere in the training area. And König has 2 positions for Maus depending of the area: he either has her pinned to the wall with her legs thrown over his shoulders or pinned to the floor in a nelson, keeping direct eye contact as his lips close around her little clit, sucking on it as Maus just squeaks and tries not to cry out so they don’t get caught~

Tries telling him it’s too risky or she’s too sensitive, but he can’t help himself sometimes, he likes seeing her face flushed and her thighs squeezing around his head 😳

This man eats pussy for breakfast lunch and dinner

There’s a hand splayed on your stomach. The width of it spreads low across your belly button, the thumb tucking into the soft flesh below, in the dip just below where a sensitivity tickles across your senses. It keeps you still, grounds you, prevents you from arching upwards even as something wet and warm presses against your entrance, and forces a low, long moan up from your chest.

He still has his gloves on.

The thought alone is enough to send pleasure lacing sharply through your veins, warm and viscous and nearly dizzying with its effect. The word feels sharp in contrast with the pleasant buzz between your legs as Konig allows the arousal of you to gather on his tongue. He drinks it down like ambrosia, relishes the taste of it. The groan that echoes from him echoes against your clit and you have to teeth your lip to prevent a moan from escaping. The walls of his office are thin, and despite the fact that he’s a colonel, it means little for the people who happen to pass by in the hallway outside.

There’s a fist shoved between your teeth as his lips fasten around your swollen clit and he sucks. It’s too much, and you're barely able to contain a little cry of desire that whimpers past your lips, eyes scrunched shut. Konig;s eyes gaze up at you, his hood tucked out of the way so you can see the silvered scars that snake up his jaw towards his ears, forcing his lips into a permanent scowl.

“Mm, that’s no good, Schatz.” He murmurs against the soft flesh of your thigh. Breathless, intent. “You;re too quiet.”

“K-Konig- '' You try, but it’s useless, because he descends once more with renewed effort, and the hum of his voice vibrates through you hard enough for a shiver to force its way up your spine- force a shuddering gasp past your lips.

You feel a dull, insistent pressure circling your entrance and you realize dimly that it’s his fingers again, teasing, retreating, circling again, over and over until you beg for it.

You refuse, bite harder into your fist- enough to leave indents of your teeth

Yet as Konig gently pushes a single finger into you you squirm on his touch, enough for his hand to press you flush to the wall once more.

“Still, Shatz.” He issues to you, low and eager, voice dragging deep in his chest almost like a warning.

You try, you really do, but without the use of your voice the excess energy resulting from pleasure needs to go somewhere so it doesn’t force up your throat, revealing you to the other officers passing outside the seemingly empty office.

A little stretch, and there’s a single finger inside you now. Insistent, broad, the moisture of your arousal pooling over the leather of his glove.

“So pretty, Schatz.” he tells you eagerly, and your eyes flick down to catch his green gaze as he lowers himself to your mound once more. You watch as he tongue flicks out, pressing flat against your clit for only a moment before his mouth descends and he sucks

You cry out unexpectedly, slapping a hand over your mouth a moment too late and praying that nobody in the surrounding offices has somehow heard the sound of your desire for him.

“Louder.” He tells you breathlessly, fingers scissoring inside you even as the slickness of you drips over the soft fabric of his gloves. “I want them to hear, Schatz.”

“I want them to hear you are mine.”

#konig x reader #könig x reader #konig x you #König x you #könig fanfiction #thursday night thots #minors dni #I am. drunk. apologies for spelling errors

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midnightarcheress · 1 month

Text

and they said speak now

it's no use, i just love you. pairing: simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader cw: nsfw bits. angst (with comfort?). sad yearning simon. sad yearning reader (in denial). enemies to... something. reader is part of tf141. no use of y/n. part 1 | part 2

Simon hasn’t heard from you since that catastrophic day.

the day he turned your life upside down. the one in which he ruined your wedding, blurted out a hushed love confession, and broke your heart by spilling the truth about your ex-fiancé. the day he watched you walk away in a tear-stained wedding dress, without the certainty that you would ever come back.

how much time does someone need to process all of that?

the following weeks felt like years. the days were unbearable, drowning in paperwork in a frantic attempt to keep his mind from sulking on his actions, possible by the strange lack of assignments during the period. did the terrorists take a break? his other option - admittedly the one he would spend most of his time doing - was staring at the ceiling of his quarters for hours as his body created a permanent indent on the mattress, a perfect tailored grave for his crestfallen soul.

the nights were even worse. he kept dreaming about you. sometimes it was warm, you snuggled in his arms, back pressed firmly against his chest while you fidgeted with the fingers interlaced with yours and he planted kisses on your shoulder, your neck, your cheek. sometimes it was ugly, your eyes shooting daggers to his heart and your enraged voice piercing through his eardrum in another daily fight, taking a toll on his mind like a frightful PTSD flashback.

sometimes it was erotic, his eyes savoring the view of your bouncing tits and beautiful flushed face whilst he pounded every inch of his cock in your tight cunt, filling the room with your pretty moans and pleas as he guided you to your third orgasm. sometimes it was horrifying, hearing your agonizing screams and watching you being repeatedly shot while he tried to rush to your position, without ever actually moving his feet, only adding your body to the long list of people he had failed to save.

no matter the scenario, it would always end with Ghost jolting awake to heart palpitations and heavy breathing, struggling to get a hold of himself. as much as your presence would drive him to madness, your absence managed to make his brain spiral. went down an endless rabbit hole and missed every chance to grasp the flimsy rope of reality.

he thought about calling. almost did a few times, glaring at your name on his contact list but never pressing the button, especially after nights out in the pub with Soap. “what ye gonna do about it, Lt? think the lass is gonna give ye a chance?” but in truthfulness, he didn’t know what to say; no words were enough to describe how guilty he felt and how sorry he was. he just needed to hear your voice. know that you were okay, or at least, alive and breathing.

no one really knew how you were, where you were, or when you’d be back; Price only stated that you extended your honeymoon leave for an indefinite amount of time. despite being your captain, he wasn’t going to question your necessity for serenity, after all, he was there when your life crumbled apart - one minute Simon was quiet on his seat, the next he was standing in the middle of the church, twisting the team’s perception of your strained relationship and leaving their jaws in agape.

while Simon deteriorated in remorse, already grieving the lost possibility of you ever being his, you made use of the no-refund policy of your honeymoon trip. a week in an all-inclusive resort by the beach, enjoying the crystal clear waters and the too-many-to-count cocktails to numb your achy heart that almost made you wake up in different rooms a few nights.

still, the only thing the hotel didn’t include on the menus was peace. as much as you tried, your mind kept reliving the wedding over, and over, and over. the memory of Ghost standing up and daring to violate your sacred moment, the sight of his wide eyes when he confirmed your doubts about your then-partner, the troublesome twinge in your chest as he begged for a chance to love you - a relentless feel you’ve been carrying everyday.

seven days at an alleged paradise were not enough to cleanse your spirit. the light waves of the ocean cradling your body couldn’t soothe your distress, as the deep end seemed to have a higher draw on you, luring you to a darker place where you could wallow without shame. misery loves company, i guess.

despite your best efforts, the following weeks were equally bleak. while you managed to maintain your focus out of your own life during the day, the dark blues of the nightfall outlining the nature’s silhouettes seen from your flat’s balcony only brought back the daunting awareness of duty. you couldn’t hide forever. it was time to be back.

your footsteps echoed in the base hallways as you made your way to the conference room, anxiety pooling on your insides and almost making you empty your stomach right there and then. in a way, it was nice to finally be back at work, fingers itching due to the need to hold a rifle and unload an entire cartridge at the first target that comes into sight. in another, you were dreading the idea of coming face to face with your friends after that disastrous day and, more importantly, dreading the inevitable confrontation with Ghost.

your frame on the doorway interrupted Price’s speech during a long awaited briefing for the team’s next mission. the atmosphere in the room suddenly got heavy, crisp air filling your lungs as four pairs of eyes glanced in your direction, taking your unforeseen arrival with the same shock as if you were a mythical creature.

“good to have you back.” the captain said, gesturing to you to join the reunion.

with a silent greeting, your legs made their way to a seat around the table, avoiding the prying looks as much as possible but ultimately failing. their watchful gaze dawned on you like cars slowing down next to an accident site, everybody stopping to see the wreckage and pity the poor life stuck in the rubbish.

but there was one set of eyes in particular that never shifted. without even facing him, you could feel Simon’s glare boring into your figure, urging you to turn your head in his direction, pleading for an ounce of awareness. his heart was beating rapidly for the first time in weeks, your presence being enough to send him to an overdrive and to turn Price’s words into white noise in the background.

in the milliseconds in which Simon looked away, you were gone. the briefing didn't last long and you decided not to linger around after it ended, fleeing the room in a hurry to avert any conversation. he was hoping for an opportunity to check on you, to talk, to explain. to pour out his feelings once again, without the pressure of trying to stop you from getting married, wishing that the time you spent apart was enough to earn at least some compassion from you.

running away from him again almost made you feel like a coward. you had always been able to stand toe to toe with Ghost, rebutting each of his snarky statements with even more venomous remarks, not caring if it would ever truly affect him. he didn’t act like it did. but in that moment, you couldn’t shake the anxiety that dominated your senses.

after years doing it, you knew that working out was a great stress-reliever and you didn’t hesitate on heading to the training room. focusing on a repetitive task that exerted your body to maximum was the easy way out of the teetering breakdown crawling its way to the surface. the sound of dull blows on the punching bag ricocheted in the empty area as you cleared your brain of any thoughts regarding him. it had been a while since you exercised, but instead of getting tired, each punch only gave you more energy, the sting on your fists only fueling your anger to the brim.

