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nereidprinc3ss · 1 month

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strange perfections

in which spencer reid and fem!reader meet by accident at a coffee shop. and then they keep meeting there. they've really got to stop meeting like this. (no, seriously. hotch is pissed.) / do you believe me now? bonus chapter!

series masterlist

fluff! warnings/tags: meet cute:) some dark humor, romantically inexperienced reader, spencer reid graduated from caltech, mit, and the derek morgan school of rizz a/n: this can absolutely be read as a standalone BUT it was written as a prologue for my series do you believe me now? to explain how spencer and r met! completely optional, if you're only here for the smut no worries! reading this bonus chapter might make the next chapter better though as it contains discussions of how they met:) anyway, I LOVE YOU!! let me know if you like this silly little random thing! kisses

The café door opens again. A blustery wind raises goosebumps on your arms and makes your bones ache again. You look up at the latest intruder—a hobbling elderly man in a newsboy cap and a knit red scarf.

Stupid scarf, you think.

Stupid door.

Stupid wind.

Your mug is empty, and the table you’re sitting at is sort of sticky and rickety, and there are so many papers in front of you that you wonder why the hell you thought it’d be a good idea to print the PDF out and annotate it that way instead of just doing it on your laptop like a normal person in the 21st century. Nothing is going right today. It’s the third café you’ve tried in the past few weeks as you attempt to find some place that feels homey, lucky, but this one just feels… inconvenient.

You look at the stack of papers and sigh.

Stupid Lord Byron.

Stupid cafe.

Usually, cafés are relatively quiet and peaceful—a refuge for the overworked to bask in the luxury of quiet jazz and the smell of dark roast as they continue to overwork themselves. This particular establishment, however, today hosts a group of teenagers—presumably playing hooky—who have commandeered a big booth in the back and keep walking right past your table because apparently they couldn’t have just ordered their drinks at once and they all have to do it separately and loudly.

One of them has an incredibly irritating, gratingly pubescent laugh, and they think everything is hilarious. This whole situation is unbearable.

Just as you’re gearing up to go, of course the fucking door opens again. This time, it’s accompanied by a particularly strong gust.

Strong enough that Lord Byron doesn’t stand a chance.

Your printed copy of his works blows off the table, at first page by painstakingly annotated page and then before you can even process it, all at once.

Yeah. This is definitely not your lucky café.

As you curse and go to stand up, you run into one of those dumb kids. His huge ceramic mug goes flying, careening against the edge of your table and completely splattering you and all your stuff in 16 liquid ounces of scalding espresso and milk.

It’s silent for a second, save for a few drips from the puddle on your table to the floor, before the kid is apologizing profusely and turning red as a tomato. You can’t even respond—you look down at your ruined favorite sweater, and then around at the pages of Byron littered with color-coded sticky notes, overflowing with angry and purposeful red ink that you spent so much time on, scattered all over the floor.

Eventually the boy catches on that you’re not going to forgive him and he skitters away, back to his friends, who whisper and giggle profusely. Only a few of them get up to start gathering the fallen pages with you. Several other patrons end up helping as well, so the sheets of paper are gathered and returned into your sticky hands fairly quickly. You thank each person without looking up as they hand you their respective stack. All you want is to get out of here.

“Here—I’m really sorry about this,” someone says—a tenor-ish male voice, distinctly sympathetic as he holds out a rather larger stack of papers than anyone else had bothered to pick up.

“I’ll live,” you sigh, straightening up. “But thank… you.”

The man standing in front of you is the kind of man who makes you want to untuck your hair from its usual spot behind your ears, and to stand up straighter, and to try and not stare even though you want his attention. He’s gloriously beautiful in a way that repels and attracts you. He’s the type of man who wouldn’t have given you the time of day in high school and probably wouldn’t now. Instantly you feel both insecure and reduced to a former version of you who would simper and fawn over boys who wanted nothing to do with her. You feel like going to the other side of the café and sitting in the best light and staring out the window poetically and hoping he’s looking at you.

“On the one hand, I feel bad for being the person who opened the door and let the wind in. On the other… I feel compelled to say at least they’re not covered in coffee like the rest of your table is?”

You laugh vacantly, a second too late, positively coveting the awkward smile on his angular face. Then you make eye contact, and his eyes are so the opposite of angular—they’re huge and inviting and the warmest golden-brown you’ve ever seen, and they’re looking right back at you—and you have to look down. Fuck. You hate when you do that.

Think of something normal to say!

“Yeah, true. Now I just have to reorder 264 pages. That… that don’t have page numbers.”

You shuffle through the papers. They are hopelessly scrambled. Your heart sinks just a bit.

“Um… I might actually be able to help with that, if you want?”

You frown, glancing up. What kind of sex trafficking ploy is this?

“That’s okay. Might be easier with just one person.”

He laughs—it’s similarly awkward, similarly endearing.

“Do you mind letting me just… try? It’ll only take a minute.”

Only take a minute? Is this beautiful man deranged? Why are the hot ones always crazy?

But, perhaps because you’re a pushover who can’t stand up to people, much less beautiful people, much less beautiful men who are paying you undue attention, you find yourself giving in. You hold the stack out.

“Sure. Give it your best shot. I’ll be impressed if you can even figure out what page one is.”

He’s already flipping through the papers with a drawn brow, walking away with them, and barely looking over his shoulder as he mutters, “I have Byron memorized. It shouldn’t be too difficult.”

You follow him, because hello, he has all your annotations. He’s definitely insane, you think, as he sits down at a table and starts rapidly sorting the sheets into separate piles.

All you can do is stand awkwardly behind him as he stacks papers seemingly at random, barely glancing at them before deciding where they go.

Maybe a minute, maybe a few go by, each of which have you progressively more flabbergasted, before he’s tapping the edges of a stack of paper on the table and standing, handing them to you with his lips pressed into a thin pleasant line. There’s almost a glow about him—like he couldn’t be more in his comfort zone.

“There you go. Should be in order now.” You sport a frown bordering on a grimace as you take the stack and flip through it a bit. Sure enough, it seems that everything is in order. You keep looking between the man in front of you and the papers, incredulous as you wait for something to be in the wrong spot.

“How did you do that?”

His cheeks turn slightly pink.

“I know Byron really well. I know how each passage ends and begins so I put them together like puzzle pieces.”

“How did you read that fast?”

“Uh. I’m a speed-reader?”

You scoff, taking another look through the stack.

“I think that may be underselling it.” A thought occurs to you as you’re grazing over one of your longer annotations—full of expletives and strong opinions. “Oh, god. You didn’t… you didn’t read my notes?”

The man’s eyebrows raise as if he was waiting for you to mention that and he smiles like he doesn’t quite know how to break it to you gently.

“Maybe a few,” he eventually decides, laughing under his breath. “I appreciated the commentary on his relationship with Augusta. It was… colorful.”

Heat rises in your cheeks as you mumble.

“Yeah, I had a hard time appreciating the romantic poems. They’re less cute when there’s like a fifty percent chance he’s writing about his sister.”

“Half sister,” he corrects. You give him a look.

“Does that make it better?”

“… no,” he realizes. “Not even a little bit.”

You laugh, relieved that his face looks as warm as yours feels.

“Well… thank you, for the help,” you say after a silent second.

“Of course. Sorry, again. I, um—I hope your day gets better?”

“Yeah, well. I feel like statistically it has to, right? It’s kind of a low bar.”

He smiles, a perfect, perfect smile, and gives you a little wave as he leaves. Without coffee. Checking the clock on the wall, you realize it’s approaching one in the afternoon. If he’d been here on his lunch break, he sacrificed it to organize your stupid Byron texts. You smile to yourself.

He was totally in love with me.

And he can’t prove me wrong because I’ll probably never see him again.

All things considered—this coffee shop does seem pretty lucky. Maybe you’ll stick with it for a while.

The next time you see the mysterious sexy speed reader is four days later—though you’ve been here every day since. He catches your eye right as he walks in, and his brows jump in pleasant recognition. You smile. He smiles back, before going up to the counter and ordering a coffee with a ludicrous amount of sugar in it.

I should take note for when I make him his coffee in the mornings, you think to yourself, and then you snort at your own delusions, shaking your head at your book. Obviously you’re not that divorced from reality, but you’ll entertain the fantasy forever until one of you stops showing up to this café.

What you’re absolutely not expecting is for him to walk up to your table with his to-go cup.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi!”

Jesus. Tone it down, girl scout.

He gestures to your stack of papers: now secured in a three ring binder. The cup says Spencer.

Spencer. Spencer.

It feels important.

“I see you’ve upgraded.”

“Yes! Yes, I did,” you laugh self-consciously, still struggling to meet his eyes. “Thank you for the help the other day. I would still be sorting through all of this if it weren’t for that, so… yeah. Thanks.”

“Of course! I’m glad I could be of use.”

“Spence!” Someone calls from the cafe door. You both look up to see a stunning blonde beckoning him away.

Ah. Naturally. The girlfriend who is one trillion times prettier than you.

Spence.

Reality sets in.

“Coming!” He replies, with all the eager compliance of a child, before turning back to you. “Um… well… I’ll see you?”

It’s an awkward way to say goodbye to a stranger, but you suddenly don’t care enough to dwell. Instead you nod once, less enthusiastic now that you know he has a 10 waiting for him on the sidewalk.

“I am a creature of habit.”

Another wave as he walks away.

The two disappear from the doorway, but the perpetual breeze seems to carry a snatched bit of conversation your way.

“Who was that?”

“Uh… I don’t actually know.”

Yeah. Reality definitely sets in.

Over the next few days, you break your café streak. Life is busy. There’s not always time to artfully ponder Romantic poetry and drink a six dollar coffee while waiting around for certain people to show up.

Okay, so… maybe it has more to do with him than you’re letting on. But you’re not going to do that thing you do again, where you become limerently obsessed with a man you don’t know and who is way out of your league just because you can’t form an actual attachment to anyone to save your life. Besides, you remind yourself; we probably wouldn’t be compatible anyway. He’s probably a huge loser. Or secretly a douche. Or chews with his mouth open. Obviously nobody that attractive can also have a good personality.

Not to mention he has a girlfriend. That should put you off, too.

But you hadn’t been lying when you’d proclaimed to be a creature of habit—you return to the café once you feel sufficiently detached from this Spencer character.

He’s there. Of course he’s there. Why had you been expecting for him to not be there? It’s not like he was a figment of your imagination.

This time he’s accompanied by a different blonde woman—a bespectacled blonde with a big floral headband and a patterned dress and a red cardigan and tights and heels that look self-injurious. She’s quite eye-catching; you want to keep looking at her, but you seem to draw her attention, too. Her big eyes widen minutely and briefly you wonder if you’re supposed to know her, but certainly you’d remember meeting a person like that. She doesn’t seem easily forgettable. Both of you look to Spencer at the same time, who’s looking between you with an almost panicked expression.

“Oh! Th—” the woman whispers, cutting herself off when she realizes how loud she’s being in the otherwise silent establishment. “Ah! Okay, right. Never mind.”

Spencer sighs. You want to laugh, but you’re baffled by the whole thing. So you go back to reading.

Ten minutes later, they draw your attention once more.

“Go, go ahead! It’s more problematic for you to be late than me. I’ll be like, thirty seconds tops.”

You don’t look up as Spencer leaves the café—but are you supposed to gather that these two eccentric individuals are coworkers? And what of the first blonde woman, who you’d presumed to be his girlfriend? Where is she?

While you’re wondering all of this, the new blonde teeters her way over to your table.

“Hi!” She says pleasantly, waving a purple-tipped hand and wearing the biggest grin.

“Uh… hi?”

“I’m Penelope. You’ve met my friend Spencer. He just left.”

“Oh—sort of,” you smile weakly, closing your book. “Not formally. I didn’t know his name.”

That’s a lie, but maybe feigning non-chalance will make it real.

“Well, I just wanted to come over and say I love your bag. And your jewelry and your coat. I love your whole look. I bet you’re a really cool person.”

“Um—thank you!” You perk up, smiling genuinely now. The compliment warms you—you didn’t think your look was all that interesting today. “You too. I love your outfit.”

“Great! You’re—you’re great. This is good information. Um… just out of, like, sheer curiosity, could I get your name, age, and occupation? Oh—and your zodiac sign?”

What kind of convoluted sex trafficking ploy—

“Garcia!”

Spencer is at the doorway again, looking adorably miffed.

Adorable? Get a grip.

“Wh—I’m just making a new friend! Is friendship illegal, now?”

“This is the kind of friend-making that gets you a restraining order,” he urges.

You look up at Penelope Garcia, enamored by their whole dynamic. They clearly care for each other, despite the squabbling. What kind of job do they have where they talk to each other like this?

“It’s fine,” you smile, introducing yourself to her.

“That is such a good name!” She says, and you’re getting the sense she’s kind of always this enthusiastic. “So now we know each other’s names—we should probably definitely be friends, right?”

“Yeah! Um, definitely!”

“Yes? Oh my god! I love this! Okay, um—we work at Quantico, so, we’re like, 10 minutes away—but this is better than the coffee shop that’s closest to the building, so we come here all the time. Usually it’s just us and five grouchy old men, which makes this is really exciting.”

“Quantico… that’s the FBI academy, right?”

“Other stuff, too,” she nods, still smiley.

Oh! Cool. So they’re FBI agents.

So that’s cool.

You’re cool with that.

Her phone starts ringing—she locks eyes with Spencer.

“Hotch?”

“Ooh, we are in trouble,” Penelope sing-songs, leaning down to write her number on your notebook without asking. Not that you mind, of course. She adds a little heart and a smiley face next to her name before capping your pen and toddling away. “Bye, new friend!” She calls over her shoulder, waving goodbye with just her fingers.

“Bye,” you manage, though it’s probably too quiet.

Spencer flattens his mouth into an approximation of a smile and waves again.

You accidentally find yourself mirroring his goodbye, facial expression and all. Fuck. You hope he doesn’t notice. You hope he doesn’t read into it.

Nah. Boys are dumb.

You text Penelope later that afternoon—a simple greeting so that she can save your number—and then you forget about it.

It’s not until five days go by without sign of any of them—the two blondes, Spencer, this mysterious and foreboding Hotch figure—that you start to seriously question your sanity. Did they drop off the face of the planet, or what?

But of course, just as you’re sitting at your usual table, Spencer walks in. Alone.

He sees you immediately, but instead of the wave you’d come to expect, he immediately flushes, looks down at his shoes and hurries into the small lunch-rush line.

Weird.

You corner him at the coffee bar, where he’s adding more sugar to his coffee. How are his teeth so nice if he does this to himself every single day?

“Hey,” you say, affecting casual confidence as you bus your empty mug. “… Spencer, right?”

It’s comical how you’re pretending you haven’t turned that name over and looked at it from every angle hundreds of times since the first time you heard it.

He nods, only glancing up at you as he stirs. To your surprise, he knows your name, too. When you give him an odd look, he smiles almost apologetically, finally looking at your face for longer than half a second.

“I heard you introducing yourself to Penelope. Sorry if that’s…”

“No, no! Is she around, today? I texted her last week, but she never responded...”

“Today is operating system update day, so I don’t even really have a way of knowing if she’s alive in her office.” It’s funny to him, but you just smile, baffled. He notices your silence and catches on, scrambling to explain himself. “She’s our tech analyst. There are 243 computers in our building and she has to update them all remotely, which requires getting every agent to agree to not touch their computer at the same time for an hour or so.”

“Oh… does the FBI not have, like… an IT guy, or something?”

He laughs again—the way his eyes crinkle when he does it makes you a little breathless.

“You should say that to her. I think you would become her favorite person.”

It’s hard not to smile when he’s smiling because of you—however indirectly that may be. Quickly you realize you’ve both been standing in front of the coffee bar for too long.

“Alright, well… tell her good luck, for me?”

“I would, but I’ve been kicked out for an hour while she does the updates.”

Your brow furrows and you laugh.

“From the whole building? You just can’t keep your hands off your computer for an hour?”

“Not if I want to do my job, no. And I am kind of obsessive about my job. I’ve been the reason she had to start the whole process over again before and I’d rather not be that person again.”

You say it before you can think too hard.

“Well, if you have an hour to kill… there’s an open seat at my table? No pressure, obviously.”

And that was the first of thousands of hours you would come to spend with Spencer Reid.

After that, it sort of becomes a regular thing. He comes almost every day—except for occasional week or so long stretches, which you have discovered are a part of his absolutely fucking insane job—and sits with you, sometimes with Penelope, once with the other blonde, JJ, who you’ve since deduced is not his girlfriend, most often alone. Usually he can’t spare more than ten minutes, but he begins pushing it, little by little, until thirty minutes go by and you think surely his boss (the great and all-powerful Hotchner) must be beginning to notice.

One day, during your usual lunchtime rendezvous, his phone rings. He talks right on through it, like it’s not happening.

It ceases. And then it starts again.

Your head drops to your shoulder, something like pity or regret softening your features. He catches your eye and melts slightly, mid-sentence—like he knows you’re about to tell him to be responsible.

“Do you think you should…”

His hands drop from where they’d been enthusiastically positioned mid-air.

“They’ll be fine if I’m late from lunch one time. I’m usually more punctual than any of them.”

You roll your lip between your teeth—it’s not that you want to tell him to go; in fact, those delusions you’ve been harboring about your future life together are only getting worse with each inexplicable minute he entertains your company.

But his job is important.

“What if you have a case?”

“Then I would have gotten more calls from more people by now.”

Your head tips back as you laugh lightly at his unwavering insistence.

“I’m flattered that you so enjoy my company that much. But I can’t with good conscience keep taking up your work hours like this.”

As the laughter fades, he just… watches you, lips slightly parted, eyes intense but not entirely present.

“You’re probably right,” he finally breathes. “Maybe… you should start taking up my other hours, instead?”

Spencer Reid, you unexpected charmer.

You balk.

“Like… we would hang out? At a different time of day? Not here?”

“Those are the basic premises, yes,” he chuckles, nodding affably. “I’ve never actually seen you anywhere else. For all I know you could be a ghost eternally tethered to this building.”

“Where would this hanging out take place?”

Fuck, you’re totally being weird. His brow knits.

“I don’t know. Where else do people hang out?”

He’s not genuinely asking you, he’s gently turning you in the right direction. You charge forward blindly.

“Restaurants.”

There’s that pretty smile of his again, the one that makes all the thoughts drain from your head like cold bathwater. Though, there’s a sort of mischievous edge to it now that you haven't seen before.

“That’s certainly an option. If I asked you to hang out with me at a restaurant... would you say yes?”

You look down. God, your face feels warm.

“Would you be asking me out on a date? In this hypothetical scenario that we’ve constructed, I mean.”

Spencer seems to think about it for a moment, which fills you with unexpected panic. When you look back up anxiously, he has the same smile on his face, but his eyes are a little softer now.

“I would.”

More panic sets in—just a bit. But you don’t let what is undoubtedly a tidal wave of anxiety break through the emotional guard-dam. Keep it together. This is a good thing. This is what you wanted.

Unfortunately, you are perhaps more transparent than you’d realized. Spencer begins to look slightly worried, leaning forward in his chair.

“You don’t have to say yes. I know we don’t know each other very well, I just—”

“No!” You find yourself assuring him, though you curse yourself because you kind of want to know what he was going to say. “I would say yes. I’ve just, um—god,” you laugh gustily, self-consciously. “Sorry I’m being so weird. I’m out of my depth. Nobody’s asked me on a date before. I don’t really know the etiquette.”

Spencer chuckles.

“You’re doing great. Don’t worry about it.”

Not, what?

Not, you’ve never been on a date before?

Not, that’s crazy, or that’s weird, or how have you gone your whole life without being asked out?

With the implication being, you’re odd. Different. Maybe not in a good way.

He says none of that.

“But I should probably actually ask you, huh?” His cheeks turn pink as his laughter is redirected inwards.

“Sounds like a good first step.”

Spencer is still smiling as he says your name and it sounds so good from his mouth. It makes you sound so real.

“Will you go on a date with me?”

Butterflies in your stomach doesn't begin to brush what you're experiencing—your entire abdominal cavity is like a Monarch sanctuary.

“I’d love to.”

He seems genuinely relieved as he beams, slumping back in his chair.

“Oh, thank god. I was so nervous you’d say no. I never do that. Thank you for not saying no. Not that you couldn’t have said no—it would have been completely fine and obviously within your rights to—”

His phone rings again. Both of you are relieved that he was interrupted—but admittedly you thought his rambling was super cute.

“I should—”

“You definitely need to go.”

“Yeah,” he agrees with a still-breathless smile. “Um—what’s your number?”

You look around fruitlessly for pen and paper.

“I don’t—”

“Just tell me. I’ll remember.”

He’s so weird.

A breeze hits your skin as he opens the door. You’re already writing your wedding vows in the back of your mind as you watch him go.

part four

#spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fic

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smileysuh · 5 months

Text

after the seminar

🌙 staring. Wonwoo x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. In truth, Wonwoo has been tired. You haven’t fucked since the first night of the seminar, and although that was only two days ago, you’re definitely feeling the loss. On top of that, being wined and dined and looked after always makes you hornier than usual, and Wonwoo has been extra ‘husband’ today. He’s just so perfect. Well-mannered, kind, educated- God, you want him so bad.

tw/cw. sugar daddy Wonwoo, gentleman in the streets/softdom in the sheets, reader doesn't want to make choices, daddy/control kink, fingering, multiple orgasms, oral, blow job, deep throating, dirty talk, praise, masturbation, unprotected sex, holding hands while fucking, implied breeding/fullness kink, etc… I pet names: (hers) honey. (his) daddy.

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 6.3k

🍭 aus. sugar daddy au, established relationship, fiance!Wonwoo, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. I know not everyone is into this level of sugar daddy control, but I think there's something to be said about the trust that reader has for Wonwoo. Sometimes I just wanna shut up and let a man do all the work, and today, that man is Wonwoo

Wonwoo’s had few loves in his life. During university, he’d had a love for law, a need to do what was right. In his thirties, he’d found a new soulmate in legislative procedures related to the sustainability and efficiency of whole cities. Finance had been another long-winded lover, and now, on the cusp of forty, Wonwoo’s found the one thing in the world he loves most, you.

Holding your hand while he drives through the city, Wonwoo can’t help but keep some of his attention on you.

Dressed in a tight-fitting red dress he’d bought you for your six-month anniversary in Paris, with your hair and makeup done, you look as stunning as ever. There’s a fat rock on your wedding finger, an engagement ring signifying his loyalty to you, and Wonwoo can’t help himself but play with it a little anytime your hands are linked.

As he makes a turn onto a busy street, the sun practically blinds him, and Wonwoo immediately lets go of you to adjust his visor. You make no movement, so he pulls yours down too, enjoying the way you flash him a small smile and whisper a ‘thank you.’

“You look lost in thought,” he muses, having noted your gaze fixed on the sidewalk trees passing by outside your window. “What’s on your mind?”

“Just thinking about seminar topics,” you admit.

Over the past three days, you’ve accompanied him to multiple talks focused on accessibility, affordability, and green solutions within cities like yours. Tonight marks the last evening of the event, and the two of you are headed to a meet-up with some of Wonwoo’s closest lawyer friends.

Wonwoo loves how diligently you’ve thrown yourself into his work-focused world. Not only do you attend the seminars with him, but you truly make an effort to learn, and that’s never more obvious than when conversing with his colleagues.

Wonwoo’s best friend, Kim Mingyu, has entertained a string of sugar baby relationships, and despite inviting three or four of those women to events like the one you’ve just accompanied Wonwoo to, none of Mingyu’s girls ever took to it the way you do.

You’re one of a kind, and Wonwoo knows how lucky he is to have you.

“I’m sure Seungcheol will have a few things to say about the housing crisis talk,” Wonwoo notes. Choi Seungheol, who had started in law and made the leap to real estate. He now owns half of the new developments being built downtown, and Wonwoo knows this will spur a contentious discussion later.

“He can’t argue with the stats,” you sigh, turning to look at Wonwoo, who threads his fingers with yours again.

“He can try,” Wonwoo smiles softly, giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

You return the smile, turning your attention out the window again.

You’re not voicing anything, but Wonwoo can read you like a book. It used to be his job to pay attention to body language, and while he tries to stay humble, people have called him something of a mind reader.

“It’s been an exhausting three days,” he notes. “We don’t have to be out for long tonight, I’m sure we both need our rest.”

“Hansol flies to New York tomorrow morning,” you remind him. “I want you to have as much time with him as you need before he’s gone.”

Your relationship is always something like this, the two of you caring for each other so deeply that you constantly make small concessions. As always, though, the ball is in Wonwoo’s court. He appreciates the way you can feel to him like an intellectual equal while still being submissive in other senses, although he never abuses this power over you.

He’ll keep an eye on you tonight, and when he notices you getting tired, or your energy depleting, he’ll excuse the both of you from drinks and take you back to his place. Then, he’ll take care of you in the ways only he knows how.

You love Wonwoo. You love him for the big things, his character, his good heart- but you love him for the little things too, the way nothing slips past his line of focus. He’s always a hundred percent on and present with you, holding open every door, guiding you by the small of your back, and pulling out your chair first when you join his friends on the top floor restaurant in the most expensive hotel in the city.

“You look amazing,” Mingyu compliments you, flashing you a toothy grin before standing to greet Wonwoo with a hug. “You definitely know how to pick them,” he praises his friend.

“And look at that ring,” Seungcheol has zeroed in on the diamond on your finger, and he reaches across the table to take your hand and get a better look at it. Wonwoo’s eldest friend has always had an eye for luxury, and he studies the oval rock and silver-colored band. “I’d ask if this is sterling,” he muses, “but if I were a betting man, which I am, I’d say it’s white gold.”

Seungcheol lifts his eyes to meet yours, waiting for an affirmative, which you give with a nod. “You know your metals, Mister Choi.”

“How many times do I have to tell you,” he lifts your hand, pressing a gentle kiss to your fingers, “It’s Seungcheol.”

“Stop flirting with Wonwoo’s girl,” Hansol tuts, pushing at Seungcheol’s shoulder.

The elder man makes a face, brushing off his expensive suit. “Not flirting,” he clarifies. “Although,” his gaze shifts to you again, “if you have any hot friends-”

“Aish,” Wonwoo has rejoined the conversation after greeting Mingyu, and he takes the seat next to you, his arm casually coming around the back of your chair to pull you closer. “What have I told you about asking her for favors?”

“I suppose you’re right,” Sungcheol sighs, sitting back and crossing his arms over his broad chest. “She’s one in a million, aren’t ya, little miss future Jeon to be?”

“Try one in a billion,” Wonwoo corrects, hand finding your thigh now that he’s pulled you close enough. “Have you three ordered drinks yet?”

“We were waiting on you,” Mingyu says, handing Wonwoo a cocktail menu, which he settles between you both so you can also read it. “Their margaritas are pretty good.”

You quickly find a drink you’d like to try, and you wordlessly reach out a manicured nail to tap on it. Wonwoo follows your motion, giving a curt nod, then he leans in to press his lips to your cheek. He waves down the waiter a moment later, and orders you your drink, sparing you the socialization.

This is yet another one of those little things Wonwoo does for you that you find incredibly sexy, and you tuck closer to him, placing your hand over his own on your thigh.

“We should talk about the elephant in the room,” Mingyu sighs, drawing all eyes. You have no idea what he’s about to say, and then he hits the four of you with, “Cheol, you have to admit your new high rises aren’t sustainable or affordable.”

“They’re called luxury suits for a reason,” Seungcheol scoffs. “I’m not in the business of affordable housing.”

Wonwoo grins next to you, looking down and squeezing your hand gently. It’s funny how amusing he finds this whole thing.

“Don’t smirk like that, Woo,” Seungcheol tuts. “As if you didn’t do a walk-through of a penthouse suite in my new highrise last week.”

This is news to you, and you turn to look at your boyfriend. You’re generally not one to question him, and luckily you don’t have to, because Kim Mingyu is just as nosey as you’d sometimes like to be. “You checked out a penthouse? I thought you loved your apartment?”

“I’ve had it for years,” Wonwoo says, and you can tell he’s choosing his words carefully. “However, I can admit that the amenities at Cheol’s new builds are quite impressive.”

“Amenities,” Seungcheol scoffs. “As if that’s what you were actually interested in.”

The two powerful men share a look, and it’s a battle of wills that makes your heart thump loudly in your chest.

What was Wonwoo interested in?

He’s never talked to you about moving, and you’ve been living with him for nearly a year. Besides, Mingyu’s right, Wonwoo adores his apartment. He’s had it forever and it’s decorated exactly the way he likes it. Your bedroom is a lovely corner location with views of the whole city, and his home office is a sanctuary you’ve loved to desecrate.

“We’ll talk about this more another time,” Wonwoo says finally, looking up as your waiter appears with a tray of drinks.

Your cocktail is set in front of Wonwoo, and he gently pushes it toward you before reaching down to give your thigh a squeeze under the table. He picks up his Old Fashioned with his free hand, and Seungcheol raises his own glass in a toast. “To friends and new engagements!”

Seungcheol nods to you before taking a sip of his scotch, and it fills your body with heat to know his friends truly respect and like you. They’re happy to have you joining as a permanent member of their social sphere.

You place your hand on top of Wonwoo’s as you bring your cocktail to your lips.

The discussion moves to details about sustainability, and the men at the table trade opinions on the seminars. Mingyu is fast in his manner of speaking, always intent to prove his point. Cheol is loud and boisterous, scoffing at opinions that don’t align with his own. Hansol is often quiet, but he makes good notes ever so often, and they make the whole table sit and think. And your Wonwoo is as calm and judicial as always, listening to his friends with a contemplative expression even while his thumb draws small circles on your thigh.

You give your own two cents a few times, and your musings are always the most well-received. None of the men at the table are about to pick a fight with you, and they’re attentive whenever you open your mouth, nodding and making one or two comments before getting heated with each other again.

The waiter comes and Seungcheol orders a few appetizers while Wonwoo opens the menu for you. When Wonwoo begins to list three of his own items, you tap your finger on the one you’d like most and he voices that as well.

God, how you love the fact that you only have to lift one little finger with Wonwoo while he does the rest. You really aren’t in a super talkative mood, especially when it comes to mundane tasks like ordering food and drinks. You save your voice to join in on the intellectual conversation taking place, and you prefer things this way.

Seungcheol and Wonwoo begin to argue over rezoning laws, and Hansol turns toward you, leaning closer. “Congratulations on your engagement,” he smiles.

“Thank you,” you grin back.

“Have you guys talked about wedding plans yet?”

Out of all the people in the world, you didn’t think Chwe Hansol would be one of the first to ask you about wedding details.

“We’re thinking destination,” you admit.

“I wouldn’t expect anything else,” Hansol laughs. “And an expensive honeymoon too I bet.”

“Of course,” you grin, playing with the stem of your cocktail glass. “Although, if I’m being honest…” you lean closer to Hansol, lowering your voice while Wonwoo and Seungcheol continue to argue, “as much as I like the lifestyle I have with Wonwoo, you know I’m happy just to be with him.”