“careful there.” the gruff voice filled the nearly silent room and made you startle, quickly snapping your head towards the entrance. Ghost’s tall frame was leaning on the doorway, eyes carefully watching you as you furrowed your brows at him.

he takes a few steps in your direction, easing his way into your eyesight like a stray puppy who just wants a home. you simply choose to ignore him and go back to the punching bag, pushing aside the desperate need to ignite that fire again, to feel the fireworks bursting your chest the same way it did when his warm tongue swirled around yours.

“can we talk?” he asks, searching your eyes for even a hint of compassion but being met with nothing but a cold silence, “please?”

“no.”

your tone is harsh, grating his ears as you keep your stance, landing countless jabs in the sack. Simon is quiet, observing the intensity of your moves and how you don’t flinch despite having sore knuckles at this point. probably imagining it’s my face, he thinks, glancing around the room until his gaze falls on the sparring mat, getting the gears of his brain turning.

“let’s fight then.”

that stumps you and makes you raise your eyes. “what?”

“if you don’t wanna talk, let’s fight. we’re good at that.” he says, already stepping on the mat and stretching his arms, preparing himself for the match.

“i’m not gonna fight you, Ghost.” your eyes roll at the proposition.

“scared of getting your arse beat?” he teases, reminiscing the way he’s used to treating you. he knows you never back off from a challenge, especially coming from him, no matter how insane it sounds. you’re aware of his size and how easily it’d be for him to break you, even with your skills in single combat, but you can’t prevent your blood from boiling at the mocking undertone of his question.

without another second of doubt, you follow him to the mat, making small jumps to get your limbs loose and your blood circulating. his attentive gaze never leaves you, happily taking in your rage over the recent apathy with a pleased grin plastered on his face, the first genuine smile he has in days. at least it’s something.

the first move is his, throwing a quick blow at your head, which you swiftly avoid by stepping back. you’re determined to not let him win, your competitive side always overruling your better judgment. but you are even more determined to not allow him to let you win.

grunts and thuds fill the air as you exchange blows, each strike hitting harder than the previous. “i’ve missed you.” he says, lunging forward to kick your side. you roll your eyes in annoyance, but it’s truly exciting to finally have an adrenaline release in your organism, even if it means confronting the emotional turmoil threatening to spill out of your throat.

“when?” you ask, retaliating his kick with a jab in his midsection.

“when what?” his head tilts to the side, not understanding your question for a second.

his ears perk up as the sound of your screams muffles the gunfire around him. you had managed to disarm the soldier on top of you after being stabbed in the stomach, but the gushing laceration in your abdomen was getting the best of you, blood pressure dropping as a bullet pierced through the man’s skull.

Simon rushes to your side as soon as the lifeless body hits the ground, seeing your blood pooling on the concrete. “bloody hell.” he mutters, quickly applying pressure on the punctured point. your eyes roll as the pain increases, making you struggle to stay awake.

“don’t you fuckin’ dare die on me! keep your eyes open, come on,” he urges, gently tapping your cheeks to keep you conscious while he blasts the comms requesting an urgent medevac, “yeah, just like that, you’re doin’ so good for me,” he coos as your blood stains his ungloved hands, “no no no, come on, please, stay with me, you can’t-”

you use his moment of distraction at your advantage, landing an intense punch on his jaw. he stumbles back a couple steps, already sensing the metallic taste on his tongue. at that, the suppressed anger he’s been keeping under covers during your missing weeks comes to top, hot magma erupting like an exploding volcano. he aims for your stomach. your legs. block your arms. you dodge it barely, but he keeps going.

“the time you almost died in my arms,” he finally answers, gritting his teeth. he’s an enraged man, tackling you to the ground and firmly gripping your hands, pinning you to the mat. you grunt at the movement, heavy breathing hitting his neck as he leans even closer to your face. “you can’t tell me that you don’t feel it too. it’s there. everytime we’re together.”

Ghost’s masked face hovers over yours as you struggle to breathe. you don’t hear the shots around you anymore, only Price’s voice in the comms telling him that evac is two minutes out. you glance at your surroundings, barely processing the sight before falling unconscious again.

your brain shuts down, but somehow you still feel his touch. despite the adrenaline and his familiar roughness, the hand stroking your cheek carries a tranquilizing softness you didn’t expect. a light at the end of the tunnel that guides your way back to the living plane.

your eyes flutter open in the medbay, after feeling a sharp pain on your ribs. Ghost is sitting on the chair near the bed, unaware of your awaken state, looking out the window. his face is still covered, but you catch the slight twitch in the corner of his eyes - you’ve noticed it always happens when he’s too focused on something. you wonder what goes through his mind at the moment. yours can only recall the cracks in his voice as he held you in his trembling arms and pleaded you to stay awake.

“i don’t,” you lie, glaring at his hazel eyes. of course you feel it. the fucking fire that scarred you from the minute you had your first fight. the flame that etched his initials on your chest and marked you forever as his, even if you can’t fathom the idea of belonging to a man like him, “get off me!”

your restless squirms help you free yourself from his grasp, pushing his bulky figure to the side while simultaneously striking multiple punches on his chest. and he just takes it. he indulges your wrath, blissfully accepting your blows with nothing but tenderness. your vision gets blurry as you break the remains of his armor, stripping him of the faint defenses still guarding his heart.

he feels the power of your hits weaken when a teardrop rolls from your cheek and falls on his face. not enough to put out the wildfire devouring his soul whenever you’re near, but enough to turn it into a peaceful bonfire, whose cracks soothe your aches like a lullaby. he takes your wrists in one hand while the other reaches for your face; loving eyes, once so cryptic, gaze at the storm behind yours, signaling that it’s okay. it’s okay to feel it.

you sink into his burly arms, bathing in the heat radiating from him. for the first time, you don’t see Ghost, the shadow that haunts your nightmares and the shell of a broken man, you see Simon. the faceless man in your dreams, the one who understands you by one look, the one that fuels your deepest desires - it being a hunger for love or for lust - and still inflames all of your anger.

“come on, love,” he says, pulling up to his feet and extending his hand in your direction.

your knuckles are hurting, partially from the blows on the punching bag from earlier, partially from your rampage against his body. you take his hand and he guides you out of the mat, sitting you on top of a table. furrowed brows meet his half smile, as he positions himself on a chair in front of you and starts tending your bruises.

“i guess it has always been there,” he says, delicately holding your hands and cleaning the drying blood from it, “the feeling. buried way underneath. i didn’t understand it in the beginning, you’d drive me so insane i couldn’t even look at your face.”

you recall your first encounter with Ghost, feeling the tension of his icy glare penetrating your bones, freezing you on the spot. but somehow also feeling your chest filling with a warmth you’ve never had before. the missing puzzle piece finally returning to its place.

“i know you feel something. the intensity is there, in each bloody fight, everytime we're together, in or out of the field. i’m electrified whenever your hand brushes against mine. i’ve been dull for so many years of my life, and then you came-”

“Simon.”

your sudden interruption makes him stop talking. he raises his eyes from your sore hands to your irises, seeking for a hint of recognition. “this could never work,” you say, letting out an exhausted sigh “you know that.”

yes, he knows that. but he is also not one to evade conflict, especially with you. he doesn’t care how much trouble it’d be to make a relationship with you work. doesn’t care if you wanna change everything about him, put him in a tiny little mold where he obeys your wishes and barks at your command. hell, he’d gladly wear a collar if it meant having you as the one pulling the leash. he’s tired of concealing his emotions behind the persona. he wants you to see him for what he is underneath the pain, the trauma, the rage. only Simon.

the man who craves your proximity, your presence by his side as he lays down to sleep and every morning when he wakes. your sweet scent, your soft skin, your sparkling eyes. the one who craves your touch, reaching for every inch of his body and bringing him closer to the heaven gates in a way that no religion could. the image that feeds his most terrible nightmares and his brightest - and most obscene - dreams.

“we clash all the fucking time. as much as i hate to say it, we’re too alike, too stubborn, we’d repel each other like magnets, we-”

“yes,” he interjects, leaning closer to your face, “we are too alike. that’s what makes us good. tell me i’m not crazy. you irritate me so much because you always know what i’m thinking. what i’m feeling. my weaknesses are all at your display even when i don’t show it. you know exactly which buttons to push and which to leave alone.”

the skull balaclava covers most of his face, but you don’t mind, his eyes are the most important part. they’re familiar. you know every crease at its corners, the place of every single one of his lashes, the nuances of the color. you’ve studied them several times, trying to decipher the enigma of Ghost. you’ve gotten good at it, so his words are true. you know him. know him too much to consider the idea of being together, because the mere possibility of losing him would maim you forever.

“we're too similar because we’re two sides of the same coin. each side with its singularity, markings, engravings, but still part of the same thing, destined to be together, intertwined. two flames meant to combine, to heat each other, become one,” the faltering in his voice surprises you, but you don’t see it as a sign of bad faith. his vulnerability is a breath of fresh air after years of unbreakable security, “can’t you understand it?”

silence.

Simon senses his defeat with your hesitance. there’s no use. he goes back to patching up your hand, finishing the bandages as if it’d seal the wounds he opened on you with his actions. years of pent-up aggression planting the doubt of his true affection for you, and there’s no one else to blame but him. is there really no use at this point? the muscle inside your chest is beating loudly, threatening to burst out of your chest, but the logical part of your mind is still screaming to take back control. it’s a worthless tug of war. the brain may be astute, but it can never outsmart the strength of the heart.

“Simon.” he doesn’t dare to gaze at you, even with your saccharine voice tempting his eyes, too adamant to give more of himself in a seemingly hopeless situation. your hands move from your lap to cup his jaw, forcing his head upwards to meet the smile on your lips. it’s small, timid, soft. laced with something he’d never seen on your face but filled with the confidence you always exhibit. love.

“so,” you breathe deeply, “what now?”

took me so long omg but i think i'm finally happy with it. hope you like it. was listening to 'no use i just do' by hayley williams when i got to the end and i feel like it sums up a bit of the feelings.

also, if you see an error, no you didn't. my brain is all mush now.