“But the expensive trips are a bonus I bet,” Hansol grins.

“I mean… would you say no to a trip to the Maldives?”

Wonwoo’s friend shakes his head, still smiling. “Never.”

“When are you going to find someone?” you ask. Out of all of Wonwoo’s close friends, Hansol is the most level-headed. He’s stable, and kind, and if you weren’t so into Wonwoo, you’d even admit Hansol is quite handsome in his own way.

“Someday,” Hansol sighs. “Maybe you’ll have cute bridesmaids at your wedding.”

“I’ll put in a good word for you,” you assure him.

Hansol laughs. “I’d appreciate that.”

Food begins to arrive at the table, and you sit up straight again, tucking close to Wonwoo. He’s done this thing, ever since your first date, where he helps plate food for you, and for some reason, it’s always been a huge turn-on.

You like getting baby girl treatment, and you watch Wonwoo with a grin while he cuts through some carpaccio and sets up a piece for you. He makes sure to get a little bit of everything on your plate before putting anything on his own, and his friends are already digging in by the time he’s gotten the both of you settled.

“Do you want anything else?” he asks, always the type to be certain he’s pleased you.

“This looks perfect,” you lean in and press a kiss to his cheek, lingering by his ear so he’s the only one who can hear you when you say, “Thank you, Daddy.”

Wonwoo reaches down and squeezes your thigh, the only sign you have that your words have done something to him. He’s not the type to be big on PDA, and it’s the little things like a constant touch, or acts of service, that remind you he loves you as much as you love him.

You wait for Wonwoo to lift a carpaccio bread spread to his lips before you reach for your own, mirroring his motions so you can experience the food together.

You hadn’t been a carpaccio fan before meeting Wonwoo, but he’s expanded your pallet in the time you’ve known him, and you’re extremely thankful for this opportunity - as well as others - that he’s provided for you.

“Look at you two loved-up foodies,” Seungcheol sighs from across the table, watching you with eyes trained to assess.

Wonwoo only grins, reaching for his drink to take a sip. You follow that motion too, smirking over the rim of your glass before downcasting your eyes.

There’s no need to respond to Seuncheol’s comment because it’s an apt description of the pair of you.

“Stop being jealous,” Mingyu grins, reaching out to push at Seungcheol’s shoulder.

“Never going to happen,” Seungcheol retorts.

You know he’s in the market for a sugar baby, and Wonwoo’s told you how often Seungcheol brings you up when you’re not around. Apparently, his eldest friend is adamant that you’re one of the most perfect sugar babies he’s ever seen, and you wonder if maybe you should try to hook him up with one of your friends at the wedding. Give Cheol the Hansol treatment. However, in contrast to Hansol’s laid-back expectations, you’d have to give your Cheol-intended friend a cheat sheet booklet on how to please a rich man.

“Just watch,” Seungcheol continues, “these two are going to sneak off early and go to the bathroom or something. They’re sitting much too close together, and we’ve all noticed Wonwoo’s hand under the table.”

To show his innocence, Wonwoo lifts the hand in question. “We’re not doing anything,” he assures his friends calmly. “Although… unfortunately, we will have to leave early after appetizers.”

This is news to you, and you look at Wonwoo for further clarification, which he gives when pressed by Seungcheol.

“It’s been a long seminar,” Wonwoo explains, letting out a sigh of exhaustion. “I’d say Honey needs her beauty rest, but I think we all know I’m not so nice when I’ve been sleep deprived.��

You love it when he calls you Honey, in fact, he uses that name for you more than your legal one.

Seungcheol lets out a groan, but he doesn’t push further, because Wonwoo’s excuse is true. He’s never been rude to you when tired, but he definitely has a ‘don’t fuck with me’ attitude when he wakes up on the wrong side of the bed.

“We’ve got a meeting tomorrow morning,” Mingyu agrees. “Maybe I should get another drink and call it a night too.”

“Come on Gyu,” Seungcheol scoffs. “I’ll let these two ditch, but this is Hansol’s last night in the city, I thought we could go to a roof on one of my new waterfront builds and hit some golf balls at the sea.”

“Right, because that’s very environmentally friendly,” Wonwoo tuts.

“Jesus, you are tired, aren’t you?” Seungcheol laughs.

It’s a rhetorical question, and Wonwoo simply lifts another appetizer to his mouth, chewing with a tight-lipped grin.

In truth, Wonwoo has been tired. You haven’t fucked since the first night of the seminar, and although that was only two days ago, you’re definitely feeling the loss. On top of that, being wined and dined and looked after always makes you hornier than usual, and Wonwoo has been extra ‘husband’ today.

He’s just so perfect. Well-mannered, kind, educated-

God, you want him so bad.

You take a sip of your cocktail again before resting your hand on Wonwoo’s thigh, and he stops what he’s doing to look down at your fingers toying with his pants. Then his gaze rises to you, and he cocks his head slightly, obviously a little stunned by how forward you’re being tonight.

It’s such a small motion, but it speaks volumes, and when paired with a small flutter of your lashes, Wonwoo reads you like he reads the books in his impressive office library.

Part of you wants to toy with him, wants to tease your touch up to his crotch just to see if you can get him hard at dinner with his friends, but you know that would lead to something akin to consequence.

As easy as it is for Wonwoo to read you, he’s not such an open book and his reactions vary drastically. You don’t want to push your luck today, not after you’ve been such a good girl for him for three seminars straight.

You remove your hand before playing with fire gets you burned, and the two of you continue to finish your appetizers. Each bite is one step closer to leaving with Wonwoo, but you try to take your time, try not to be too glutenous to make way for lust.

Wonwoo finished eating and he lifts his drink with his left hand, his right palm finding your thigh again. His touch is soothing, gentle, but it still stirs a fire within you.

You shift your knee, letting it rest against his, and you sip your cocktail trying to pay attention to what Mingyu’s saying about the stock market.

Wonwoo is generally quite the stocks man. He pays attention to Mingyu, but you can tell his focus is still partially on you, and you reach down to play with his fingers, enjoying how pretty his hands are.

You need him so badly.

That’s when you realize Wonwoo has almost finished his drink, and you quickly grab at yours too, wanting to reach the bottom of your own cup.

You’ve not been drinking since the seminar started, and the booze in your cocktail definitely heightens your senses. An electric tingle consumes your form, and it’s getting harder to ignore the panties sticking to your core.

The conversation reaches a lull, and Wonwoo lets out a sigh, squeezing your legs. “Well, it’s been fun,” he says, “but Honey and I should get going.”

“One more drink,” Seungcheol practically begs, already lifting a hand to call over a waiter.

“Not tonight,” Wonwoo says, soft but firm.

He stands up first, grabbing your hand to help you out of your own seat. “Good luck with your flight tomorrow, Hansol,” he nods to the man on your right.

“Good luck with wedding planning,” Hansol retorts, rising from his chair to pull you and Wonwoo into a hug.

Hansol’s not usually a touchy guy, and the hug means something. It’s a true acceptance that you’re permanently a part of Wonwoo’s life, and it means the world to you.

“Now I want a hug,” Mingyu also stands, holding out his arms for you and Wonwoo.

With a laugh, your fiance’s hand finds the small of your back and he guides you into Mingyu’s warm embrace, trapping you between their large bodies.

Now you’re really turned on.

Seungcheol doesn’t stand, he simply watches, lips all pouty. “Let me know about that penthouse,” he muses. “I’ve got some foreign buyers already wanting a walk through and I won’t hold it forever.”

“I’ll get back to you,” Wonwoo promises, giving one last nod to Seungcheol before he begins to guide you out of the restaurant.

As you make it to the front desk, Wonwoo stops and addresses the staff member there. “I’m going to take care of my table’s bill tonight.”

“I’ll put it on your tab, Mr. Jeon.” She nods, typing something into the ipad infront of her.

“That was kind of you,” you muse as Wonwoo escorts you into the elevator that will lead to the underground where his expensive Mercedes is parked.

“We’re leaving early, it’s the least I could do.”

“You know… I hope we didn’t leave on my account,” you say, thinking about the conversation you’d had in the car earlier.

Wonwoo leans down close to you, grinning. “I can safely say we left due to my own personal needs, although they’re not sleep-related.”

“You really like this dress, don’t you, Daddy?” you smile, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck while his hands settle on your hips.

“I like what’s under it,” he retorts, which is a cheeky response by Wonwoo’s standards.

“Been missing my body, haven’t you?”

“More than you realize.”

Wonwoo had kept his composure on the drive home. He’d even kept his hands mostly to himself on the way up to your apartment, but your stoic lover is on you the moment the door to your home is closed behind you both.

He presses you up against the wall, grabbing your waist and tugging you close while simultaneously blocking you up against the hard surface at your back. His lips are hot against your own, his tongue invading your mouth and making you giggle as you grab the front of his shirt, already popping buttons open.

You release a moan when he reaches down and cups your core, pushing up your dress to access your lacey panties. “Where do you want it, honey?” he asks, biting at your lip.

“I don’t want to think tonight,” you admit, tired from days of brain power.

You love that Wonwoo likes to check in with you. He’s not the type to simply throw you over a kitchen counter and rail you when you might prefer the bed or even the shower- but at the same time, as soon as you give him full control, Wonwoo’s very good at taking charge.

“I’ll take care of you,” Wonwoo promises, pushing your panties to the side so he can slide two fingers against your heated core. You can feel how wet you are, and the contact against your clit has you whining, grabbing his face to bring his mouth to yours again while he pushes two digits knuckle deep into your aching core.

You’re sensitive from a few days without being touched, and it feels like heaven to have Wonwoo worshipping you like this again. You tangle your fingers in his hair as he draws his mouth down to your jaw then your throat, peppering your skin in kisses that have you shivering with pleasure.

“Daddy-” you whimper, your hips thrusting toward his hand as he works you open, palming your clit with delicious pressure.

“I know, Honey, I know,” he soothes, and between gasped breaths and moans, you can hear your pussy squelching already.

It’s getting harder and harder to stand on your shaky legs, your heels not meant for standing sex or heavy petting like this. But it’s also clear to you that Wonwoo has no intention of stopping his motions until you’ve cum on his fingers, so you do your best to grab his shoulders, steadying yourself while that wonderful feeling builds in the pit of your stomach.

“I’ve missed this pussy,” Wonwoo tells you, voice low. It’s not often that he uses vulgarity, even in the bedroom, and his words betray how much he truly needs you. Your skin tingles with excitement, pussy throbbing, heart thundering in your chest-

It’s crazy how one sentence can nearly shortcircuit your brain when paired with Wonwoo using his hands like this- stroking the parts of you that he knows better than anyone else in the world.

Your fiance has taken his sweet time getting to know your body, and it shows in moments like these.

“I’m so close-” you gasp, digging your nails into his shoulders. You should care about his expensive suit jacket, but you don’t- all that matters is the orgasm you’re desperately chasing, hips moving to ride Wonwoo’s hand while his unrelenting fingers get you closer and closer to the edge-

“Come on, honey,” Wonwoo grins, mouth returning to the spot on your neck that always makes you go feral, “cum for me.”

One more rough thrust with his fingers has you moaning, tumbling past the edge as your orgasm overtakes you.

If you’d nearly been falling over before this, you almost crumple to the floor with all the pleasure coursing through you now. Wonwoo’s free arm loops around your waist, and he presses you closer to the wall, keeping you propped up while his hand continues between your shaking thighs.

He releases a low groan, and you can feel his cock pressing through his pants by your hip. You feel delirious already, body pulsing, skin tingling. Wonwoo’s broad shoulders are your lifeline, and you grip them desperately, taking everything he has to give you like the good girl you are.

“Wonwoo-” you whimper, seeking out his lips, cupping his face to draw him closer. His tongue glides against your own, and you’re enough of a distraction that his fingers begin to slow inside of you.

Finally, he pulls his hand away from between your thighs, dragging his lips from yours so he can sink his digits into his mouth. You watch him lick them clean, listening to the groan of satisfaction that escapes him while you do your best to catch your breath.

“You’re always so good for me,” Wonwoo tells you, lifting his gaze to yours again.

You swallow thickly, mind swimming, searching for a response. “You deserve it,” you assure him finally.

“And I know what you deserve tonight,” he retorts.

In one quick motion, he lifts you up bridal style. One of your stilettos crashes to the floor from the sudden way your body has just been swung like a rag doll, but neither of you care as Wonwoo carries you through the apartment toward the bedroom.

You can’t help the giggle that escapes you. Wonwoo always makes you feel like a princess, and he looks like a classic prince while doing it. His side profile is so regal- all sharp bones and pretty lips. God- how did you ever get this lucky?

When you get to your destination, Wonwoo is gentle when he sets you onto the mattress. He straightens and looks down at your form, letting out a deep breath.

“Can you take that pretty dress off for me, honey?” he asks, already shrugging off his suit jacket and setting it over a chair nearby.

“Of course, daddy,” you grin, reaching down to grab at the hem of the silky outfit, dragging it up your thigh.

His eyes are glued to you even as he works on his cuff links, and you take your sweet time as he makes it to the buttons of his shirt. The dress has a corset style back, and you tug on the ribbon before slowly working it open.

Wonwoo doesn’t say anything, but you can see his breathing pick up as the fabric gets less tight on your chest, revealing more and more of your bralessness.

When he makes it to his pants, you remove the dress, leaving you in nothing but your thong, which is soaked through.

Your fiance swallows thickly. “Panties too, honey. I don’t think I have the patience to wait any longer tonight.”

His lack of patience is clear in the way his cock slaps up against his abdomen, released by the pants now pooled by his feet.

Wonwoo looks like a fucking God, especially while naked. He’s lean but muscled, and you’ve spent hours tracing each ridge and bone. His cock is an impressive length of around seven inches, it’s pale like the rest of him, but when he’s really turned on, it flushes in colour.

Right now, his cock is a pinkish red, and you can see the angry tip already leaking desperately.

You stand up, sneaking a kiss to his lips while hooking your fingers in your panties. Pushing them down, you get onto your knees.

“Honey, you don’t have to-”

“Maybe I’m impatient too, have you ever thought of that, daddy?” you ask, grabbing the base of his length and leaning forward to kitten lick the tip.

Wonwoo releases a low groan, reaching down to thread his fingers through your hair.

“I’ve missed you,” you murmur, enjoying the way he reacts when you kiss his cock gently. “Missed the weight of you in my mouth.”

“Fuck-”

It’s not often that Wonwoo curses, and the word goes straight to your core.

“Can I touch myself while I suck you off, daddy?”

“I’d be upset if you didn’t,” he admits. “I want you dripping when I finally pull you off my cock and fuck you the way you like it.”

You whimper, your whole body alight with energy as you take him into your mouth. You’re already practically drooling from his fingers earlier and the dirty talk now, which makes it easy to coat him in spit.

You’ve never been able to take all of Wonwoo in your mouth, but you do your best, gripping the base and bobbing your head while you begin to toy with your clit.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” Wonwoo groans, taking a deep breath as his hand guides you on his cock. “Always so good for me.”

The praise only makes you suck on him harder. You sink so far down onto him that his tip hits the back of your throat. You feel yourself constrict around him and Wonwoo lets out a loud moan, fingers flexing in your hair.

“Careful, honey, I don’t want you to choke,” he tells you, but his voice has lost it’s usual commanding tone. He’ll let you do anything you want to him, even if it means gagging on cock- but he’ll do his best to be gentle with you verbally at least.

You get lost in the feeling of pleasuring him, closing your eyes and letting your mouth show him how much you’ve missed him… however, not in so many words.

Actions speak volumes, especially in this case.