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awfcspencer · 3 months

Text

Fairytale Ending || leah williamson x reader

prompt: Maybe you and Leah wouldn’t have a fairytale ending.

warnings: angst

It’s supposed to hurt, it’s a broken heart. A permanent indentation, a large empty hole, a Leah sized hole.

So much of your life had Leah in it. Could you even begin to imagine a life without her? She was basically attached to your hip, your right hand, she was always there.

Childhood friends turned lovers. Your new next door neighbor who was luckily the same age. A small blonde with big blue eyes that matched your energetic energy. Both sets of parents delighted that you two got on so well, two peas in a pod. Summertime days spent running around the yard playing childhood games at age eight turned to age sixteen where you were stealing kisses under the peach tree, hoping no one would catch the two of you.

—————

“Lee?” Looking up from the romance novel you were currently reading under the shade of the large branches with a single idea of ‘love at first sight’. A single thought that had clouded your mind for the last few days as you read the pages. A single thought that you needed to get off your chest. The way the author described love mesmerizing you.

Leah certainly wasn’t reading, opting to dribble around a football around the tree and semi-trying to figure out how to jump high enough to grab a peach to enjoy on this particular hot, sunny summer day. Hearing you question her, she sat down next to you under the cool shade of the tree, escaping the beating sun for a few seconds.

“Do you believe in love at first sight?”

“I think I do yeah. I feel like when you know you know.” She said.

“Have you ever been in love?”

The sun suddenly felt hotter, like it was purposely shining it’s long rays on specifically you and Leah. It was silent. You could hear the leafs slightly rustling as a short breeze hit the tree. You saw two birds fly high in the sky, leading one another towards a new direction, a new adventure but they flew in sync, together.

“I think so.” Unbeknownst to you, Leah had been in love with you for ages. Once she was able to decipher the difference between the ‘i love you’ she sent to her parents and the ‘i love you’ she sent you as she walked you back to your house after a day at the local lake, hand in hand. She knew this love was different, it suffocated her, her thoughts were always you.

“How did you know?”

“I think it came naturally over time. It’s like a rush to your body, a wave of emotions. It makes your body warm and consumes you. It makes your heart race faster. It’s the realest feeling I think I’ve ever felt.”

“That was really beautiful Lee.” The nickname sends a twinkle in her eye, and her cheeks turn a deep shade of red. Maybe it was the start of a heat stroke, but you were hot, or maybe flustered? You had never felt this way around Leah, a feeling of nervousness. Leah was the person you felt most comfortable with but not now. Now all you can do it look into the matured blue eyes and her tan skin. She was really the most beautiful person you had ever met.

“But what if you love someone who you can’t?” Whispering as if someone other than Leah would hear your question.

“What do you mean you can’t? Who determines who you can and can’t fall in love with?” Her eyes narrow in on yours like you are about to reveal something. Something she can tell is important.

“What if its the person of the same gender?”

“You don’t get to choose who you fall in love with. It just happens. So what if it is. It’s your life, and you only get one. You don’t want to waste it trying to be someone your not.” The air felt stuffy as neither one of you spoke. So many words to say all left unspoken. Leah’s words really resonated with you as you thought about how you were in love with you. You were in love with how Leah always checked on you. You were in love with Leah when you sat in silence like today as you read and she dribbled the ball. You were in love with Leah when the two of you would secretly cuddle in your bed as she slept over for the third night in a row. Leah made your heart beat faster, Leah was a piece of your heart.

You went back to reading your book as Leah finally was able to manage to her hands on a peach. You couldn’t focus on the book though as you caught yourself rereading the same section over and over. Leah sat close to you, arms brushing every so often as she ate her peach and you pretended to flip a page, not wanting to alert Leah the overwhelming feelings you were having.

“Lee?” Finally breaking the silence.

She turned to face you. Her lips were a light shade of pink and they looked soft. She had stolen your cherry chapstick a few days ago as she claimed she loved the way it smelled but you were sure she just liked the taste of it. There was silence again as you stared at her lips, unknowingly she was doing the same. Both of you biting the bullet at the same time as you kissed for the very first time. It was awkward as both you and Leah had never kissed anyone. Experiencing it for the first time together. Both trying to get the motion down, moving your lips in sync eventually though, together.

Finally pulling apart for air, you didn’t need to speak. An understanding between the both of you.

For the rest of the summer, you both would find yourself under the peach tree. On the last day of summer you both carved your initials in a heart on the trunk, leaving your mark on the tree. The tree where you knew you were in love with Leah.

—————

But maybe this wasn’t a fairytale ending. A few years laters Leah drove you both to your new shared home in North London. Leah signing a professional contract with Arsenal and you had finished university and found a close job.

Maybe you and Leah weren’t meant for the storybooks or the big screen. A romance novel where they end up happily ever after just wasn’t in the cards for you and Leah.

You knew everything about Leah, her favorite color, food, and movie, the basics were covered. But you also knew what made her laugh the most and what made her cry the most. You knew what haunted her at night, what kept her alive throughout the day. You knew her inside and out. You had experienced so much together.

But eventually it was kind of like when you first start a fire, high flames initially as the flames overtake the wood logs, but if you don’t tend to the fire with care, eventually it will die out. Nobody left to stroke the fire, to keep those beautiful flames going. The logs completely burnt out with nothing left to give, succumbing to the hot flames. The once strong logs now frail, breaking easily. Just like in the wintertime when the once blossoming peach turned leafless, frail branches accompanying it, a once beautiful tree turned weak over time. By the time anyone realized the weak state of the fire its immediately the blame game, pointing fingers at who was responsible to feed the fire.

It all started with communication, or maybe the lack of it.

Mix-matched schedules left either you or Leah sleeping alone at nights. Text messages of ‘hey love i will be home in a few minutes can’t wait to see you’ and ‘goodnight love, sorry i’m away, miss you so much’ turned to ‘night.’ and ‘lock the door when you get home’.

That was only when either of you even bothered to text, knowing messages would be left on delivered or the dreaded read.

Both busy, caught up in climbing the imaginary professional ladder. Wanting to achieve something, something you could celebrate. But who were you going to celebrate with after the party ended? Returning home to an empty, cold bed.

And it’s not like you could bring it up to Leah.

Leah would physically hear the words you would say, she had working ears. But the voice in her head as she formulated the perfect excuse to defend herself or her actions was louder than your angered tone that fell into her ears. Simply in one ear and out the other. Never actually hearing you. Never actually listening to you.

This isn’t what you wanted. This isn’t what Leah wanted. Your relationship was a ticking time bomb waiting to explode. Both caught up in the madness of it all.

It was like putting water in a leaky bucket and waiting for it to fill, but it never does. The water never even fills up halfway as it pours a steady stream out the bottom soaking your shoes. Soaked like your tear-stained cheeks the day Leah left.

#woso x reader #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso #woso one shot #woso soccer #woso blurbs #womens soccer #woso couples #leah williamson x you #leah williamson x reader #leah williamson imagine #leah williamson #arsenal wfc #arsenal women #awfc

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ilylovelyz · 9 months

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kenma fatherly headcannons

i thought it would be interesting to think about what kenma would be like as a father 🤔

look, im not even gonna be nice with it, i definitely dont see kenma being excited at the idea of having a kid 😭

definitely was like "are you being fr 😟?" when you told him

he obviously wasnt an asshole about it, but he couldn't help his feeling and indifference about the whole thing

the two of you had a long talk about it

the whole time he was more or less "are you sure about this"

hes not a horrible person/partner, he wasnt about to force you to do an abortion

he just wanted to make sure this was actually what you wanted to do and if you were actually serious about it

after you were stern about keeping the baby, he was fine with it

he was more worried about how he would be like as a father because he's very much scared of little kids and struggles to bond with just anyone

also a little peeved at the thought of his alone/free time being taken away

doesnt like the idea of his alone time with you having a literal permanent third wheeler but wont admit that to anyone but kuroo 🌚

during ur pregnancy, he was actually really okay with it

he would check up on you various times of the day, asking how you feel

yeah, he wasnt really excited for it, but that doesn't mean he wont try for it

would pause his games and go to wherever part of the house you were in, eyeing your baby bump with those wary cat eyes of his, all "..how are you feeling..?"

tbh i see you getting pregnant before marrying him because the two of you were kinda lazy with being careful 😅

he kinda facepalms because now hes like "why didnt i think of the possibility of pregnancy🤦🏽‍♀️"

while it doesn't speed up the whole process, he'll now begin taking the thought of marriage seriously

he'll bring up the idea of eloping, or a small wedding because he doesn't like the idea of a big and elaborate wedding ceremony/party

he didnt really care about gender, but he did care about baby names because he didnt want the baby to have a stupid name

now i see him being very curious tho

so he'll ask you a bunch of questions about how it feels to be pregnant, eyes wide when you tell him all the gruesome parts 😭

will also spend some time looking up more information about pregnancy and childbirth

now i do think he'd be aware about how he should change himself for the better

he grew up kinda isolated, and he 100% didnt want that for his kid, especially considering the fact that his child will most likely be an only child too

aw sleeping in kenma's arms while he plays video games cuz hormones made you sad

he'll like announce ur pregnancy to his followers/fans, it was so random he was like "yeah guys im having a kid 😪 kinda scary ngl" during one of his livestreams

really appreciates and is totally surprised when he's gifted money and baby supplies by his fans

maybe posts short little clips of you sleeping in an odd position or doing random things because he thinks its funny how you now do things differently because your bump prevents you from doing things in a certain way

i think it would interest him in the way your baby bump grows

he would be a little mortified at the way he would poke your bump's skin and watch his indent stay there long after he pulled his finger away

would be kinda "??? 🤔🤨" when he first feels the baby's kick/movements

he would "begrudgingly" walk to the store for you late at night if you were craving something

acts all annoyed but lets bffr kenma we know ur a softie 🤣

okay for the birth tho he's so mortified

definitely doesnt want to watch but obviously will be there for you because he knows better

the whole time he feels secondhand discomfort for you and feels your cries in his deep in his core cuz ur in pain and he doesn't like that 😕

this might sound weird, but i see him bringing his portable gaming system to the hospital so you can play with him and get ur mind off things

not saying his feeling towards the baby will change after the birth, but he'll definitely be like "oh wow 😳" when the baby is first born

have u ever seen that clip of steve irwin first looking at bindi when shes born and hes all amazed and awestruck by her?

its like that but its less noticeable and its more like "this is my child?"

a little scared to hold the baby at first because he's afraid to drop her

but once he does he'll look down at it and be like "ur not so bad afterall 😪"

DEFINITELY doesn't get any sleep during the first few months because he'll for some reason take late night feedings/crying upon himself

hes all "ur such a pain bro 😒" while rocking the baby back and forth to soothe it, all cuddly and gentle with it

tbh i cant decide whether it be a girl or boy so its up to reader to decide

omg hes mortified after the first belch spit hes gone afterwards

literally condemns the baby to hell

hates changing diapers but does it for the sake of the baby's comfort and health

when he's alone with the baby, he'd be like "ur kinda ugly 🤔" while playing around with it

tbh i see him getting random bouts of urges to play with the baby and speaking to it in a baby voice secretly

gets really embarrassed if hes caught and acts like it never happened

when ur not there to watch the baby while he's gaming he'll actually be okay with the baby sitting in his lap while he games

if he wins he'll be all "lets goooo 😝" all up in the babies face 😭 lifting it up into the air and just being such a gamer dad

also starts teaching the baby how to play games real early on, making them hold a controller or something and teaching them game logistics

the baby is like 5 months old and doesn't know about taxes but knows about dnd 🤣🤦🏽‍♀️

i see him like announcing the birth of his kid to his followers/fans a couple weeks after the birth

only shows what the baby looks like when its like 6 months old and crawling all in the background, he'll turn around and be like "wanna see my baby?", lift up the baby and put it's face all up close into the camera 😭

does 0.5 and only 0.5 photos on the thing 😅

does a couple more streams afterwards when he "games" with the baby and blame loosing on the poor thing 😅

aw i can see him and the baby having matching outfits when he goes out with it

he's not the best dad, but he'll try his hardest

on a sweet note, if kenma feels lonely when ur away, he'll allow the baby to sleep in the bed he shares with you as a "substitution" and cuddle with it

yk that tiktok audio that goes "leave me alone baby 😒" and then goes "ur my baby i love you ☹️☹️🥰😘" yeah that hes that

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shares-a-vest · 2 months

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@steddielovemonth Day 28: Love is… When you look at his lips for half the conversation because you can’t stop thinking about kissing him (Prompt by @starryeyedjanai)

wc: 733 | Rated: T for suggestive language | cw: None

Tags: Eddie Munson Has a Crush on Steve Harrington, Family Video, Pining, Pre-Relationship, Jeff (not present but mentioned a lot), Cliffhanger Ending (might write a cheeky sequel tomorrow)

'Lips'

Eddie should have known it was a mistake to visit Family Video on his lunch break. His excuse to Jeff was that the store had better air conditioning than the mechanic shop. Aka, an air conditioner.

Besides, he promised his friend that he wouldn’t be all that long.

Unlike yesterday.

… Or the day before.

And that no, Jefferson, best friend dearest compatriot, it has nothing to do with Steve Harrington’s summer attire – a good ol’-fashioned too-tight polo and a pair of jean shorts that have not been rotating around in his pea-brain for the better part of a month and a half now that they are in the throws of an Indiana summer.

Nope. None of that.

Nor does his desperation to skip down three blocks and waste his entire lunch break have anything to do with the chapstick Steve has taken to wearing (though Robin’s recent snickering suggests the reddish-pink pouty blessing is a Harrington Summer Standard).

But Eddie just can’t stop staring as his completely kissable crush bemoans working a double shift.

... Or something.

He isn’t really sure because Steve just bit his lip in annoyance – Keith! He definitely just mentioned that loser! – and, well, now there’s an indent on his bottom lip that is making Eddie think about how red they could get if they were all kiss-bitten and...

Eddie forces himself to look up from the plush pout Steve has permanently plastered to his face when he is bitching.

He is met with a faint crinkle in Steve’s brow and yeah, it is probably quite obvious he is not paying attention. His eye wanders above Steve’s frown to the beads of sweat pearling at his hairline.

He gulps.

No, no, no!

This can’t be happening! Steve cannot start sweating too.

It’s bad enough that Eddie has seen him all hot and bothered, his delicious chest hair all matted and grimy as they ran for their lives in an undead hellscape. And their late afternoon sojourns to the Quarry are downright cruel as Steve strips off his sweat-stained shirt to reveal equally sweaty hair that trails down, down, all the way down beyond his waistband to what is surely a sizeable –

“– Eddie!”

He grips the counter between them with grease-stained fingers and holds on for dear life.

“Huh?” he grunts, his eyes landing back on those lips like it’s now the worst possible habit he could ever have the misfortune of developing.

Because Steve is, well, Steve Harrington. Ladies Man. Casanova. Dorky wooer and hot former-jock turned actual good dude.

Stevie H. who’s all plush and pouty and... Moisturised.

Those lips look soft, don’t they?

And maybe the reddish hue is a sign of a flavour? Perhaps cherry? Maybe even strawberry?

Eddie licks his own bone-dry lips as he thinks about tasting it.

Tasting Steve...

How those beautiful smackers would look all swollen from spending time wrapped around his –

“Are you even listening?” Steve whines, lightly smacking the counter with his gigantic, manly hand.

“Yeah – oh… um, yeah sure, man,” he splutters.

Steve’s sceptical frown faulters, softening as he looks Eddie over. He purses those lips.

Fuck.

It’s painfully obvious, isn’t it?

Eddie closes his eyes and sucks in a breath.

Jeff was right. Today, a mere ten minutes ago... Yesterday... The day before...

He should just let go of the counter, turn heel and run back to work to sweat his balls off. At least there he wouldn't be confronted with he tantalising mouth of one Steve Harrington and all the filthy thoughts that come with staring at them.

His wristwatch beeps in agreement – a warning alarm Jeff set by yanking at his arm before he stepped out of the shop on his merry way.

“Hey,” he begins, clearing his throat as he dares open his eyes again.

And he finds Steve staring back, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his sinful mouth. He licks his lips and those hazel, now greedy-looking eyes flit down and linger there.

As if they are examining...

“I gotta go!” Eddie screeches.

His shout sends Steve shooting upright from where he had drifted into leaning across the counter.

Eddie launches himself backwards, stumbling towards the door as he incoherently splutters about Jeff and gaskets and the miserable PB&J sandwich he has waiting for him in his beat-up lunch tin.

“Eddie, wait!”

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddielovemonth #family video 📼#steve x eddie #steddie ficlet

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pascalsbby · 8 months

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CARNAL / 6: DEVOUR

Chapter 5 / Masterlist

Summary: 4.5k, f!reader, dark!joel, dbf!joel, brattamer!joel

It didn’t even feel like fucking anymore. Yes, it was filthy and harrowing, but it was beckoning more than lust, desire. Love? Fuck. You can’t do this love again. You couldn’t shell out your body and not find the pieces to put yourself back together because they've been taken and devoured by him.

Warnings: 18+ mdni, SMUT, age gap, cum eating, car sex, anal play, dominate & aggressive joel, slight stalker!joel, pet names, praise kink, he talks you through it, tells you what to do- the usual pure filth + WAY MORE. This is filthy. Gotta feed you after being gone for so long.

A/N: This is the penultimate chapter. Maybe. I kinda went feral. Love you <3 Let me know what you think & what’s gonna happen to these two.

"I need your teeth in me, slow and vicious, to tell me my armor is just skin, bones, only bones. Try to be gentle when you rip me apart.”

- Jamaal May

°:. *₊ ° . ° .• ♡ °:. *₊ ° *₊.• ♡ °:. *₊ ° . ° .• ♡ °:. *₊ ° *

You woke up that morning (the second time), around 10AM on Joel Miller’s couch. He was standing at the counter, back to you. His shoulder blades flexing under his thin shirt. His hair was getting long, kissing the nape of his neck. It was curly at the ends, too. Ruffled, reminiscent of hands being flushed through it. Yours. You wonder now if he’d let it grow or would let it meet its end.

Was this your end?

Turn around Joel.

Please.

You started to open your mouth but he spoke up. “Didn’t want her t’see you in my bed.”

He still hadn’t turned, his voice silently echoing against the tiled back wall of his kitchen. It was soft, still commanding in its baritone. He wasn’t angry anymore… couldn't have been. He had already accepted the invitation and stored it away for later, too. He sat a cup of coffee in front of you and sat across from you at his table. He bent down beside you and whispered, “She hasn’t come out yet. I swear to God f’she heard you fucking screaming last night I—“

Sarah’s bedroom door shook closed. She was walking down the stairs now, fake yawning as if she had only opened her eyes seconds before. She looked tired, as if someone had been keeping her up all night. The chair creaked beneath Joel’s thighs as he settled backwards into it, tearing himself away from your reprimand.

Of course he was mad. Delusional. That’s what this was. Sneaking around your best friends house, fucking her dad? And the thing was, it didn’t even feel like fucking anymore. Yes, it was filthy and harrowing, but it was beckoning more than lust, desire. Love? Fuck. You can’t do this love again. You couldn’t shell out your body and not find the pieces to put yourself back together because they've been taken and devoured by him.

He had made a permanent indentation in his bed with your body, fucking you into it, and then he carried you down the stairs and to the couch like it was nothing, right past her door. Like you hadn’t been dripping on the dark hardwood the entire time he carried you here. Like your muffled screams fell silent to other ears.