You continue working on your pussy too, eventually slipping two fingers into your wet core, which makes you moan around Wonwoo’s cock.

“Honey-” he groans.

You can tell that he’s on the verge of breaking, so you pull off his length, looking up at him while catching your breath. “Ready to fuck me now, daddy?”

“I’ve been ready all night,” he grins, reaching down to grab your hand and help you to your feet.

He kisses you then, cupping your face and leaning forward, taking your breath away all over again. His palm flatens against the small of your back and he dips you backward- then you’re falling, a small squeal escaping you-

The fall is only an inch or two, and you hit the mattress, Wonwoo bearing down on your form almost immediately. You grab at his shoulders as his lips find yours, your legs wrapping around his lean hips to tug him closer.

His cock is still wet with your spit, and it rubs deliciously through your soaked folds, bumping your clit and making you moan into the kiss.

As impatient as Wonwoo seemed to be, he’s not quick to adjust himself against you- or at least, not quick enough for your liking, so you reach between your bodies and grab his cock, lining him up with your wet hole.

Wonwoo grins against your lips, and in one motion, he sinks into your core.

You moan loudly, digging your nails into his strong shoulders and throwing your head back as he fills you perfectly, stretching out your walls.

Your fiance takes the opportunity to kiss your neck, finding your sweet spot.

He feels like heaven- you’re really not sure how long you’ll be able to last tonight, but that’s never mattered with Wonwoo. You have forever with this man, which means you can be as fast or slow as you’d like to be.

He begins to thrust in and out of your core, and it makes you cry out again, walls contracting around his cock. You can feel him so deeply, especially as he adjusts your legs, pushing your thighs closer to your chest.

“Wonwoo-” you whimper, not a care in the world for using a ‘correct’ title. Your fiance might enjoy the daddy kink, but he’s never been the type to punish you for slipping up and calling him something different.

It’s clear to both of you how far gone you are, and Wonwoo only grins against your throat, picking up his pace.

“How about you rub your clit for me, honey?” he asks.

You’re not one to question him, and your hand slips between your bodies to seak out the sensitive nub. More sounds of pleasure escape you as you begin to rub yourself, and your moans only push Wonwoo to fuck you harder.

Each thrust has his cock hitting a spot deep inside of you, and it’s making you delirious.

Wonwoo finds your free hand, threading your fingers and using you as leverage as he presses you against the mattress. His breath is hot on your throat, but soon he’s seaking out your lips again, and you eagerly kiss him as if your life depends on it.

There’s an orgasm building in the pit of your stomach, spurred on by your fingers on your clit and the cock filling you up with each rough thrust.

Wonwoo doesn’t need to check in on you, and you don’t need to tell him you’re close, you’re certain he can tell. He tightens his grip on your hand, a silent invitation to let go whenever you want.

Each drag of his cock against your inner walls draws you closer and closer to the edge, and when he breaks the kiss to lick your throat, it allows you to focus entirely on the pleasure between your legs.

“Fuck, daddy-” you whimper, back arching as you shift below him.

“I know, honey,” he groans. “Me too.”

“Yeah?” Your body jitters with near orgasmic bliss. “Can you cum with me?”

“Of course, just tell me when.”

“Please-” you moan, writhing against the sheets as he fucks you even harder. “Please, daddy- I want you to fill me up-”

Wonwoo groans, teeth dragging by the sensitive skin of your throat.

“Please, please- fuck, I’m almost there-” you rub your clit harder, body tensing on the precipice of your orgasm-

“Shit,” Wonwoo tightens his grip on your hand to the point where it almost hurts- and even though he doesn’t say it, it’s clear to you that he’s reached his own high.

The thought that Wonwoo is so turned on he’s just cum before you - something that never happens - is enough to drag you over the edge, your core clamping down on his cock, eager to milk him for everything he’s worth while you cry out in ecstasy.

He’s gasping against your throat, thrusts even deeper now- slow, steady little ruts as he coats your insides with him cum, filling you up perfectly.

You get lost in the feeling of him, squeezing his hand back as a silent encouragement while your pussy continues to squeeze his cock, eager to get every last drop.

When he finally comes to a stop, he simply lays on top of you for a moment, the both of you breathing heavily.

“Wonwoo?”

“Yes, honey?”

“I’ve just remembered-” you pull your hand away from your clit, instead moving to stroke his hair, “What did Seungcheol mean about the penthouse you were looking at?”

Wonwoo lets out a small chuckle. “Do you really want me to spoil the surprise?”

“Yes, please.”

Your fiance pulls away from your throat, looking down at you. “I’ve been thinking we might need a bigger place… one that could accommodate a few extra rooms.”

“Extra rooms?” you cock a brow.

“For any kids we might have, you know, after we’re married.”

Your entire body tingles with excitement.

While the two of you have talked about children in a general manner before, nothing has ever been set in stone. But you suppose now that you’re engaged, it’s natural this sort of thing would be on Wonwoo’s mind.

“How do you feel about that?” Wonwoo asks.

“I feel like…” you swallow thickly, “I want you to fill me up again, and also that I should book a doctor's appointment to discuss going off birth control.”

“I can definitely help you with that first one,” Wonwoo grins, pressing chaste kisses all across your face while you giggle and hold him tighter.

“We’re really doing this,” you whisper.

Wonwoo’s thumb brushes by the ring on your wedding finger. “Honey, I couldn’t imagine doing it with anyone else.”

☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! I'm in love with Wonwoo what the hell

🍭 support me by. sending a tip here or here - or become a patron to access monthly bonus content and extensions for fics like this one :) find the Patreon teaser below!

🔮 preview. You pull away just as his lips are about to meet yours. “You know how appreciative I am whenever daddy gets me a present,” you say, acting innocent. This only makes him laugh, and he grabs the back of your head, pulling you into a passionate kiss. You know buying things for you does the same thing to Wonwoo that it does to you. He loves seeing the excitement in your eyes, the way you light up at gifts. He truly lives to provide for you.

cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, mentions of breeding kink/wanting to get reader pregnant, sugar daddy Wonwoo, daddy kink, soft dom!Wonwoo, oral, pussy eating, fingering, breif edging, squirting, groping, sickly sweet loved up sex, crying during sex cuz reader is so in love, mentions of pain kink, hair pulling, teasing, dirty talk, fucking on a kitchen counter, Wonwoo talks about reader getting ‘plump’ with pregnancy, he adores the ‘soft bits’, etc. I petnames. (hers) honey (his) daddy.

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 4k I teaser wc. 300

🌙 staring. Wonwoo x afab!Reader

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“Can I take this off yet?” you ask, wobbling in your heels as you grab at the silk blindfold blocking your vision.

“Be patient, honey,” Wonwoo breathes in your ear, his hands firm on your hips as he guides you to whatever surprise destination he has in store for you tonight.

Christmas is a week away, and the last time he blindfolded you like this was for your birthday. He’d taken you to a Mercedes dealership to let you choose any car you wanted. You have no clue what he has in store for you now, and you’re practically shaking with excitement.

You know he’s driven you somewhere, and you’ve been in an elevator, so it must not be another car- your list of gift possibilities is somewhat thin. You have a hunch, but you don’t want to get ahead of yourself just in case you’re wrong about where your fiance is leading you.

Wonwoo’s lips find your throat, and his hands stop you in your tracks. His breath is hot by your ear a moment later, and he lets out something like a contented sigh. “Okay. Let me help you take this off.”

His deft fingers work at the loose knot behind your head; soon the blindfold slips away.

Your eyes adjust to the light, and you blink while taking in the space in front of you. You’re in a large open-concept kitchen, a living room sprawled in front of you with views of the whole city. The decor is lavish luxury, and you recognize the design concept as a Choi Seungcheol special when you notice a specific lighting fixture that Cheol puts in all his expensive builds.

“Wonwoo-” you breathe, mind spinning.

The man behind you flattens his chest against your back, wrapping his arms around your frame while he rests his head on your shoulder. “Do you like it?”

“Is this…”

“It’s ours,” your fiance confirms. “I wanted to show it to you on Christmas day, but I couldn’t help myself.”

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sprout-fics · 3 months

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Oh Muse, Tell me of the Things Done by Golden Aphrodite

(Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F! Reader)

Rating: Explicit Wordcount: 5.6k Warnings: None Tags: Greek Mythology AU, Greek God inspired, Human sacrifice reader, God of death and wrath Ghost, Size difference, Size kink, Praise Kink, (Marriage kink if you squint?), PiV sex, Aftercare, Eros and Psyche inspired, Cliffhanger A/N: Part two dependent on reception

They call your fate a tragedy.

It’s a necessary one, the temple priest says, as you weep at the steps leading up to the grand mausoleum- inlaid with gold and obsidian. You wrap your arms around yourself as they tell you of your duty, inform you of your sacrifice. The statue of the god of wrath and death looms tall and menacing behind him, his bone white mask a single flash of pale amidst the dark, swirling robes that cover his limbs. You shiver as you look upon it, flesh cold as you imagine your final moments pleading at his feet.

A sacrifice, they say.

One to appease the god as death ravages your city, an holy offering innocent, beautiful and pure to quell his anger and rage. Eyes rest upon your trembling shoulders in a mixture of hope and pity, and you know even if you cry out none shall aid you. Your destiny is to die at the hands of a god so that they may live, and if it means your life is called for, they shall offer it for you.

You do not scream or struggle as they take you into the temple, you do not speak as they wash you and smooth aromatic oils into your shivering skin. You do not even look at them when they clothe you in a dark chiton and allow a veil to flutter over your despairing, tear-rimmed eyes.

When they close the altar doors behind you, you dare not throw yourself against them in one last bid for freedom.

The altar is dark, black marble columns stretching high above you and vanishing into a ceiling that the candlelight doesn’t reach. Lanterns litter the steps leading up to the sacrificial altar, with opulent offerings of jewels, weapons, and polished bones stacked high. Shadows dance between them, casting long and sinister against the temple walls. Your bare feet skim the cold stone floor as you ascend, tracing your hand against the frigid, dark mirror surface of the altar. You were not told what to do, only to wait.

So you wait, and you wait longer, sitting upon the edge of the altar, trembling and holding in your cries until they break apart inside your throat. The chamber is silent as the grave, with not a breeze or whisper of warm air to comfort your frigid flesh. Eventually only the sound of your hiccuping sobs fills the emptiness, as you weep for your fate, for the tragedy that has befallen you, for how they shall remember your name in poems, until at last you fall asleep splayed upon the dark altar and awaiting your demise.

As you dream fitfully of the ever after, the candles waver and snuff out with a cold gust of wind. Dark eyes regard your pliant form prone atop the piles of offerings.

and quietly, arms reach forward and cradle you to him as you are taken away.

---

When you awake, it is in somewhere new.

You come to far more gently than you anticipated, soft dreams still clinging velvet to your slumber. It takes a moment for you to realize that you’re no longer curled tightly atop the hard surface of the altar, but rest instead upon silk sheets and soft, plush bedding. The veil still drapes across your face, and as you delicately lift it, your surroundings are revealed to you.

It’s a large chamber, far larger than the temple, but sparsely furnished. You lay upon a bed fit for a man larger than any you’ve ever laid eyes upon, adorned with dark sheets and embroidered with gold thread. Torches flicker with a strange black light against the walls- silver dancing along the outer edge of flames. The blazing hearth does the same amidst a mantle of dark stone, stretching upwards into a ceiling you’ll never reach. A mirror and a basin stands in the corner, and beside them curtains blow in from the balcony, where dawn glows yellow against the horizon.

You’re alone.

You’re careful as you creep from bed towards the balcony, the wind ruffling your gown as you stand at the precipice. Below, a stark mountain valley yawns dark and fathomless without end.

The door groans as it opens.

You flinch away from the sound, spinning and feeling terror pool low and vile in your stomach at the sight that awaits you.

It’s him.

Taller than any man, a being of pure power, the god Ghost stands at the doorway clad in billowing dark fabric, his dark eyes boring into your shivering form from behind the stark white of his skull mask. The sheer size of him is enough to send goosebumps racing down your spine, his immortal stature ensuring you scarcely come up to his chest. The strength of his limbs is curled in tight muscle discernible even with his cloak, and when you meet his eyes you think of the space between stars- a void into which no light escapes.

He takes only three strides to cross the chamber.

You cower backwards until your spine hits the railing of the balcony, and as you glance over your shoulder the valley wind roars from the depths. You wonder if it is a more fitting end to hurl yourself from here than face whatever slow death the God of Wrath has ordained for you.

He stops just at the threshold, regarding you as you look up at him with tearful, terrified eyes. At this nearness you can sense the pure energy that rolls off of him in waves, a strangeness that speaks of something far from human, an unfathomable power that your mortal soul will never fully understand.

“Don’t.” Is the first word he ever says to you, looking past you to the valley. He reaches out his hand, not an inch of his flesh visible beneath his gauntlet of white bone. “Come.”

You stay where you are, heartbeat fluttering as you eye his outstretched palm.

“If I was going to kill you, I would have done it when you were asleep.” He intones, voice deep like distant, rolling thunder. There’s a strangeness to it you cannot place, the tone of it ringing between your ears in a distant echo, otherworldly.

“Don’t hurt me, please.” Are the first words you return to him, desperate as a thing wheezes from your lungs.

Ghost stares at you unblinkingly, and despite the black ichor that paints his gaze, his eyes look almost kind.

“Come away from the balcony.” He tells you, his voice softer.

You cast another glance down at the dark valley, swallowing hard, before at last reaching your hand forward and settling it in his cold palm. He draws you inside, out of the wind, and you find yourself hovering near the hearth with its strange, dancing flames.

“Your name.” He tells you, watching as you hesitantly warm yourself, carefully looking at him out of the corner of your eye.

When you tell him, he repeats it. Slow, purposeful, as if tasting a foreign fruit for the first time. It shivers through you, as if he somehow has wound magic through the sound alone.

“You will stay here.” He tells you under no uncertain terms. “In my palace. No harm shall come to you here.”

You blink at that, face falling open with confusion as you turn to him fully.

“Why...?”

Ghost regards you coolly, but when you focus on his eyes you can swear they crinkle with a wry smile.

“I have no reason to hurt my bride.” He explains simply.

“Your...” You echo, blinking. “I...”

“You were given to me.” He tells you, advancing upon you until he’s mere inches away, one arm braced on the hearth so he bends over your smaller, mortal form. “As a sacrifice. I saved you. Your life is mine by rights.”

Fear pulses bright through you, limbs awash with dread as the blood drains from your face. You had expected death, but the daunting reality of this, of being given to a god as a bride...

Ghost must see the terror in your eyes, for he removes himself from you, striding towards the heavy, ancient door.

“I will not touch you unless you ask.” He states, voice lower. “You are free to roam this palace as you like. There is food in the banquet hall.”

He pauses, observing you as you hesitate near the hearth.

“I will return at dusk.”

and with that, your new husband vanishes.

----

True to his word, no one stops you from roaming the palace.

It’s a massive structure, with towering black columns and high ceilings. Obsidian, marble, and gold accentuates every corner, and you find treasures and trophies displayed at every turn. You are entirely alone as you wander, bare feet skimming against the cold tile as you take in your new home. Each room reveals a new wonder. A bath with glimmering water that billows steam from golden fountains, a garden with dark roses that creep along stone walls, a library with scrolls in tongues you don’t understand, and a banquet hall filled with food that doesn’t seem to rot.

You eat until your stomach is full, and with every bite the food tastes more delicious than the bite before. You scrub yourself in the bath, and when you exit you find fresh garments awaiting you, embroidered with glimmering thread. The finery is beyond anything you dared imagine, and quietly you feel your reservations departing you as the thought of possibly escaping ebbs slowly from your mind.