Fuck.

He would, too— devour you. And you would sit at his feet and watch as he chewed the love from your ribs. “Thank you, Joel. Thank you. Please, more. Take more of me.”

His snarl when he realized it was you. How angry he was that you were making him do something like this; taking his daughter's best friend and filling her womb with himself, in the most selfish way he could think to tie himself to you. But if that didn’t give, then the raised skin of his initials would do. How dare you open that door and guide him to temptation, as if he wasn’t completely releasing himself into it already? Into you. Onto you.

She hit the bottom step and looked around the living room. “You’re up early.” It was directed at you, but she turned to Joel and spoke in his direction, mirroring him a million times before as her chin tilted slightly down— eyes settling upwards. Big, brown eyes beckoning. And then seconds later her face softens and she gives you both the “I’m not fucking oblivious to this” look.

You laid there and listened to them go about their morning, in his safe space. He smiled real big when he realized she was still happy to see him, of course. Why wouldn’t she be? This has been a man who stood between her and anything that could ever possibly hurt her. He was her shield. And it hurt, still. That he couldn’t really be yours. He was undressing you, instead. Taking off the metal plating and throwing it to the ground. And it was hard to remember that this man was years your senior, your dad’s best friend. He was someone who had been following you for months, paying you to defile your frail body for him. He had hunted you down and sunk his teeth into your skin, bone, marrow. His fingers into your mouth and through the desperation of your thigh.

He scratched his way into your life and you let him, because he feels so good. It was so hard to remember that he was not a good man. Despite his reverence to Sarah’s being. Despite the hole he’s dug through your chest.

Joel Miller was a murderer in his own regard. He hunts you out and down, gets what he wants and then serves you a slow, painful, death. You were sure of it.

Why can’t you be a good man?

Why can’t I have a good man?

You ate breakfast together, the three of you sitting at their two-person table. You were in the middle, one knee touching him and the other, Sarah. He felt of fire, every inch of his denim that touched your naked knees. It rubbed against the rawness of last night, where you were looking up at him, mouth stuffed, praying to him. His cock, as it slid languidly down and up your throat. “Birdie,” he whispered into your hair over and over. Fists full of you. A prayer, a question, a deep rumbling.

Birdie Birdie Birdie.

“Birdie.”

You returned to yourself and realized he was trying to get your attention. It dawned on them that he had just called you the girlish nickname in front of his daughter. It was a moment too late, already it passed his lips and christened the air around him. The melody in his voice changed.

Sarah dropped her fork and it rang through the plate, sending fissures through the porcelain as it echoed the quiet room.

“Who?”

“I’ve called people that before. C’mon. Jus’ like I used to call… fuck what’s her name? Hanna. Just like I used to call Hanna, Ladybug? Remember? Jus’a nickname Sar.”

Excuse me?

“You know exactly why I’m upset. It wasn’t just a nickname for her Dad. You know that.”

“Just a fucking nickname, Jesus.” He was angry that he was being questioned. Outed.

Caught.

It made sense they held secrets for each other. Ones that only swim to the surface during fights. You sat at the two-person table, three people deep. You, sitting outside of your body while the real you is turning your head towards Joel, now. Eyes eating into his own, gnawing on the beauty of them. You try to figure out who the fuck Hanna is. If she’s played this same game before, too. How far did she get? How far was Joel’s cock inside of her? How did he find her?

How old was she?

Sarah was quiet during breakfast. Everyone was. You cleaned the dishes and she rubbed them dry, silently beside you. Joel left as soon as the last bit of ketchup and hashbrowns left his plate. He walked out of the doorway and sat in his chair in front of the TV. He turned the volume out and pretended like he wasn’t leaving his girls to figure it out. He would let you do the hard part.

He always does.

“Sarah, I—“

“Do you know who Ladybug is? He didn’t tell you, did he? He didn’t fucking tell you. I knew it. I knew it,” your name passed out of her chest violently. “He got you too, he got you. I to—He promised me he wouldn’t do it again I-I—“

Suddenly she was too worked up for it to stay between the two of you. Joel’s voice carried from the living room as you hurried after her trying to meet him in the middle. Her fingers already pointing in his direction as he walked towards her with his arms out.

“Joel Miller, you fucking perv—“ calling him by his name.

“Sarah. He hasn’t done anything bad to me. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean to but I feel held with him. ‘Member the conversation we had? About how you somehow understood that he and I are similar in a way I haven’t been able to find with anyone else. He— he takes care of me.”

She winced, visibly hit.

“I’ll bet he does.” She spat.

“Hey, s’not like that baby girl.” He was begging.

“Get out of my fucking house, Birdie.” She mocked, completely ignoring anything falling out of your mouth.

So you sat down the dish silently and walked towards the door.

You. You were the first casualty of war. Not even him. Never him. He gazed into you, seeing you. Like he usually did, but never said.

“She was my babysitter and she was his little Ladybug, Birdie,” she spit. You were still in a locked gaze with Joel, body halfway out of their front door.

He turned and looked away.

You walked out of the door.

°:. *₊ ° . ° .• ♡ °:. *₊ ° *₊.•

It had been two months and 26 days since he carved his initials into your begging flesh. A scrappy ‘JM’ slightly sideways, now slightly raised on your inner thigh. You found yourself tracing it sometimes, wondering if you left any invisible marks on him. Probably not. Your skin is pink and soft, new. It has spent its days tucked away against your heat, hidden from the light. From the man who put them there. Whenever you were sleeping that night, he must have invisibly carved himself into you a thousand more times, because your skin is festering in his absence. His fingertips, name, gripping hands, all falling into the creases of him, left upon you. Long ago bruised and now just scabbed over in refusal to let you return to that night.

That’s what I felt like every single time you texted Sarah, “Can we talk? Please?” or, “I am sorry, please let me explain. Miss you.” She never reads them, infact, they never get to her. She blocked you. And that hurt so much more than just leaving you on read.

Suddenly your skin is ripped open again, by the teeth of your own guilt. Of another lie added to the bracket. But alas, you return home, lock the door, and let him free again in the only way you can— by stripping yourself naked and opening your thighs to the light.

It’s easier to hold a funeral when it's your own. Here lies yet another person who didn't save you— who didn’t stick around to see it through. Whatever it was.

You've been discarded before, it wasn’t a new phenomenon. Rather it was one your chest is familiar with— knows the aching well. Although oftentimes you weren’t even left, just sat to the side, unnoticed and quiet. No one had really done you the favor of actually leaving, never really departing; all still loosely lingering around, almost like they were orbiting you. A distant star in the night sky. Then, like a meteorite, Joel. He became your refuge, a far-off celestial body that crashed into yours. Free from the chaos, cradling you in his arms.

He wasn't just a mosaic of broken mass and matter forcibly reassembled; thrown and kneeled like dough. He embodied the resilience of stardust, a reminder that matter never truly vanishes but transforms into something or someone new. Filtered through fingers above to loosen their ties to who they were before, or what. Joel was something before, to you. Maybe on another plane, he was bending you over his knees right now. His hand kissing your skin— Good morning, Birdie. His touch a gentle caress against your skin, with a warmth that felt like the first rays of dawn. Warmth that would completely devour the incessant nightmares. And the truth of him.

Wake up.

Another nightmare.

They never really ended, the fucked up silver screen tucked tightly against your hippocampus, played on and on. They seethed and sang their screamed pain to the night. Bursting out in missing, of emptiness and holiness (not of the Godly kind).

There was a hole, burrowing itself into your breastplate, spreading and grasping for whatever it can grab hold of, inching ever closer to your heart. You screamed his name like it came directly from him, like he planted it there, kissed it on its forehead goodnight, a silent promise, and then walked out the door and never returned. It was kind of like that— his leaving, the absence of him. So your brain held close whatever it still could and replayed it to you every night. It felt like dying. Like wanting to rip-the-wall-open-and-set-yourself-in-there-too, dying. Plaster over yourself and have some professional match the paint color perfectly, so that it's as if you were never gone from him or his room, dying. His ruined sheets on behalf of your body. Rotting.

Joel told you that he wouldn’t clip your wings, not just yet. What had set off the ‘yet’? He was haunting you, now, the whispers of his voice fading more each day. You thought about that morning so much that you haven’t been present in your own, in weeks.

You haven’t painted in weeks, either. They were sitting against your wall in your childhood room, not even able to face the outside world. Just the canvas beside it. A mirror.

You had been writing more though, filling pages of a journal you didn’t even know you had. The cover was foiled, gold and glistening. Water Serpents l, Gustav Klimt, 1907. You’d always preferred Water Serpents II. Where the fuck did this come from?

Sarah probably left it here in the beginning of summer. She came over daily, helped you unpack. Laughed with you. Held you in that way. Took pictures of you amongst your things.

“You’re like… a big girl now.” She said.

You’d always had a poster of Der Kuss hanging above your bed. It moved with you, from your room to a dorm room, apartment, and back. On her knees for him, engulfed in him. Her feet hanging over the edge, facing some other reality. He held her head in his large hands and kissed her Goodbye. Goodnight. Drift softly into the night.

I imagine he stayed on his knees and watched the flowers shrivel. First, the ones upon her dress and hair, then he picked every single flower in the field they graced and watched them shrink and gasp for life, too. But he stayed.

You remember Dr. Andrews, walking to center stage of the auditorium on a foggy Wednesday morning, four semesters ago. It was 45 minutes into a 3 hour chapter titled: Byzantine Frescoes: Life In Gold. “Each work aids final comprehension of the allegory, which represents the mystical union of spiritual and erotic love and the merging of the individual with the eternal cosmos.” That of Der Kuss. Eternal cosmos.