Dusk finds you back at his chambers, watching the shadows grow long against the walls as slumber slowly descends upon you.

You’re on the brink of sleep when the bed dips, and a bare hand curls gently against your cheek. In your half-dreams, you nuzzle into the touch with a languid sigh, feeling the air fan across his palm. Ghost is silent as he lays beside you, observing your restful face with half-lidded eyes. His mask lays on the table beside him, disposed along with his cloak and armor.

You see nothing when you’re roused by the sensation of him tucking you against him, the world engulfed in darkness. Hypnos whispers across your senses as your eyelids flutter, trying to discern the shape of him as he presses in close behind you. Ghost tucks his legs under yours, his massive frame curling around you and his nose burrowing into the junction of your throat and jaw, where he draws in a heavy breath.

“Sleep, mortal.” He whispers there, one massive arm wrapping across your front.

True to his order, and engulfed in the warm sensation of his body pressed against yours, you find the gossamer veil of sleep draw over you once more.

He’s gone again come morning.

You awake alone, and find yourself missing the presence of him.

The banquet hall is refreshed with food of all kinds- delicacies from far lands you’ve never traveled to. You spend an exorbitant amount of time in the baths, dozing gently as steam billows around you. In the library you find a collection of war poems that you devour with eager eyes until the sun begins to slope towards the horizon, and oddly you do not find yourself entirely bored despite being alone in the massive pantheon to which he has left you.

Yet as darkness descends, you find yourself awake in his bed, waiting for him.

When he at last appears, as the moment where all light has drawn away from the horizon, the dark candles snuff out in a cold billow of wind. Plunged into darkness, the only sensation available to you is a hand caressing your cheek.

“Little bride.” He rumbles as the bed dips before you. “Were you so eager to see me you chose to forego sleep?”

Hesitantly, you raise a hand to press his own against your face, feeling the immense size of it dwarf your own.

“Yes.” You tell him in a scarce whisper, as if you’re revealing a tender secret. Your heartbeat thrums loud in your ears, fluttering inside the cage of your ribs as he draws closer. You try to remember the words you had meant to say- a thank you for saving you? Awe at the splendid riches allowed to you? A quiet plea to leave, one which you don’t truly mean?

You reach forward in the darkness, finding the shape of him broad and strong against your palm. There’s smooth skin of scars that litter his immortal flesh, across the wide breadth of his chest, down to his waist, traced across his arm and shoulders and the massive span of his back. He’s bare to you, and you can’t suppress a shiver at the mere thought that you are laying with a God.

“You’re frightened.” He notes at the shake in your hands, attempting to draw away from you.

“No.” You tell him, a hand gripping tighter to his to prevent his retreat. Words clog your throat, lips parted with breath as you feel his coal-dark eyes bore into you in the inkinesss of his chambers.

“Touch me.” You whisper instead.

When he bends to you, he swallows the sigh that pours past your lips.

Ghost defiles you in the way warriors do- pure strength tempered by careful restraint. You splay under him bare, his hands smoothing over your flesh like admiring a masterful weapon. He memorizes the curves and softness of you, humming notes low and deep into your skin as he drinks in your scent like ambrosia. He spends his time admiring the outline of you in the darkness, fingers dipping between your legs and spreading you over large, calloused fingers until you mewl and grip at the fine silk sheets.

“Sweet little thing.” He rumbles, pleased, as you offer him high, keening moans, head tossed back against the pillows. Wetness dribbles down your thighs, coats his hand just as he licks greedy and hot into your open mouth that chants his name. His towering frame bends over you, hauls you to his waiting hands with hardly any effort. Your hands scrape against his shortly shorn hair as he lays claiming bites across your throat and collarbone and Ghost moans against your skin like the pain and pleasure are twin beings.

“Ghost.” You chant in a hymn as his worshipers do when his clever tongue drinks down your arousal at your entrance, and the answering growl that he responds with sends pleasure fissuring down your spine like the earth split open. His hands hold you still as you buck and writhe with your climax, broken sounds filling the empty chamber so loud you think your shout can be heard at the far reaches of the palace.

He shushes you when at last he sheathes himself inside you, the girth of him splitting you wide enough you whimper into his chest. Yet he holds you to him, noses into your hair and whispers low, soothing words as your legs quiver.

“Good.” He purrs as you go pliant against him with a keening sigh, arms looped around his neck and nails digging into the flesh of his spine. “Perfect little bride. They were right to offer you to me.”

You think the nectar of the gods must taste like the glide of his tongue when he kisses you.

Ghost plays the symphony of your flesh like poets play the harp. His massive frame hunches over yours, the sheets tangled around you and his fingers entwined with your own. Each roll of his hips has you choking on a plea, has him huffing hot breaths and growling filthy praises in your ear.

“Made for me. Just me.” He groans, voice grinding deep in his chest as he ruts into you. Slow, measured, infuriatingly not enough. The drag of him inside you threatens to pull you under into madness as you mewl and squirm, desperately chasing the touch of him. “Made to take me, made to be in my bed, in my palace.”

It’s possessive, almost wild with the force of his claiming you. You go to him willingly, tears watering your eyes as you choke on a sob of pleasure. Yet it’s not enough, as he draws your pleasure higher, higher, burning you alive like the inferno of the heavenly sun but refusing to push you over the precipice. You plead his name, dig your fingers into the dip of his spine, ask for divine mercy that he keeps just beyond your mortal reach.

“Say my name.” He tells you, the sound of your coupling echoing out into the chamber- wet and debauched along with your desperate gasps.

“Ghost.” You sob, clinging helplessly to him, laying kisses upon his bare face in the darkness as an offering to the altar of him. “Ghost.”

In return, Ghost bestows upon you your own name, snarling it wild and feral against your lips as you at last fall apart beneath him. You choke on a cry of his name as something great and tender snaps abruptly inside you, races outwards along your limbs with such sudden ferocity you wonder for a moment if you’re been burned alive. Yet the pleasure itself drowns you like the deep and bottomless ocean- a surrender where you try to claw your way to the surface and instead allow the depths to take you.

Ghost growls as he buries himself fully inside the wet clutch of your heat, emptying inside your heaving form with a long, low groan. You feel the spend on him leak from your joining, collapsing against him as you try to remember how to breathe. Ghost adjusts so you lay sprawled atop his broad chest, rising slow and purposefully beneath you as you tuck your head under his chin. A war-worn hand strokes lazy paths against your skin, and you hear him hum with a deep satisfaction at your consummation. You feel claimed in the best of ways, not as one of his beloved war trophies but as his.

When you finally grow restful against his chest, you prop your chin up and try to find the shape of him in the darkness. He’s absent of his mask, you know, and curiously you try to discern his features in absolute blindness. You wonder if he’s as handsome as you dare to dream.

“Why can I not see you?” You ask in a whisper, and Ghost’s hand stills where it traces along the ridge of your spine. He’s tense, and it startles you when he speaks with his voice pitched low, authoritative in a way he’s never spoken to you before.

“As long as you remain here, you will never see my face.” He tells you, his chest vibrating under your palms. “I will care for you, protect you, and you will be mine, but you never see me. Understood?”

You don’t, really, understand. Confusion wrinkles your brow at the enigmatic declaration, but Ghost eases under you as you nod anyways, and the comfort of his gentle touch resumes, and assuages you of your worries until you fall asleep.

In the morning he lingers in your marital chambers, the pale light of dawn glinting off the armor he has donned before you awoke. He sits at the edge of the bed, a bone white gauntlet stroking with surprising gentleness across your brow. You catch it with your palm, kiss across his ivory knuckles as he huffs a warm breath of affection.

“I will return.” He tells you softly, and steps towards the balcony, only to vanish in a billow of smoke.

You lounge in bed in his absence, feeling the pleasurable soreness of your lovemaking imbue itself in your muscles and limbs. Even after a full rest you find yourself exhausted, and it isn’t long before you curl back into the sheets until the chariot of the sun reaches its zenith. Even then, you wince to yourself as you creep from bed, roused by your empty stomach and the mess between your thighs. You don’t make it farther than the basin at the edge of the room before your legs threaten to fail you, and you resign yourself to a few sips of water and washing what you can before collapsing back into bed.

You’re still there when he returns, and Ghost pauses when he hears your empty stomach, hums with dissatisfaction when you tell him of your troubles. With no effort at all, he lifts you into his arms and walks in the way gods do- only several long strides before you find yourself at the baths. Candles cast shadows against the walls, dancing hypnotically as Ghost deposits you at the edge of the water, pausing to disrobe himself of all but his mask before once more lifting you and walking into the baths with you in his arms.

The moan that bubbles up your throat at the heat that ensconses your weary limbs prompts a laugh from the God above you, who releases you only enough to reach for oils at the tiled edge. Ghost is careful, deliberate as he washes you, and despite your protests he insists, as if the act itself is another means of proving his devotion. Yet he can’t resist grazing a rough thumb over your nipples until you squeak, dipping his fingers between your thighs in slow, lazy circles until your legs tighten around his wrist.

Ghost takes you like that, holding you flush to him as his fingers work deftly inside of you, plucking at something bright and powerful until your voice fills the chamber with gasping, wanton pleas. You grip at him as you gush over his palm with your climax, a whimpering sound caught in your chest as he lauds affections into your slick skin.

When you are at last clean and sated, Ghost wraps you in his own cloak before you find yourself in the banquet hall with grapes being lifted to your lips. You know the tale of the goddess taken to the netherworld and having eaten the fruit there, know it meant forever tying herself to a place of death. Yet as your lips close around his fingers as the morsels are fed to you, you can think of no other realm in which you’d rather be.

and silently, you wish you could see the face of the man who has taken you as his bride.

The days are spent as such. You become accustomed to the palace, teaching yourself its interior so you can navigate it blind. You spend hours in the baths, dozing with your head cradled by your arms on the tiled edge. You devour the poems in the library and write your own thoughts on parchment beside them which you find in boundless supply. In the afternoons before Ghost returns you walk on long strolls through his gardens which seem ever changing, blooming with iridescent blossoms and fragrant lilies bright like starlight. You find a harp which seems to offer no sour note despite your lack of familiarity, and wind beautiful music through the obsidian and onyx halls of his home. You find yourself wanting for nothing- not food or shelter or finery of any nature. In return, you offer your love to the God who has claimed you, and to you he returns the same.

Ghost returns to you at sunset, and most nights find your form tangled with his as he takes you whimpering and breathless against the sheets. He seems to know your body like a swordsman knows his blade, invents new ways to pluck at your desire until the only thing you can offer him is reedy, desperate sounds of his name, reminding him you are his. Afterwards he tends to you, and even then you kiss the other shell of his mask as steam billows around you in the baths as your bare bodies embrace.

You find yourself increasingly nocturnal if only to spend the long hours of darkness in his company, talking and touching in the absence of any illumination. You ask him of the poems in his library, of the trophies that adorn his palace, of the emptiness between these walls and how he bore the loneliness that came before you. You ask him of the offerings given to him by his worshippers, of immortality and all things of a god-like nature.

You never ask him to show his face.

Instead you map it with delicate touches in the darkness, trying to instill in yourself an image of his likeness behind the mask. His jaw is strong, and along it you think you feel the smooth skin of another scar that snakes up towards his ear. His hair is short, and you wonder if it is the same dark color as his ember stare. His lips are soft as they press to your skin, as if he himself is the acolyte to your divinity.

As the weeks turn into seasons, and the high winds of autumn reach the mountaintop, he tells you of how he became a God.

Gods are not born. They are chosen, he says. Those of great valor, of devotion and strength are lifted into the pantheon and blessed with immortality, with divinity beyond that of human comprehension. Outliving those who once knew them as human, their legends are inscribed in the songs and poems, spoken of in many tongues until their following becomes great and loyal.

When you ask him with quiet reverence how he became immortal, Ghost’s form goes rigid with something you think can only be fury.

“I was betrayed.” He tells you, voice filled with murderous intent.

He tells you how he was once a soldier- a warrior that some claimed was already a demi-god. Yet he was mortal when his commander betrayed him, abandoned him on a hill of battle upon which Ghost was buried beneath a pile of rotting corpses, slowly suffocating under the weight of dead men. He had clawed himself free with savage intent, feeling rage become the only emotion known to him. It had taken days for him to free himself of the putrid flesh and decay that surrounded him, and it was only once he stood upon the pile of death that he breathed in his first gasp of immortality. The wrath became him, and he became wrath, or so the legends are said.

When you ask him how long ago this was, Ghost does not answer you.

You try not to think of what will happen when he witnesses your final, mortal breath.

and you try not to wish to see his face before you die.

“Are you hideous?” You ask him teasingly, drawing circles on his bare chest as his fingers idly soak themselves in the spend between your legs.

“Far from it.” He replies dryly, and you place a giggling smile upon his grinning lips.

You try not to dwell on it. There is so much you have to be grateful for, after all. A warm bed, a blazing hearth, clothes, a home, food, endless entertainment, and most importantly a husband who swears his devotion to you every sunset.

Yet in the daylight you find yourself missing him, and in the hollow place of his absence you try not to let temptation take root in the emptiness.

It’s on a cold morning when you find a snake in the garden.

You’re bent over a swath of coal-dark dahlias when you hear it slither behind you. When you turn, you’re greeted with mahogany dark eyes and shimmering green scales. Yet even as you flinch away the serpent doesn’t deign to chase you, regarding you curiously as it speaks in sibilant, seductive words.

“I see the God of Wrath has found himself a muse.” A feminine voice purrs, amused. “Which mortal realm did he steal you away from?”

“I wasn’t stolen.” You retort, shying away as the snake curls closer around your bare feet. “I was an offering.”

Sinister, the snake laughs at you. “And has he refused to let you leave? Are you too afraid to try? He may kill you, hermosa.”

“He wouldn’t.” You manage, tucking yourself up on a pedestal where your dress drapes over the edge. “He loves me.”

“Oh?” The snake asks, curling around the base of the stone, where the light reflects upon its shimmering body. “Are you sure, little muse?”

“Of course.” You reply quickly, even though a shadow casts longer upon your heart with every word spoken by the serpent.

The snake hums thoughtfully, winding itself around the stone slowly, until at last it raises its smooth head to the level of your gaze.

“Then why hasn’t he shown you his face?”

You falter at that, hugging your knees defensively and brow furrowing with dismay. The serpent plucks at the secret doubt inside you that you quietly tuck away at every sunset, that you feel thrum under your fingers as you trace the planes of his face in darkness. You try to conceal it, hardly ever speak of it, but you can’t help but wonder why Ghost refuses to show himself to you.

“Maybe he’s a monster.” The snake goes on. “Grotesque and rotten. The only way he can have your love is if you never see him.”

That can’t be true. Your husband is beautiful and strong, and you know even if he was hideous you would still love him for his fierce protectiveness and tender care. Even if his visage was obscured by scars of battle past, you would still love him.

“He doesn’t trust you, little muse.” The snake hisses quietly, and it sounds strangely pitying, a sadness which you feel plays upon the harp strings of your ribs. “Can you truly be wed to a man who does not believe in you?”

“Ghost loves me.” You repeat in a whisper, mostly to yourself.

“If that were true, he would love you even if you saw his face.” The snake offers, tongue flickering in your ear.

Something dark and viscous simmers in your stomach like tar, and you further hunch in on yourself, uncertain.

“Away with you.” You say at last, refusing to look at the serpent, who laughs wickedly as she winds herself into the bed of dahlias, and vanishes.

That night, when Ghost lays with you, the whisper of his affections feels sour against your skin.

You lay awake even as he sleeps behind you, his massive form curled around you and bracketing you in his warmth. The darkness looms long inside your thoughts, where the words of the serpent echo into the void where light fails to illuminate the face of your husband.

He loves me, he loves me, he loves me.

Yet you know of Ghost’s warning, his oath that you will no longer be his if you see his face. To risk the love he has given you for such a temptation seems sacreligious, a sin for which there is no return.

He doesn’t trust you, the snake whispers.

In the morning, you feign sleep while you hear him depart to realms unknown.

He’ll return after dark. He loves you, he loves you, he loves you.

You do not find the snake in the garden.

He doesn’t trust you.

“You’re mine.” He huffs, dark and deep against your lips in your bed that night, and you shield your cry of desperation behind a moan. You give everything to him, your entire being, lay it bare before him as the offering you are, knowing he will keep you safe and love you with fierce devotion the way warriors love their oaths.

He loves you.

He leaves at dawn.

but he doesn’t trust you.

The wick burns against your fingertips as you light it.

You approach the bed with silent steps, your bare feet skimming across the stone as they did in the temple at the altar as you’d sacrificed yourself to him.

He loves you.

He’d taken you, spared you, made you his bride. He gave you his palace and all the treasures within, and with it came his love.

You see the broad, scarred plane of his back as you draw closer.

He hides behind a mask, refuses to let you see the one thing that nobody else has ever seen. Not even you, his offering, his bride, his muse, his beloved.

The candlelight illuminates his face.

and you feel your breath catch tightly in your chest.

He’s breathtaking.

The word ‘divine’ does not compare to his likeness, with his eyes closed and his lips parted in sleep. His alabaster skin shielded from the sun is written with scars, but the stories told by them seem like the songs of great poets, wild and magnificent in the way of feral things. Long, blonde lashes swoop gently over his cheeks, still rosy with the exertion of your lovemaking, face slack and open in his slumber.

He’s the most beautiful creature you’ve ever seen.

Even when his dark eyes open, look upon you with despair, he’s still beautiful.

“No.” Ghost speaks in a tone you’ve never heard, full of grief, and it stabs through you like a blade. “How could you?”

“Ghost-” You try, reaching for him as he raises himself from bed, drawing to his full height and towering above you. Yet your fingers are just short as he draws away, towards the balcony.

“Leave.” He tells you, his voice hardening with fury as a cold wind begins to billow around his form, cast in starlight.

“No-” You try, panic bubbling up your throat as you try to move forward to him, pleas for forgiveness upon your lips. “Ghost-!”

“LEAVE.” Ghost bellows as smoke churns wildly about his immortal form, the cold wind slicing against your skin and preventing you from drawing near.

“I love you!” You cry in desperation as tears form, and the mantle of his cloak descends upon his shoulders, bone white replacing his face.

Ghost doesn’t respond, not as he becomes wrath, not as his eyes look upon you with betrayal and despair. You try to move forward, to touch him once more, but when you reach out your hand, skim your fingers against the outline of him-

He’s gone.

As the cold wind retreats, and with it your husband, you collapse to the floor and wail with your despair.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon x reader #simon riley x you #my fic #my writing #call of duty x reader #cod x reader

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xhoneygirlxx · 9 months

Text

WANTED U

Eddie Munson x Best Friend Reader

summary: when your date is ruined by your best friend, can you stay mad at him when he reveals a secret you've been dying to know?

warnings: fluff, slight angst, Eddie is deep in his feels, two idiots in love. Minors DNI 18+ ONLY! mentions of drinking, Eddie gets drunk. swearing. p in v, creampie (wrap it up kiddos), fingering, body worship and praise. Reader's race/ethnicity is not mentioned! she/her pronouns used. Both Eddie and Reader are in their twenties. Also not proofread, spelling errors and horrible writing!

*if I miss anything please let me know!

a/n: Hi honey bunnies! I just want to thank @ali-r3n for this really cute idea! I'm so sorry it took me forever to post and I'm sorry about the shitty writing! Smut is not my strong suit and I've been plagued with the horrible writers block, so I hope this is okay! I hope you like this and thank you for being so wonderful and patient <3

All you wanted to do was to go on one date. One singular date. For the first time since your high school prom, you were going out with someone who was interested in you. A tinder match that led to multiple conversations, that led to having drinks, to hopefully going back to his place for a well needed time in the sheets.

That was the plan for the night. Then your phone started to blow up with phone calls and texts, an apparent SOS that couldn’t wait. So you had to cancel, mid-date, telling your date that there was a family emergency. You knew walking out of there that Jordan wouldn’t text you back or ever take you up on the second date offer.

It wasn’t like you were heartbroken over it, however you were a little bummed. The whole reason you even got on the dating app was because you were trying to get over your best friend. Eddie Munson stole your heart at the age of fifteen and had yet to give it back. It was a sick cycle that you have been going through for nine years.

You were the lovesick best friend, who just couldn’t take the hint, following him around like a lost dog. Eddie had you wrapped around his finger and you didn’t care. Canceling plans just because he wanted to see you, doing whatever he asked just because, and never dating with the hopes of him finally falling for you.

Those dreams were fruitless however, because Eddie didn’t see you as anything more than a friend. All the pining and unrequited love was killing you, a slow painful death that would put medieval torture devices to shame. It’s not like you could blame the brown haired boy, it’s not like you can pick who you fall for, but that didn’t stop you from wishing it would happen.

So therefore you took the giant leap and put yourself out there, trying to ease the ache of your heart. In the end you ended up in Eddie’s apartment, helping him in his drunken state, get to bed. The emergency that Jeff blew your phone up for, was this. A night out with the guys turned into Eddie getting belligerent and refusing to leave until you came and got him.

The whole car ride there you were disappointed in yourself, the whole reason for your dumb date was to stop yourself from running to the rescue every time he called. You were annoyed and heavily frustrated with the outcome of your night. It almost felt like the universe was against you, whatever god above watching you and laughing every single time you failed to move on.

As much as you wanted to hate the grown man sitting in front of you, you simply couldn’t. His whiskey colored eyes round and glossy, nose and cheeks rosy with the heat of alcohol coursing through him, and his hair messy from the cold night wind. He was so pretty and it was hard trying to stay mad at him, especially when he had a deep dimpled smile adorning his face.

“Alright Eds, I need you to change out of your clothes.” You say sweetly, the pile of his pajama’s hanging in your hands.

Following your instructions, he tries to lift his shirt over his head, only for it to get caught on his head. “Sweets, I need help.” He sounds like a helpless child trying to tie his shoes, and you have to stifle a laugh.

Placing the change of clothes next to him on the bed, you swiftly pull the stuck fabric off of him. When his head is released, he shakes his hair out of his face so he can see you. A childlike wonder flits in his eyes as he looks at you, admiring the way you’re being so gentle.

A small thank you is whispered, you hum in response as you pull the new shirt on him. His eyes close as you gently tug his arms through the hole, soaking up the amount of attention you give to him. It feels like you’re changing a newborn, so docile and content with the way you handle him.

“Can you take your pants off yourself or do you need me to help?” Your voice breaks his sleepy demeanor, droopy eyes looking up at you.

“You gonna buy me dinner first?” Wiggling his eyebrows, he playfully smirks at you.

“Ha ha, very funny.” You deadpan, yet your heart beat picks up at his innuendo.

Surprisingly, he’s able to take his bottoms off and replace them with the pair you picked out for him. Pulling the jewelry off his wrist and fingers, you place them hastily on his bedside table. His eyes follow your every move, like a curious kitty watching their owner. Pulling back the covers on his bed, you gently lay him down and prop his head up with pillows.

“So you have your bottle of water right here,” You show him by picking it up off the table where it’s sat, “And the bottle of Tylenol is right next to it. Now if at any moment you feel like you have to throw up, the garbage can is right next to you on the floor. Okay?”

Humming to you in understanding, he closes his eyes once more. When you think he’s about to pass out, you turn on your heel to grab clothes for yourself. Not getting far, his big hand wraps around your wrist gently, bringing your attention back to him. This time his expression isn’t as content or happy. No, his eyes are glassy with unshed tears and his bottom lip jets out in a pout.

“Please don’t leave.” It’s a whispered plea, innocent and childlike.

“I’m not leaving Eds, just grabbin’ some clothes to change into.” Even with your assuring smile, he’s still frowning at you.

“Please just, don’t leave.” Tugging your arm slightly, he brings you closer to the bed.

“Eddie, I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.” You’re now concerned with the state of your best friend and why he felt the need to beg you to stay.

“Promise? What about Jacob?”

“Eddie, what are you talking about?” Although he closes his eyes again, you still press for answers.

“I don’t wanna lose you t’some douche. You needa be with me, sweets cause I love you s’much. Don’t wanna lose you to him.” It’s all a slurred mess, his words mumbling together as they fall out of his mouth.

“If you mean Jordan, no I’m not going to leave you for him” You giggle softly, “I left my date with him to come get you. Plus his stories about kayaking were starting to get boring.” You try to lighten the mood, but it only makes his lip wobble more.

“I shoulda made a move, I wanted to b-but I-I was scared. Gareth told me I lost my chance with you and he-he was right.” A few stray tears fall down his cheek and you lift a hand to wipe them away.

The same brown eyes you fell in love with, all those years ago, stare up at you. The heart that’s bleed for him for nine years is starting to heal, the words you so desperately wanted to hear are finally coming to light.

With your own tears glistening in your eyes, you look down at him like you always do. With the biggest heart in your eyes and brightest smile on your face. “You should stop listening to Gareth, Eds. I think you still have a shot, but we’ll talk about this later. When you’re not drunk.”

Bobbing his head the best he can, he squeezes your hand once before retracting it. With his eyes closed and steady breaths leave his parted lips, you get changed and turn off the lights. Maybe the universe wasn’t against you, maybe it was on your side the whole time and just had a funny way of showing it.

The bright sun pouring through the window, wakes you up. The sight before you is one you’ve seen before. The side profile of your best friend’s face, wild hair sprawled over the pillow that lays beneath him. You take this moment in to study his features, the slope of his nose, the way his eyelashes kiss the tops of his cheeks, and how kissable his lips look.

Not much later is he stirring, stretching his limbs out after his wild night out. Cracking one of his eyes open, he winces slightly before running his hands down his face. Blinking once or twice, he finally lets himself wake up, staring straight at the ceiling. You wonder if he remembers what he said or if you should bring it up. Instead you choose to play it cool, or at least try to.

“Good morning drunky! How’d you sleep?” Reaching a finger out, you poke his side.

“Drunky,” he snorts,” I actually slept well, thanks to my wonderful nurse.” He takes a peak over at you, a smug smile already pushing his cheeks up high.

You try to ignore the butterflies in your tummy when you hear his voice, thick and husky with sleep. The giddy feeling rushing through you is written all over your face, covered up by a bad attempt of biting back a smile.

“Well, I’m glad you don’t feel so shitty.” You say, stretching your body to distract yourself from his burning gaze.

“What time is it anyway?” His question comes out in a yawn, loud and exaggerated. Propping up on your elbow, you lean over him to get a look at your alarm clock.

“A little past ten.” Eddie huffs, muttering something about it being far too early. “I know it’s too early for you but that just means we can go to Jerry’s and get waffles to soak up whatever's left in your system.” You coo at him mockingly, fake pouting as you look at him.

“Ya know, I don’t enjoy your fake pity.” Eddie rolls his eyes at you, a frown pulling at the corner of his lips.

“Oh I’m sorry, Eds. Want some ketchup with those cries?” Eddie’s frown deepens like a bratty child, and you eat up every second of it. “Oh, I know! I’ll call a wambulance.” You throw your head back, laughing at your own joke.

With your attention off of him, he sees the perfect opportunity to laugh. At lightning speed, he grips your hands, flipping you over on your back. With the weight of his thighs bracketing you and his hand gripping your wrists together, you’re defenseless.

With a wild glint in his eyes, Eddie wastes no time in attacking you with a finger to your side. Relentlessly, Eddie tickles you to the point there are tears in your eyes from how hard you're laughing, and your pleas for him to stop are swallowed by the oxygen that’s being stolen from your lungs.

“It’s not so funny when it’s your turn, huh?” Smirking down at you, his attack doesn’t relent.

Thrashing around the best you can, you try everything to get him off but with the way his thighs squeeze your legs together makes it hard to do so.

“Okay, Okay! I’m sorry, Eddie! Please!” The last word comes out as the softest moan, so soft that you would miss it if you weren’t paying attention. However, Eddie was and his fingers stopped digging into your sides immediately.

The sound of your heavy breathing is the only thing to be heard. Eddie stares down at you, eyes unblinking and cheeks dusted pink. The usually brown eyes are now dark, the dark pupil over taking the iris. You stare right back at him, chest rising and falling dramatically and lips parted slightly letting the air from your lungs flow out easily.

It feels like the world has stopped, time frozen still for eternity. The mid-morning light painting the two of you in a portrait, cementing the moment forever. Two heart beats synching up together, beating against the bones of your rib cages.

“Fuck it.”

Eddie rushes in to smash his lips against yours. Years of waiting and wondering if this moment would ever happen, now finally laying to rest. The taste of him has been the missing part of your life this whole time and you wonder if he’s thinking the same thing.

It’s sweet and slow, his tongue slipping inside your mouth softly. Morning breath be damned, the two of you make out for what seems like hours on end. Parting from each other for much needed air, a small giggle leaves your mouth.

“What?” Eddie smiles, his face as dopey and gooey as you feel on the inside.

“I just wanted this for so long.” You admit, making his smile pull wider.

Leaning back down to you, he peppers kisses all over your face. The snickering that’s leaving your mouth is slowly turned into a whimper when his lips find their way to your neck. A gasp pulls from your chest the minute he finds that spot, eliciting him to suck on it. Hissing when it becomes too much, Eddie is quick to soothe the sting with his tongue.

Pulling his face away from the crevice of your neck, his eyes find yours as his hand glides to find the hem of your shirt. Tugging on it and raising an eyebrow in question, you nod overenthusiastically.

Ripping the oversized shirt over your face, he takes his time to memorize all the details of your skin. The heat of his stare becomes a bit too much, worry overtaking your brain causing you to bite down on your lip.

“I just want you to know that I’ve waited since freshman year to see these bad boys.” Attention still drawn on your bare chest.

“Well, do they live up to the hype?” You question, tone not as confident as you think.

Eddie’s head whips up to you, mouth agape and you swear you can see drool pooling from his lips. “Sweets, you have no idea.”

Diving in, he kisses the doughy flesh of your breasts, going back and forth between the two. Like a magnet to a fridge, his lips find the hardened bud and latches on. Switching between sucking and flicking his tongue, you squirm underneath him trying to find some sort of friction for the ache in between your legs.

“You have no idea how many times I jerked off to the thoughts of this.” Eddie mutters as he moves his attention to the opposite nipple.

Between his admission and the feeling of his warm mouth on your sensitive skin, you moan loudly. The feeling of more wetness pool in your panties alerts you, the overwhelming feeling of need buzzing through you. A small whine comes from you and it catches Eddie’s attention.

Pulling away from your breast and peering up at you, he cocks his head to the side. “What’s wrong, baby? Want some cheese for that whine?”

When his canine teeth shine through his devilish smirk, you whimper. You hate that he’s using your game from earlier against you, teasing you like he doesn’t know what you want.

“What is it, sweets? Tell me what you want.” Fake pity drips from his question and it only eggs you on more.

Eddie’s got you so worked up that you can’t even speak. Lifting your hips to show him what you need, you frown harder when he laughs at you.

“Oh, princess,” He coos, running his thumb along your lower lip, “Be the good girl I know you are, and ask. Can you do that f’me?” Nodding your head, he encourages you with an assuring smile.