You felt as if you were meant to be with him. Regardless of the rage you felt towards him. How he had just magically been there at every intersection of your life, thus far. How your parents loved him. Sarah. Meeting her again, or the first time even. All synchronicities pointing to the both of you. Joel and Birdie, sittin’ in a tree.

Whenever you felt control slipping, you would write down the words of someone else. Sometimes it was too hard to find your own in the strung-together way you wanted them. But people have been talking, crying, wailing into the night, since forever ago. You found something that stuck a key into your heart and opened it. This fell out:

“I hated him because I could not remain detached, could not remain standing at the top of the stairs watching him depart. I felt myself going down with him, within him, because his pain and flight were so familiar to me. I descended with him, and lost myself, passed into him, became one with him like his shadow.”

- Anaïs Nin, Winter of Artifice

Your pen gave out, stopping its bleeding before you even reached the end of shadow.

°:. *₊ ° . ° .• ♡ °:. *₊ ° *₊.•

You had been at home a lot more the past couple of weeks, in a perpetual state of ‘no-call-backs’ from jobs and The Miller’s. You hid from arguing like you’d never left. Like you weren’t nearly 25 years old. You listened to wildfire over and over.

“Been home longer than expected. Looking for a job or just gonna stay here forever?”

“Yeah, Dad. No one is calling back. I’m trying.”

“Not hard enough.” He always says it under his breath, not even looking you in your fucking eyes.

Yeah. Not hard enough.

“How ‘bout you ask Joel if you can work for them as some assistant or something?”

You try not to outwardly scoff. “I’m not talking to Sarah right now. Please don’t invite the Miller’s to anything, just for a while.” You knew exactly what was coming up. But you turned to him and looked in his eyes— something you shied away from him most days, thinking that sudden reveal would get your point across. He spoke before you could, again.

“What’d you do this time?” He looked away.

*₊ ° . ° .• ♡ °:. *₊ ° *₊.•

It didn’t surprise you one bit when Joel fucking Miller, in the biting flesh, walks past you in your own backyard, three months and 28 days later. Eyes tearing into where another man’s hand rested upon the small of your back, rubbing soft circles into your skin. John caught his eye, his fingers releasing from your skin upon Joel’s wandering scowl.

Looks like he wasn’t expecting him either.

John was standing at your side. You decided you’d meet him first, as to not have a reply of the last time you met one of your customers. He actually lived a few houses down, your other too-old-for-you neighbor. How funny. He walked up to you one day when you were getting the mail.

“N’ what’s a pretty thing like you doing out here barefoot? Gonna hurt those soles.”

You decided that you haven’t felt full in a while. You wanted to feel it again, the tickling stretch of someone sliding into you. Even if the entire time you try not to sing the song of another man.

Eh. He fits the bill.

So now his feet (boots) were slowly sinking into the September grass in your parents backyard. He was five beers deep. You, about three or so. Enough. It was the best you could do under the circumstances.

In reality, he came because he thought he might be able to get you alone in the room he’d seen so many times through the computer screen. Smell your sheets, your room, your pussy.

In reality, you just invited him in hopes that Joel would be here. That he would see you around another man and realize the mistake he’s made by not choosing you, too.

You were mid-sentence, explaining what a BFA is to some other neighbor and you felt as if you could hear him growling from across the yard. You would sway yourself just the way you know he liked- especially when your family was involved. Oh, it angered him. That you should be so bold in front of your own father. In front of this man. But he was ignoring you, so why wouldn’t you try and regain his attention?

“Did I leave my wallet in your truck?” John put on his thinking face. “Don’t think so, but here, go look.” He handed you the keys. Coulda came with you at least. You lead yourself back inside and out of the front door. His car is about 4 back. You see Joel’s navy truck a few more back and you catch yourself staring for too long.

As you attempt at unlocking John’s truck, your knees are suddenly pressed onto the footstep, arms spread against the leather seat. And then Joel’s smell is all around. His nose is poking your ear and his gray stubble is poking into your face.

“How fucking dare you? I give you space and this is how you spend it? Stuffing another man’s dirty cock into my cunt?” His back is lowered, attempting to match your height, pointing and spitting about. “If you wanted to be fully stuffed you should have just asked, Birdie. But I get whatever hole I want and he can have whatever’s open. I didn’t know you wanted me to share you, baby.”

You felt full of his voice, even at its melting whisper. You missed bulging full of him.

“I woulda at least ask you not to choose one of my coworkers. Actin’ like a fucking slut.” He whispered the last part, but not quietly enough. “Gonna take care of him later, been wanting to since I saw that you followed hi—“

He was so angry he was giving away his secrets, the way he had still been keeping up with you. You were pulsing.

But… he was looking at you, was paying attention to you. And you hadn’t looked into his soul in so long. You fought against his palm, as it filled the expanse of the back of your head, hair and all. Your cheeks pushed against the seat of John’s truck.

You hear Joel sigh in impatience, then he drops his belt.

He pulls his hands away so he can pull up your dress and he moans as his thumb pushes your thong away from your holes, tickling them. He hooks his thumb in front of you, against the hood of your clit and holds it in place. A constant rush of pressure originating from where his wet finger is pushing. You rut your hips against it and he moans as you breathlessly look up and around at him, eyes widening and eyebrows raising at the feeling of his presence on your body.

“Look into my eyes.”

How could you? How could you possibly focus on the lifting of his lips and his tongue meeting his teeth when his arms were gracing himself, wrestling heavily against his chest, stomach, fully. His cock, long and full. Slightly less straight. A little off. Just like him. Just like you liked it.

He turns you over on your back, lifting you up so that your naked ass meets leather, fully in another man’s truck. He sets you further inside and then looks at you. His cock jumps to meet your gaze and he lets you take it in.

“Been thinking about this.” You try to reach out and touch the veiny girth of it. The heaviness.

“Mm, nuh uh. Not being a very good girl, are you? Told y’ to shut up didn’t I?”

No. And you know he would never. Likes hearing you whimper for him too much.

You scoff and he dips into you in fever, his nose is kissing your clit, unable to get out of the way as his tongue pokes into your slobbering hole. You are every one of his senses. His fingers in your cunt, stretching the soft tissue between your legs. The taste of your warmth on his tongue, pooling. The wetness that got into his nose.

If anyone were to be looking, from most angles it looks like he’s lost something in his floorboard. Until someone moves too closely and sees Joel Miller with his face buried in someone’s daughter's pussy.

He hears something and removes his dripping mustache from your cunt. He then spits on it and lets it talk to him as his veined and heavy cock slips through the cream he’s making of his precum, collecting it with his pretty pink, angry, tip before he slides it back down your slit, covering every inch with himself.

It felt good to sing for him again.

“Oh Birdie, just like that, sounds so good whipping up your pussy’s excitement with my cock, don’t you? Filthy lil’ thing. Gonna make it wetter n’ cover it in my cum, too, okay?”

He reaches down and fingers at your pussy, pushing himself deeper into you and thumbs where you are gripping his cock. He spits down on it. “She missed me.”

“Need you t’ fill me up.”

“Already begging? Don’t wanna get caught in his truck, do you?” He was mocking you now. “Baby girl, that’s just not good enough.”

“Need-need daddy to fill me to the brim with his fucking cum. Let me have it, sir, please. Plea-“

“Show me who you belong to.”

You widen your legs further and let the orange streetlights filling the car shine on his initials.

“There you go baby.” He growls as he fucks his thick length inside of you, letting go as deep as he can as your pussy clenches around his sputtering cock.

He stops looking at your hole clenching onto him as hard as possible and is instead watching his initials in the jiggling fat of your inner thigh. He grabs it, rubs his fingers over the skin.

His thighs are even thicker from this angle. He moans towards the sky but forces himself to look back down, just as his cum falls from his slit and falls down to your open mouth. He lets go of his cock and lets it throb independently, shooting more of himself into his plump stomach. He’s dripping down himself, coating his own skin.

“Uh uh uh.” His voice catching in his throat every single time the skin between his heavy balls and asshole contract and expand, throbbing.

He admires as the cum chokes back out of your tight pussy as he pushes himself in and out, then removes himself. He watches it slide down and kiss your puckering asshole and decides to finger it back into your cunt, tsk-ing at you.

“Gonna let it drip down to your pretty asshole and not even fuck it back in baby? After all that work? Let me do it for you. Relax n’ let me fuck you here, too.” He slides his thick finger into your ass and lets out a low groan as it swallows him.

He pops himself back out, gently cooing praises at you.

“Whose Hanna?”

“That’s none of your fucking business, Birdie.”

“Is that so? Shouldn’t I have a right to know? Am I just another victim of you and your inability to show the fuck up?”

“Bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Daddy showing up to your little party and making a mess in your little hole?”

“Joel.”

“I never fucked her.”

You stared at him.

“Get down there and clean up your fucking mess.” You deserved this. You weren’t being good for him, asking questions.

You pulled your dress down as he tucked himself away. He held your hair back and grabbed your jaw, aligning it with his cum on the black leather seats.

“Now lick.”

°:. *₊ ° . ° .• ♡ °:. *₊ ° *₊.•

I know I’m missing some of you on the taglist, I’m sorry!! I need to come up with a better way of doing it.

Taglist: @strang3lov3 @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @rubyfruitjungle @leeeesahhh @blackvelveteen1339 @huffle-punk @xxmr-potato-headxx @ssssc0m @paleidiot @sarap-77 @silkiers @gracevn @scarletsloveletter @livingdeadmaria @morallyinept @kittenprincess710 @jubilee82 @cool-iguana @vickywallace @capitulo3-celos @taeslarityy @moonlightdreamingworld @worhols @milla-frenchy @sheepdogchick3 @gasolinerainbowpuddles @justagalwhowrites @bratty-lxndry444

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sunaluv · 2 years

Text

[signs of affection]

feat. suna, osamu, tsukishima,

SUNA

can’t stop kissing you. it’s literally concerning.

he’s not one for PDA but for you? that’s a whole other story. you’re pretty sure his lips have left a permanent indent on your neck.

god forbid one of the twins see, it’s always “nobody wants to see that”😐 but deep down they just jealous.

today was a relaxing day, no volleyball practice and both of your calendars were free.

so here you were, lying on top of your boyfriend, joined together by the lips.

his big hands hold a firm grip on your waist, rubbing occasionally. slowly, he reached up your shirt, caressing your bare back.

pulling away, your lips were joined by a string of saliva which you broke with your thumbs as you stroked over his swollen lips.