“C-can you touch me, please?” Your voice sounds so small and you’d honestly cringe if it weren’t for the fact that you know you’re dripping out of the fabric of your panties onto his bed.

Sighing heavily, Eddie gives your bottom lip a small tug with his thumb, letting the bottom row of your teeth show before it bounces back up into place.

“I would tease you more but you asked so nicely.” Shuffling down your body, he loops his fingers through the sides and guides the thin material down your legs.

Pushing his way through your thighs, Eddie runs the tip of his middle finger up the slit of your sex. His finger grazes lightly over your bundle of nerves, causing you to jolt from the feeling.

“You’re really fucking wet.” Eddie says breathlessly as he parts your glistening lips apart with his fingertips.

Not waiting for your response, Eddie circles his finger around your entrance before plunging it in slowly. The stretch from his finger makes you arch slightly, a muffled moan falling from your mouth. Using the pad of his thumb, he swirls your clit in alternating circles and figure eights.

“More, Eds. Fuck, please!” You beg and who is Eddie to deny you. Pushing another finger inside, he curls them just right and starts going faster.

“Fuck you’re so greedy, baby. Isn’t that right, you’re s’greedy for me, huh?” With his hair sticking to his forehead with sweat and his cheeks a pretty burgundy shade, he looks just as fucked out as you.

Writhing underneath him, you babble nonsense as his fingers hit that spot you always struggle to. “Yes! M’so greedy - Shit!”

“You gonna let me taste you? Gonna let me eat this pretty cunt?” You don’t even get a chance to answer, your body already doing it for you by clenching around his fingers. “Oh she likes that, huh? You like imagining me in between these pretty thighs, baby?”

“Think ‘bout it all the time.” You moan, hips rocking against his hand as you try to chase your high.

“Yeah, sweets? Think about me when you play with this pretty pussy?”

That’s all it takes for you to come undone, gushing around his fingers with a muted scream. Your back arches off the bed, eyes rolled into the back of your head, as the feeling of your orgasm washes over you.

Eddie helps you ride through it, continuing his motions until your tense muscles relax into a jelly like state. When you come back down from your high, you whimper at the loss of his fingers. Moving your eyes to him, you watch as he sticks his middle and forefinger in his mouth, moaning when the taste of you hits his taste buds.

“Yeah, I’m definitely gonna have to eat you out.” Eddie grins at you and you roll your eyes playfully back at him.

“That sounds absolutely wonderful, but” You begin to say and his face drops with the fear of rejection, “I’m going to need you to fuck me in the next thirty seconds.” You smirk and his jaw drops.

After fifteen seconds of pure shock, Eddie shakes his head and tries to play it cool.

“Yeah totally, let me just-” His sentence is cut off when he begins to struggle out of his own clothes.

Once he’s stark naked and hovering over you, you laugh giddily up at him. Putting his forehead to you, he studies your eyes for any sort of regret or doubt.

“Eds, I promise you I want this.” You reassure him, making sure to prove the point with a loving kiss.

With his confidence boosted, Eddie snakes his hand down to guide himself into you. When the tip breaches your entrance, the both of you gasp at the feeling.

Pushing in slowly, he brings his lips back to yours, swallowing your moans. Once he's all the way in, Eddie gives you a minute to adjust before he starts moving.

Nodding your head to let him know you're good, he pulls almost all the way out before ramming back into you, knocking the wind from your lungs.

"Fuuck, sweets. S'fuckin' tight." His voice trembles as he pounds into you.

"You're so big, I can feel you s'deep." You slur, drunk on the way his cock stretches you, hitting that sweet spot with every drag of his hips.

Eddie resituates himself, pushing your knees up to your chest, before bringing his chest back down to yours. This way you can feel him even deeper, which you didn't even think was possible.

You're on fire, belly burning bright with fire. Eddie's everywhere, he's all you can see, hear, smell, touch, think, he's invaded every single one of your senses and you can't get enough.

His eyebrows are furrowed, eyes closed with the pure bliss of being inside of you. It's so intimate yet so dirty and it's driving you insane.

Opening his eyes, he looks down at you like you've hung the stars that shine in the sky.

"I wanted this for so long, sweets. I wanted you, so Fuck-" He hangs his head, speeding up the movements of his hips. A roaring sob comes out of your mouth, the fire in you burning hotter with every drag of his thick cock.

"I'm so in love with you, sweets. Been yours since I was sixteen." Finally he confesses, letting the sacred secret out, only this time he's drunk off of you.

"I love you too! Fuck-I love you so fucking much."

"Tell me you're mine. Please, tell me." He begs and you comply, growing closer and closer to the edge.

"M'yours, been yours since I was fifteen." You confess and it feels like the weight of the world has lifted off of you.

With one last thrust, you come undone with a loud cry. Eddie doesn't let up his movements, now only focusing on his own release.

The way his hips stutter, you know that he won't last too much longer.

"I want you to cum in me, Eds. I wanna feel s'bad." You coax and that's all it takes for the metalhead to come with a stuttering grunt.

Lazily thrusting into you, he finally stops when he becomes overstimulated. The room is once again calm, the now afternoon sun blinds you as it seeps into the room. Heavy breathing and content hums fill the room, while the scent of sex lingers in the air.

Shyly removing himself from your chest, Eddie looks at you sheepishly. "Now what?"

If you didn't know Eddie you'd probably think he's being rude, but you know that he really is just overthinking everything that just happened. In his mind he thinks you're probably regretting everything, even though you told him you felt the same way.

Using your hand to pull some of the hair that sticks to his cheeks away, you smile affectionately at him.

"Well, I was thinking we could still go to Jerry's for breakfast," Eddie still looks at you like he's waiting for the ball to drop, "Then I thought you could keep your promise and eat your girlfriend out. That is, if you're not too full."

"Really?" He looks like a puppy who just heard its favorite word, excited with it's tail wagging back and forth.

Snickering up at him, you nod your head rapidly. Pulling out of you quickly, Eddie runs out of the room and you can hear the chaos of clattering from behind the door.

"Eddie, what are you doing?" More giggles fall from your lips as he races back in with a wet wash rag in his hand.

"Gotta clean you up before we go out to eat, baby. That way I can recreate our masterpiece later." He says wiggling his eyebrows.

Yeah this was the dork you fell in love with and who you were going to love for the rest of your life.

Thank you all for reading! I'm sorry it's not the best!

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x you #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson x female reader

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eli0004 · 17 days

Text

How the AoT Men Get Off

Contains: Eren, Jean, Armin, Connie, Reiner, Levi

Synopsis: a brief rundown of how the AoT men get themselves off when you’re not around to help (GN! Reader, can be interpreted as afab)

Warnings: men masturbating? 😭

(A/N: Another self indulgent masterpiece, sorry not sorry, hope you enjoy!)

Eren Yeager edges himself over and over and over again. If he has the time, he’s not gonna waste it. He’ll start out slow, dragging it out as long as possible until he finally feels that coil winding up in his stomach, and then he’ll stop. After waiting a moment to let himself calm down a bit, he’ll start up again. Eren will do this as many times as he is physically capable, until his thighs are twitching and his fist is clenching the sheets with white knuckles. Until his jaw is clenched and he can’t hold back his sounds, he feels like he could cry. Pathetic. That’s when he lets himself cum, and it’s nothing short of intense!

Jean Kirstein likes to take his time. He’s a sensual kind of guy, and he likes to work himself up. Throughout the day, disappearing into the bathroom to palm himself through his jeans, glancing at lewd images you’ve sent him in the past. All of that, so at the end of the day when he finally frees himself from the confines of his pants, he’s so hard it hurts, leaking and slick before he even touches it. And you know that man’s orgasms are earth-shattering🤤

Armin Arlert is a pillow-humper. He can’t help it! His mind starts swimming with dirty thoughts and he shoves a pillow between his legs to dull the ache. The more obscene his thoughts get, however, the more he finds himself rolling his hips into the plush fabric. Armin gets lost in the pleasure, and before he can stop himself, he’s all twitchy and trembling, spilling his load into his pants. On the plus side, all those years of soft, gentle friction means that he’ll be extra sensitive when you finally get your hands on him!

Connie Springer likes to be a little messy with it. Lots of lotion, so he can hear the slick wet sounds of his fist sliding up and down his cock. He closes his eyes and imagines it’s you there to do it for him, focusing on the image of your mouth on him or the way you ride him so good. Connie cums in big loads, and they go pretty far, so he’ll lift his shirt and bite down on the fabric, both to expose his chest and abdomen as a canvas, and to stifle any sounds that threaten to escape.

Reiner Braun has a hard time keeping quiet. He’s the type to grunt and groan and growl when he’s feeling good, so most of the time he’s got one hand over his mouth and the other on his dick. Reiner doesn’t know slow and sensual when he’s getting himself off, he’s a big ball of energy and his aggressive strokes are a good example of that. His orgasms hit him like a truck most of the time and he’s cumming before he can even think about where to aim. He’s always a little embarrassed about the mess, but he cleans it up well!

Levi Ackerman fucks his fist. He doesn’t mean to most of the time, it’s mostly instinct. He’ll take a few minutes extra in the shower to blow off some steam, wrapping his hand around his cock and stroking himself slowly. He never finishes that way, instead he finds himself gripping the shower walls, steadying his fist and snapping his hips forward aggressively. He’s typically very pent up, as this is something he only does once in a while, so all that sexual tension and energy manifests in the way he thrusts into his hand with absolutely no rhythm. When he cums, he tosses his head back and breathes these ragged breaths, spilling all over his hand.

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writingsbychlo · 1 year

Text

gossip | azriel

summary; feyre has her first visit to the night court and cassian just has to tell his best friends all of the gossip, even if it means interrupting their morning plans...

word count; 2951

notes; honesty, this was just a cute little mindless idea I had. no relevance or anything, honestly. dedicated to @azsazz.

It was unusual that you were the first to rise in the mornings. Azriel’s shadows tended to wake him several times during the night, whether he wanted them to or not, with little alerts and updates, which only became more frequent in the mornings. This morning, however, was one of those rare times you were. One of the few times when the halls in the House of Wind were quiet, the street and roads at the bottom of the mountain silent, barely even a breeze blowing from outside or a bird chirping.

Many times, your love had woken you with kisses and sweet words, rising you with the rays of the sun and sleepy smiles that threatened to shine even brighter, so it only felt fair to return that favour now. With one arm still slung over your waist, wings slumped happily behind him across the ridiculous expanse of the comfy, luxurious mattress, Azriel was a slight to behold. With tousled hair, lips forming a sweet pout, hardly visible freckles glowing in the morning sun and long lashes that fluttered with his dreams, he was like artwork.

You only wished you were skilled enough to paint this, or knew somebody who could capture the image for you. Instead, it would live only in your memories.

Leaning close enough to press a soft kiss to the tip of his nose, it scrunched, twitching lightly in his sleep when you repeated the action, before moving to the cheek that wasn’t pressed into the pillows. A soft kiss right in the centre, one on his cheekbone under his eye, another over his brow. More kisses, several to follow across his forehead as he began to stir, up to his hairline as that pout became a soft smile.

The sheets rustled around you both as he stretched, legs that had been tangled with yours flexing out to their full length, the hand that had been sitting idly over your body now pressing warm and flat to your lower back. He let out a grunt, a garbled sound that you were sure was supposed to resemble a ‘good morning’ of some kind, to gravelly and deep to make out. As your lips pressed again to his closed lids, his cheekbone, the bridge of his nose and the tip, his hand from your back began a languid trail up your body and over your shoulder.

As your lips met his warm cheek once again, long and calloused fingers pinched your jaw on either side, a strong grip, to tug your chin down until his lips met your own. The moment your mouths brushed, a soft sigh was leaving your lips, spilling across his own as his lashes now tickled your cheeks when he pressed in. Lazy and slow and sweet, his mouth moved over your own in deliberate strokes, his tongue sweeping an unhurried lick along the seam of your mouth. Another greeting, one of actions and not words, as his hand slipped back under the covers to squeeze at your hip encouragingly.

You took a breath, barely, his lips dragging over your chin in hardly-formed kisses before your mouths were meeting again, his tongue sweeping happily into your mouth, and the groan he gave was swallowed by your gasp at a sensation that never grew old. Raising a hand to tangle into his hair, the covers dragged, your back now meeting the mattress as he rolled you over slowly, noses bumping together in uncoordinated and clumsy movements, the glorious haze of sleep still clinging to you both like the warmth of whiskey on hazy nights at Rita’s. It was like being drunk, utterly intoxicated on one another.

Azriel’s mouth detached from your own, a series of kisses growing wetter and hotter as they were trailed across your jaw, your neck, one of Azriel’s thick thighs slotting between your own as he shifted full over you now. Whispered words that ranged from ‘good morning’ to ‘you’re beautiful’, whispered into your skin like reverent praises, like holy prayers, even though everything on his lips sounded like sin.

With a single sharp tug on his hair, his head rose up, glistening and swollen lips parted for shallow breaths, honey-eyes shallowed entirely by the dark as his gaze met your own, knowing exactly what you wanted. Surging forward, your mouths collided once again, your whimpers crashing against his breathy moans, his weight all but collapsing down against you and wings flaring as your bodies pressed together.

It was hot, and tender, and needy, the hand that wasn’t holding him up now sliding over your hip, down over your bare thigh, to hitch it up around his waist for his body to slot between and-

“Good morning!”

A yelp almost tore from your lips, a spike of adrenaline setting your heart racing for an entirely different reason. You recognised that overly enthusiastic chirp, the deep and rumbling voice it had come from, and Azriel’s usual frown was replaced by a menacing scowl, as he reluctantly rolled his body off of your own, draping a wing over you as he shifted to sit propped-up at your side instead. He barely had time to retract that wing any further before Cassian was all but throwing himself down onto the bed beside you both.

“Get out.” It was the first real, discernible words Azriel had spoken yet this morning, not including the ones he’d whispered into your skin minutes prior, and a snicker of a laugh left your lips.

“How are my two favourite sickeningly in-love best friends doing, this morning?” Cassian crossed his legs at the ankles, obviously far too comfy as he toed off his slippers, still clad in his own pyjamas. You raised a brow, and Azriel only growled a menacing sound.

“Get out.”

“Oh, Az,” Cassian tutted, and you sighed, hauling yourself up from where you’d been lay in the pillows to sit a little more comfortably, leaning forwards long enough to let Azriel begin to situate himself first. It was clear that the General had no intentions of leaving any time soon. “I’m just preparing you for what it’ll be like when you two eventually have kids.”

“No, because my kids will be well-trained.” As he settled comfortably, one arm looped around your shoulders, over your collar to tug you back into his body, stretching out across the pillows, and the other landed on your thigh under the covers. A reassuring squeeze, a stroke of his hand above your knee. You smiled. “My kids will know not to burst into the room when daddy is lay on top of mommy, or else he’ll be in a bad mood all day.”

“Nope.” Cassian offered no explanation, popping the ‘p’ just to rib Azriel a little more. “Don’t care, and neither will your kids.” He shifted, your eyes widening a little as Cassian snuggled down happily, fluffing the pillows behind his body and tucking his legs under the covers, tugging on them until he could get enough from you both to cover himself.

“Cass, why are you in our bed?” You questioned, your friend’s head turning to you both, a wicked glint of mischief and excitement in his eyes.

“Well, you two were taking too long to invite me into it, so I invited myself.” He wiggled his brows teasingly, your laughter bouncing off of the walls. Azriel’s hand slipped back up from the cushions, cupping over your mouth to muffle your amusement as he tipped your head back onto his shoulder.