“you like kissing me huh,” you teased.

he hummed, rolling you two over so he was now straddling your hips. leaning towards your neck, he nipped and sucked until an array of deep purple bruises formed on your skin.

"it's not my fault you have such addicting lips." he spoke while assessing his artwork on your neck.

OSAMU

always makes food with you in mind. whether your there or not.

reluctant to cook for his brother but for you? don’t need to ask.

if you don’t stop him, he’ll probably cook a whole buffet for you.

"samu why is there so much food?"

shocked by the sound of your voice, osamu momentarily forgets about the multiple plates of onigiri surrounding him.

"i got hungry."

"for 7 plates?"

"i didnt know what filling you wanted." he spoke after swallowing his food.

you were baffled, you made sure not to hint you were coming to visit him so how did he know you were coming.

so you asked "how did you know i was coming?"

"i didn't, i always cook with you in mind for some reason."

"awww," you wrapped your arms around his torso." you're so in love with me"

he paused looking at the food, then back at you.

"i guess i am" he replied, kissing your forehead.

TSUKISHIMA

always passes by your classroom.

needed to go down the hall, but instead took the long way up a floor just to see you

will always deny it, but you caught on after he passed by your classroom for the third time.

it was a simple request.

“please could you get another book from the class down the hall?” his teacher had asked.

he shut the door behind him, going the opposite way to his destination, and up a floor.

his unfazed visage remained as he passed your class, peeking in for what felt like a fraction of a second.

he chuckled under his breath, catching sight of your concentrated face. your brows furrowed and your bottom lip was caught in between your teeth.

he paused when your reason stare caught his surprised one, and he instantly looked away before you could see the blush beginning to form on his face.

to escape your teasing aura, he finally went where he was meant to go.

he knew he was in for a teasing later, not that that would stop him…

reblogs and likes appreciated!

#haikyuu x reader #osamu x reader #tsukishima x reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #suna x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu #hq drabbles #suna fluff #osamu fluff #tsukishima fluff #hq fluff

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eggyrocks · 2 months

Text

𖦹track twelve: waiting so long𖦹

m.list

kuroo wants her to look up.

because she's sitting, facing him on the couch with her folded knees brushing against the tips of his. because her head's tilted down, biting down on her tongue in concentration, eyes fixed on the way her fingers lift and reposition his own over the frets of her guitar. because if she lifted her gaze, she would find that he was looking at her, studying that expression, taking her in. because if she looked up, she might realize how close she had gotten to him; she might want to get closer.

her touch isn't gentle. she forces his long fingers into strange and unnatural positions, cramping and stretching them to play the correct chords. the tips of her own fingers are weathered, the indentations from metal strings look permanent.

but still, when she is this close, the feeling of those rough, calloused hands on his own is enough to make his heart seize up in his chest. he forgets that there is a world outside of the two of them. there's nothing else happening but her hands on him and the buzz in the air.

"there," she says, leaning back and examining his hands with narrowed eyes and a furrowed brow. "now strum."

kuroo does what he's told. he mimics the strumming the motion he's seen others do, and the vibration of the strings sounds harsh and clanky. she winces. "no, not like that," she tells him with a shake of her head. she lifts her own wrist and strums invisible strings, "do it more like this," she tries to explain, and then does, what looks like to kuroo, the exact same thing again, "you did it like this, which is wrong."

he laughs. "you just did the same thing twice."

she opens her mouth, but is cut off by the shrill ringing of a phone. kuroo watches while she pulls it from her back pocket and contemplates if it would be worth it to remove his fingers from their placements just for her to tocuh him again.

her expression finds neutrality as she stares down at the screen, reading a contact name kuroo can't see. she doesn't answer it. she just places her phone down on the hardwood floor beneath her, and with a sharp motion, slides it to the other side of the room.

kuroo turns to watch as it flies, only stopping when it crashes into the wall of the adjacent kitchen. "who was that?" he questions, returning his attention back to her.

"just my mom," she answers with a shrug.

he looks back over his shoulder at the still-ringing phone, its vibrations made louder against the wood floor. "are you, uh, not a big fan of her?"

she flops back onto the couch and kuroo leans forward without realizing it, fascinated with the way the features of her face have shut down, not revealing anything about what's running through her head. "that's a fun way of putting it. sure. i'm not a fan of my mom."

kuroo wants to say something else, to get her to keep talking. but he moves his hand just an inch and she's upright again, grabbing onto his wrist and shifting it back into place. "c'mon dude, it took me like five minutes to get that right."

and she's back to where she was, leaning in close and taking hold of his fingers. so he can't really complain. "sorry," he says with a crooked grin.

she scoffs. "no you're fucking not."

taglist: @nnnyxie @cr4yolaas @httpakkeiji @localgaytrainwreck @macchiatomegumi @hikikaimar @noodleswastaken @garden-of-bri @rinaheartss @infinitelytimebound @scxrcherr @ahseyy @eyes-ofhell @sleepy-time @polish-cereal @literally-a-ferret @crownj1min @sereniteav @wyrcan @rieieieieieiei @thechaosoflonging @publicbathroompanic @bedeater @rottingt1tz @rintarawr @deluluforcarlos55 @cherrypieyourface (complete this form to be added)

rules i did not think i had to state: don’t copy my shit !

important links for palestine:

daily click for palestine

donate or join palestine action

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#Spotify #haikyuu smau #haikyuu #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu texts #hq x reader #hq x you #hq #hq smau #kuroo tetsuro smau #kuroo smau #kuroo tetsuro x you #kuroo x you #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader #hq kuroo #kuroo testuro #haikyuu kuroo

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sunshine-and-moonshine · 6 months

Text

Cod Kink Snippets

Requested: No

Warnings: Blood play, pain play, biting, dirty talk

A/N: Haven’t properly posted in so long that I actually forgot how I always format these.

Ghost - Blood

Warm fingers dipped between your thighs, tracing around where the base of his cock met your hole. Smearing around the evidence of your pleasure and your pain, slick and blood coating his fingertips.

“Does it hurt, Love?” He asks, his voice heavy in your ear. Your answer nothing but a low and pitiful whine. It was enough for him though. He coos with mock sympathy at your pitiful noise, drawing a heart on your lower belly with the fluids that stick to his fingers. “I’m sorry. I’ll try to be gentler next time.” He says and you know it’s a lie.

Soap - Bites

His teeth were unrelenting, digging into your skin over and over, bruising you with the sheer force of his bite. It almost felt like he was trying to tear through into your flesh but you know he was holding himself back from doing exactly that.

“Look so beautiful with my mark on you, Love.” He purrs, tongue flicking along the indents left behind. “Wish it could be permanent. So everyone can see what I do to you. Who makes you feel this good. Maybe then those fuckin recruits will leave you alone.”

Alejandro - Words

The sound of his voice echoed in your ears, barely heard over your own heartbeat racing through your body. His tone soft but his words filthy in that way he knew you liked, that way that riled you up and sent your mind and body reeling with pleasure.

“That’s it, Amor. You take me so well.” Alejandro pants in your ear, his hands gripping your hips tightly, hunching over your arched back. “This hole was made for me, yeah? Made to take this cock nice and deep.” His breath hitches when you clench your walls around him, cursing under his breath as he struggles to form coherent words. “That’s it, just like that. Te amo. Te amo, te amo, te amo.”

Rudy - Hands

The thick hard calluses of his hands scratch against your palms as he links your fingers with his, holding your hands on each side of your head as he kisses you, his hips moving at a slow sensual pace, dragging himself out of your slick hole just to slide back in quickly, like it pained him to be out of you, like it was torture to be pulled away from your hot walls.

“Mi Sol.” Rudy pants, breath heavy and warm against your ear. “Te amo, Mi Sol. mi hermoso sol brillante.” He whispered, his thumb rubbing against your knuckles, a shiver racking through his body when you tighten your grip on his hand. “That’s it, hold onto me. Just keep holding me. I’ve got you.”

#cod #call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #John soap MacTavish #john soap mactavish x reader #Alejandro Vargas #alejandro vargas x reader #rudy parra #rudy parra x reader

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vampiretendencies · 1 year

Note

this is a thought i had and i have to share, so we know JJ is clingy and loves to shower with reader. i can't help but picture the two love birds showering very sweetly, washing eachother and cuddling and hugging and such, until JJ somehow needs more physical contact as if they aren't already almost fused together, tries to maneuver the two of them in a weird way, unsuccessfully, he slips because the shower is slippery and just, flings both him and reader to the ground in a mess of limbs and soap😭😭😭💀💀💀 no one gets actually hurt but i just picture him trying to keep them both from falling and then completely landing atop reader as she goes just "oof" because JJ is BUILT. and then them both laughing because let's be real it would be too funny. this mental image gave me joy so i wanted to give you joy too💃🫶🫶🫶

okok i love this anon, i smiled stupidly when reading it :,) so let me just tell give a little insight as to how i’d picture it, based off of this ! (i adore when y’all send me stuff like this)

JJ perfers sentimental, affectionate showers over sexual ones.

To just know and continue discovering your skin.

The shower didn’t have to require sex to do that.

Every crevice, every nook and cranny, every indention in skin, any freckle, any mole, or any scar.

Doesn’t matter where, he’s going to treat it with gentleness as if it were he first time touching another’s skin.

It was so intimate, so devotion-like and freeing to know someone so.

And to feel comfortable was a necessity.

JJ isn’t even ranked as clingy at this point, he’s in his own category of wanting to take a permanent glue stick and sticking you him so that he’s physically there to witness your every body movement.

He’s that lovesick and manic over you.

He just can’t get enough, and vice versa of course.

You were flush against the front of JJ, arms snaking around your waist whilst he washed your chest, the couple nearly being in the position for the past thirty minutes.

Just stuck and relishing in everything that is.

Your eyes were closed, leaning back into him like it was the last moments of your life— and even still, even it were you couldn’t be more pleased

Nakedness being surreal, the skin to skin contact emphatically felt like a dream.

He hummed in your ear, cooing sweet everything’s.

Blonde locks soaked and pointing every which way, but he was just existing right now with you. Praying that he’d never have to leave this shower, that you’d be willing to stay in it long enough that the both of your bodies would turn wrinkly.

“You gonna wash the rest of me yet?”

You stammered, if anymore relaxation have begun to take over you might slumber here and now.

He couldn’t lie, he’d just been gawking at you the entire time.

In awe that you were his woman.

His kind of woman.

“Fuck washing honestly, just wanna’be closer to you, baby.”

Of course the two of you would bathe, but it’s JJ he always has to find a way to get unearthly close to you.

With one swift motion he throws the soapy sponge to the other end of the shower, whilst the both of you share laughter.

Up until, JJ decides to make about the most idiotic move he could’ve made. Trying to spin you around to face him, would typically flatter you— as he had it all planned out to lift you up and beam at you with glee and pure lovingly stares, and allowing his hands to roam more freely.

JJ’s long muscular arm, elongates itself in hopes of scooping you upward and back into him. But that was still a mistake as you are gliding in place trying to keep your balance, ultimately to stumble directly on your ass.

Running water blinding you so much that you don’t see the much more built figure falling down directly on top of you. In an act to help you up, he didnt notice his feet in the same pile of soap suds that you’d just fallen in.

Slipping, falling, and in love.

“Ow,” you proclaim, not necessarily hurt but mainly suprised at the figure ontop of you squashing you in such a way.

You may as well have been a bug.

But, you didn’t mind it. No, not at all.

“Fuck me, you good baby?”

“Perfect.”

Veins intricately bursting from his toned arms, leaning upward as you forcefully pull him down.

“Just stay like this.”

“Want me to just lay on top of you?”

“Just like this.”

You charm him with a toothy grin, surprised that you managed the fall that well. The two of you sharing more laughter, replaying the slip over again in your minds.

#jj maybank imagines #outer banks #jj maybank #jj maybank fic #jj maybank thoughts #jj maybank blurb #jj maybank fluff #jj maybank smut #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x you #jj maybank x y/n #jj maybank angst

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1hot-mess-express1 · 28 days

Text

Ghost

word count: 1459

⋆ genre: angst

Satosugu X reader

⋆ a/n: I have posted in a million years pls be nice I will cry 😃 (also low key gave up haha)

Summary: satoru has always hated you but grief changes a man

Satoru didn’t love you. The thought had never really crossed his mind; you were Suguru’s. You were like his shadow, never far behind, always clinging to him like he’d fly away without your touch. Satoru wishes that he had done the same. He wishes he would have held him tighter, taken him out more, and laughed at his stupid jokes just to see how his eyes crinkled in the corner. He would give anything to have Suguru scold him for his childish ways, brows furrowing, leaving thin permanent indents as if Satoru had left his mark. If he thinks hard enough, he can smell the weathered pages of whatever classic novel Suguru was reading the last time he saw him. He can vividly see the way the sun kisses his hair with an orange glow as his nimble fingers turn the pages too delicately, even breaths moving his chest in a hypnotic pattern, his eyes low, scanning the pages while he chewed on his lip absentmindedly. Satoru wishes he would have let Suguru enjoy his books more often. Instead, he always found himself complaining about how boring it was and yanking on Suguru’s arm, dragging him out as Suguru held limply to the book, that same furrow in his brow deepening impossibly.

No, Satoru had never loved you. To be frank, he found you annoying when he first met you. You were nothing but the tumor his friend had picked up over the summer, always third-wheeling their hangouts and making Suguru skip games with him on Friday nights. You were annoying. When Suguru looked at you with half-lidded eyes, crinkling slightly in the corner from his boyish smile, Satoru couldn’t help but feel his chest tighten, gulping down the piece of him that wished he was in your shoes. He’s certain that if Suguru ever looked at him like that, he would find true happiness in this world. When you would get incredibly drunk at parties, Suguru would carry you on his back, little snores escaping your mouth every so often as Satoru stumbled behind. He couldn’t help but glare daggers into the back of your head, kicking rocks on the sidewalk, hands shoved deep into his pockets as his shoulders sagged with his overwhelming jealousy. That should be him. He can’t help but remember all the times Suguru had done the same for him, throwing his lanky body over his back, Satoru’s long legs poking out awkwardly from Suguru’s smaller frame, a smile plastered on his face as if Satoru couldn’t possibly be an inconvenience. He remembers how his hair smelled and how his nose fit perfectly into the crook of Suguru’s neck. Instead of enjoying the physical embodiment of warmth and comfort that was Suguru, he was stumbling behind, cold and alone, while you nuzzled into the crook of Sugurus neck, lips brushing his skin while you whispered drunken sweet nothings into the porcelain expanse of skin.

Satoru hated you. He hated how your small hand fit so perfectly in Suguru’s, your smaller hand being engulfed almost entirely by Suguru’s comfortably worn hands, your digits curled perfectly around his, tracing feather-light shapes into his skin. Most importantly, he hated how it made him question how he might fit instead. Would Suguru's larger hand slide half as perfectly with his long ivory digits, or would his hand slip, his fingers sitting at an awkward length, palms sweaty, and hands shaking?

He hated you and was sure of it, just as he was certain he loved Suguru. He loved how his hair looked first thing in the morning, uncharacteristically disheveled as he made his way to the kitchen on socked feet, steps heavy with sleep while he rubbed his eyes clear of sleep. He loved how he looked making his tea in the morning, sweat pants hanging dangerously low as Satoru tried his best not to stare at the way his back muscles flexed and protruded as he reached for the large white mug on the top shelf, stained on the inside from overuse that he refused to replace because “it’s my favorite.” He loved the way Suguru would place a hair tie between his teeth before collecting the unruly mess of hair between his hands, throwing it up in a messy bun because he simply couldn’t be bothered to do his hair this early in the morning.

He hated you, hated that you got to see this every day. You would probably stumble down shortly after, clad in Suguru’s shirt that is comically large on you, teetering over to him on exhausted feet, getting up on the balls of your feet to place a fleeting kiss below Suguru’s sunken eyes as he chuckles to himself about your rat's nest of a hair due before reaching into the cabinet for another mug. Yeah, Satoru hated you.

But

Something about how you’re curled up, engulfed by Suguru’s worn-out crew neck, in a room better described as a time capsule, layers of dust accumulated over these lonely ten years. Your cheeks are red and tear-stained, your hair disheveled, and your hands pulled close to your face with a black hair tie wrapped snugly around your wrist. Even in sleep, your face is contorted by this palpable pain. You embodied Satoru’s heart, clenched tight in pain and sorrow, melting into the mattress with the weight of your love.

Satoru is frozen in place for a moment, his eyes glossy, shallow breaths escaping his lips as his brows furrow, and he stares endlessly. Why were you here? You shouldn’t be here. You don’t belong in this sanctuary of unrequited love and boyish days spent together. You look so painfully out of place, unkempt in a perfectly tidy room save for the sand of time resting on the surfaces. A stack of books sits on the desk to your left, with a bookmark shoved in haphazardly. At this Satoru realizes you must have been coming here too, spending your lonely waking hours surrounded by the memories of everything that should have been. He’s sat in that same spot, his much larger body sprawled out messily while staring at those same books. How did he not notice it before? Now he pictures you in here, alone, curled up in the corner, book in hand, turning the yellowed pages delicately as if they might crumble beneath your small hand, chewing absentmindedly on the skin of your lips as a furrow begins to form on your brow.

With a heavy sigh, he shuffles over the mattress, letting it sink with the weight of his own heart, and places an unsteady hand on your back that goes unnoticed by you in this exhausted state. Feeling your heart pound under his shaky fingers, Satoru begins to weep. He’s not sure why now; maybe it was because he knew you would feel the same, that you would understand him. A single hand reaches up to hide his face, overwhelmed with grief and embarrassment, as guttural sobs escape his lips. Your frame begins to stir underneath him, and he can’t bring himself to care; bringing his other hand to his face, he finds himself sobbing much louder, pulling at the ends of his hair and curling up on himself as if this action would cause the aching in his chest to subside. He’s not sure when it happens, but you sit up, placing a single shaky hand on his much larger back as it wracks with grief. His cries become silent screams, and he begins to pull at his hair, sniffling and hiccuping uncontrollably violently. He doesn’t know why, but when you embrace him with tears of your own, he can’t help the way his head falls into your chest, his snot covering Suguru’s sweater, long slender fingers are slowly pried away from his hair, and instead find purchase on the front of guru’s sweater, pulling at the fabric to cover his egregious display of grief. He sits like this for a while, crying until he physically can’t anymore; no more tears will fall, and he feels as if he can’t breathe, head pounding immensely in a rhythmic pattern. His head is nearly empty, too tired to form any more thoughts, eyelids growing heavy when he realizes your tiny, delicate hands are carding through his hair as you let out soft, shaky sobs of his own. Maybe he’s a horrible person, but he finds himself inching closer to you, engulfing your much smaller frame with his tall, lanky body until you both lie back on the bed, wordlessly embracing one another. Satoru hates you, but now, feeling small in the expanse of your arms, the last living piece of the love of his life, he thinks maybe he doesn’t hate you.

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