“Stop laughing, you’ll encourage him. He’s like a rash, he’ll keep coming back.” That only furthered your amusement, and despite his groan, a flare of matching entertainment from him tugged in your chest, and he placed a kiss on your temple, before slipping his hand away from your mouth. “So, why are you here, ruining our morning?”

“I happen to have some very important information, and I thought the spymaster of the court ought to know about it.”

“You’re here to gossip.” Azriel deadpanned, dropping his head down until his nose was brushing your hair, to hide the smile you knew he would be wearing. Despite all his constant complaining and the tone of his voice, Azriel loved gossip.

“Precisely.” Cassian seemed to know it just as much as you did, because as he shuffled onto his side, head supported on his fist as his elbow dug into the pillows, Az’s grip on your thigh tightened subconsciously with excitement. “It’s gossip about our beloved High Lord.”

“Even juicer.” You settled a little further back into your lover’s chest, his lips brushing a series of soft kisses along your temple as you did, both of your attentions now fixed gleefully and expectantly on your unexpected guest.

“So, today Rhys had told me to ensure my evening was free, because he wanted me to stop by so we could crack open a few bottles of his best whiskey and get, in his words, ‘rip-roaringly drunk’. He didn’t say way, I figured he’d just tell me when I got there, so-”

“Why wasn’t I invited?”

“Shh.” You mumbled, already invested in the story just from the sheer enthusiasm Cassian was telling with, and you received a pinch to your thigh in response, a giggle falling from your lips as you slapped his hand away from over the top of the covers.

“As I was saying,” He huffed, and Azriel didn’t bother to interrupt again. “So, I was just minding my own business, on my way to get some breakfast and try to plan what to do with the day before that, when Rhys shows up in my bedroom.”

“His poor eyes, your morning hair looks like a bird’s nest.” You muttered.

“His poor nose, your morning breath is awful.” Your friend only shot a growl at both you and Azriel, even as you reached out to pat down some of the ridiculously messy locks of hair that were tangled atop his head.

“I doubt he even noticed, because he was freaking out. He was frantic, like I’ve never seen him. He all but threw a suitcase at me and told me to pack a week’s worth of stuff and to come get you guys, before giving this weird, patchy speech about why.” Cass shrugged, your brows shooting up your forehead as he just stopped talking.

“Well? What was the speech?” The words burst out of Azriel behind you, as though he’d read your mind, both of you pinning him with matching stares as you awaited more.

“Something about a wedding and a bargain and finally having his shot. All I know is that we have to clear out for a week to the townhouse.”

“Oh, my Gods..” The puzzle pieces all seemed to click together, your mind whirring into action as your sleep-addled brain started to catch up with the day. “Feyre, the girl Rhys made a bargain with. The Cursebreaker. He never cashed in on that bargain, I never really questioned it because it’s been so busy around here since he got back. But, she’s marrying Tamlin. Today.”

Cassian’s jaw dropped into a wide O-shape, thick brows shooting up, and the rumble of Azriel’s contemplative hum buzzed against your chest. Dipping down, he left a soft kiss in the crook of your neck, and another over the shell of your ear, just to mumble; “It’s hot when you do clever spy work and deduction, my love.”

“Stop flirting! I haven’t even gotten to the best part of the story yet!”

“Well, hurry up, then! You’re gonna’ fucking kill us.”

“So, I packed my bag and all, and I was on my way down to see you both when I heard shouting. I investigated, and you’re right. I have never seen such a hideous wedding dress. It was all ruffles and puffed-up lace and she had these gloves on.” Cassian pulled a face, his nose scrunching up as he recalled whatever monstrosity the poor girl had likely been forced into for a big Spring Court tradition. “She was arguing with Rhys for finally coming to cash in the bargain, and then when he walked away from her, she took off her shoe and threw it at him.”

“Mother above..”

“Did it hit him?” There was something hilariously cheeky laced through Azriel’s question, the kind of joy only true brothers can get at the idea of one another being hit by flying footwear.

“Right on the back of the head.”

“Good shot. Go Feyre.” Cassian only laughed his agreement, and you huffed, shuffling onto your side to press a little further into the warmth of your mate’s body, the chill in the air from Cassian’s constant shuffling was making a breeze sweep in under the covers. “Twenty gold marks says they’re fucking by the end of the year.”

The vibrations of his voice were a steady thrum under your cheek on his chest, and you swatted idly at his side, a scoff tumbling from your lips as your eyes closed happily once again. Cassian’s laughter only boomed, and he cupped a hand over his mouth to muffle it, not wanting to give his presence away to Feyre, wherever she was currently hiding out in the mountaintop palace you all called home.

“They won’t be fucking!” Azriel’s laughter was hidden in your hair as he dipped his head down, arms tightening around your body to squeeze you close as he shook beneath you in amusement. “It was literally her wedding day! To Tamlin! Gods, what a mess that’ll be when she goes back… What do you think will happen?”

You couldn't help it, slipping into a slight bit of gossip and hypothesising; Cassian had always been so good at dragging this devious side out of you both. It was shameful, really. It was even more shameful how much you secretly loved it. The two males fell silent around you, mulling it over slowly, and you could practically feel the energy change in the room, picturing Cassian’s shit-eating grin before he even spoke.

“Forty gold marks says they’re fucking within three months.”

Azriel broke out in fits of very un-warrior-like hysterics with his best friend once again, bursts of joyous laughter filling your chest and plucking the bond with so much warmth that eventually giggles fell from your own lips too. “You two are awful.”

“Oh, c’mon, my love…” Azriel places a sweet kiss on the edge of your temple, smoothing one hand up and down your spine, twice, before resting it again just above the curve of your ass under the covers. “Think of the fantastic date we’ll be going on with Cassian’s money when he loses.”

“When you put it like that…”

“Oh, my. Where will we be going on this fancy date?” The bubble popped once again, with Cassian holding the metaphorical needle, wielded proudly like the greatest sword.

“Somewhere you’ll never find us.” He scoffed at Azriel’s words, and you twisted enough to press a kiss over the thudding heart contained under golden skin and thick muscles where you rested.

“Don’t be so mean to me! I’ve already been made temporarily homeless, and now you’re rejecting me? I can’t bear it.” He folded his wings in tight, only shuffling down even more into the pillows that you’d once called your side of the bed, now resting happily atop Azriel as you crowded into his side.

“So, you’re not leaving, then?” You fired back.

“Preferably now,” Azriel added with a mutter, fingers inching a few millimetres further down, just enough to hint to you that he had absolutely not forgotten your activities before Cassian had arrived.

“Of course not. I’m not going anywhere.” Twin groans from you and Azriel made Cassian laugh. Finally, you turned back to face him, eyes cracking open to observe. He was now laying on his back, settled in and looking cosier than ever amongst the blankets and pillows, truly and completely making himself at home. Uninvited. “Can’t go anywhere ‘til Rhys says we’re clear of bumping into the Cursebreaker in the halls. Then, we all get kicked out to stay at the Town House for a week. Doesn’t that sound great? Might as well get used to it, it’ll be fun!”

His tone change at ‘fun’ had Azriel’s breath holding in his chest, eyes narrowing at Cassian’s wiggling brows, and your stomach dropped at the thought.

“We’re not gonna’ have any alone time for a whole week.” Azriel was exasperated, as though finally realising that it wasn’t going to happen, his hand sliding back up to sit at a safe space. All the way up, until he was threading it into your hair instead, fingertips kneading your scalp subconsciously.

“I have nothing to do except make sure that by this time next week, your balls are so blue they could disappear in the night sky, Az.”

Your mate’s body tightened fractionally underneath you at the threat, squirming a little as though he could already feel the frustration and cock-blocking his best friend would unleash upon him. Cassian, the complete opposite, was looking ridiculously proud of himself, and you hoped your smile at the pair’s antics wasn’t showing.

“Don’t worry, Az,” You reached up, dragging a finger down your lovers’ jaw, his fingers twitching on your body as you did. Layering on the seduction in your voice, just to make a point, “I’ll take real good care of your balls, honey.”

His head twisted, nipping at the tip of your finger playfully, and Cassian made a show of clearing his throat in a rather disgusting and pointed series of spluttering coughs.

“So, who wants to hear about the time my big toe got infected because of a splinter?”

#azriel/reader #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel #azriel x you #azriel x reader smut #azriel/reader smut #azriel/you #acotar/you #acotar x you #acotar/reader #acotar #a court of thorns and roses

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hecateslore · 1 month

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☆💋

Biker!Simon and Baddie!reader...some nsfw, as always mdni

"I'm going to work," You adjusted your top, "So clean up around here." You tied your apron around you waits. Simon was laying down on your bed, hid head in the pillows. He gives you a thumbs up falling back asleep. "You're still getting me tonight?" You asked, already knowing the answer, Simon hummed and you shut your fan's light off.

At work, you finish cleaning up your station, wiping down the counter, and the barstools. Feet hurting from standing almost all night. "I'm leaving babe, have a goodnight, or morning." You're coworker Tasha chuckled, "Later." You said, putting the chairs up. When you finished, you pulled your phone out of your apron, checking the time.

"Hello," Simon answered the phone, his voice groggy with sleep. "Did you forget?" You could hear Simon groaning and grumbling incoherently, "I just woke up," He mumbled. "So are you getting me or not?" You snap, cranky and ready to get out of your work clothes. "I'm on my way." He says hanging up.

You sat outside on the curb waiting for Simon to come and get you. playing candy crush on your phone and looking through door-dash to see what was open. You could hear the engine roaring from down the street. Simon pulls up, his long legs at each side of the bike, "Glad you could join us." You mumbled, straddling the bike, you wrap your arms around Simon waist. The ride was short but extremely fast, surprisingly quiet for the wind blowing in your face and ears.

Once you two get to your apartment, Simon parks it in the garage, you hop off and wait for him to get his bike situated, standing with your arms crossed, "Can you hurry?" You whined, your feet still throbbing. Simon finished and you both walked up the stairs, your knees felt heavy, "My feet hurt." You mumbled while walking behind Simon. By the time you get to your front door, you're not even hungry anymore.

"I'm so sleepy," You said incoherently, laying in your bed waiting for Simon to lay next to you. "I can see that," He flops on your bed, running his hands on your exposed midriff. "That tickles," You giggled, "It's supposed to," Simon looks at you, dipping his head to kiss below your belly button. "You leaving?" you asked, running your hands through his over grown buzzcut. "Not tonight, or this morning." He mumbled, pulling down your pajama shorts, "Good." You lift your hips letting him pull your shorts lower and lower.

You spread your legs letting Simon's large hand rub your clothed cunt, "You've been mean to me lately." He said lowly, "How have I been mean!?" You asked, trying to keep your voice steady. “You’re snappy and everything bothers you.” Simon's lips curled into a smirk, and he leaned in closer. "And you were Ignoring me when I called you, Avoiding my texts..." He teased, “Cause you only call when you need something.” You watched him trace the outline of the wet spot that was slowly growing and growing.

Simon pushed your legs farther apart, sticking his long tongue out and licking up your panties,"You know what I need now?" he asked, his voice low and seductive. You shook your head no, Simon clicked his tongue, he grabbed the band of your thong and slowly pulled it down your legs, revealing your wet slit. He licked a stripe, and hummed at your sweet arousal.You moaned softly, your hands gripping the sheets beneath you.

He gently spread your lips apart then swirled his tongue around your clit. Your hips bucked gently as he slid two fingers inside you, pumping them in and out. You let out small whines of pleasure, sighing his names every time he hit that sweet spot. You reached down, grabbing his hair and pulling him closer to your pussy, Simon groaning and slurpingheavily, his tongue never leaving your sensitive nub.

Your moans were getting louder and louder, But then were rudely interrupted by Simon's ringtone blaring by the side of your head. You let out a frustrated groan, Grabbing his phone a tossing it at him harshly, already knowing what was going to happen in the next few minutes. "Yeah?" Simon said clearing his throat. You slid your panties back on and walked to your bathroom, watching Simon go under your bed to pull the duffle bag out.

"You're leaving?" You leaned on the bathroom's door post, "I have to drop some stuff off." Simon said, pulling out the Armalite, inspecting it. "And I'm the mean one." You scoffed, "Don't start," Simon said, placing the gun back in the duffle bag. "You only prove my point more and more," You shake your head in shame. Simon sighs annoyed, "I'm staying at johnny's tonight." He lifts the bags and swings it over his shoulder.

"Leave my key on the counter." You ordered, Simon chucks the key at you and it falls at your feet. "Dick." You yelled watching him leave your apartment.

You scrubbed the bars counter, scratching the granite-if that was even possible. You head was hung all work day, Not as cheery as you usually were, which was what happened every time Simon would leave then eventually turn up again and then leave one more time.

Your shift was over and you waited for the Uber to pull up, You sat with your head in your hand, debating on whether or not to text Simon to tell him to come over, and that you didn't mean anything by what you said.

You sat in the backseat listening to the audio book your driver was listening to, something about two forbidden lovers who ran away together. It made your eyes roll even harder than they ever did. Simon still on your mind, hoping and praying he'd show up, You expected him to show up to your job like he usually did, but when he didn't it made your frown deepen even more.

You sat on the couch, the tv off, staring at your phone waiting for a message. You snatched your phone off the table, your brain still playing ping pong with the idea of calling him.

So when his line was ringing your heart pounded in your chest. "What?" Simon answered the phone, his attitude on ten. "Where are you?" You said softly, "I'm at johnny's like I told you." He said as if you were a headache. You bit at your acrylics, "Are you coming home?" You muttered, Simon sighed, "Dunno know." He replied, "Can you?" you responded wearily. "I'll see." He sighed again, hanging up.

You waited all night, there was no text message no call, nothing. You cried all night (drama!!! like girl he's gonna come back jesus christ.), You woke up with puffy eyes and dried tears in the corners. You throat was dry, you looked a mess. You got ready for work, putting loads of makeup on and fixing your hair, listening to sad love songs. You ate a quick snack (a quick quick snack !) and went on with your day.

Not one text message or call, not even a bouquet of flowers like he normally does.

#biker!simon #baddie!reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #cod mw2 #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost cod #simon ghost x you #simon ghost smut #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost x y/n #simon riley x you #ghost mw2 #ghost call of duty #ghost riley

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atsumou · 3 months

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18+ MDNI; oral (m receiving). divider: cafekitsune

── if this isn’t what heaven feels like, then scaramouche doesn’t know what is—sprawled on the bed, lustful violet eyes seeing stars on the ceiling above, face flushed, and shaky hands gripping the ivory sheets beneath his sweat-covered body.

he’s not afraid to whimper, proudly showing you how amazing your sinful mouth feels around his hard cock. god, he swears the room is spinning because of your wicked tongue—the tip tracing a prominent vein on the underside of his cock, the spot that makes his pretty eyes roll back and legs shake in pure pleasure. “mhm—ah . . ! fuck!—”scaramouche moans, hands desperately flying to your roots, tugging as if his life depended on it. “look at me while i suck you off.” you purr, tone saccharine but laced with icy venom.

your lover didn’t have to be told twice, clouded gaze meeting your own between his legs. how scandalous. scaramouche almost loses his mind while you sink your mouth down the shaft, tip kissing your throat, all while keeping eye contact—no hesitation evident in your fiery passionate gaze. he lets out a shaky whimper, a pathetic attempt to say your name as you bob your head up and down, up and down until he’s completely engulfed in pleasure—face flushed in crimson red, broken whines leaving his quivering lips.

scaramouche’s hips involuntarily thrust up as you kiss and nip at his sensitive balls, one hand swiftly stroking the wet shaft. oh fuck, he’s in heaven. without warning, he shoots his thick load, ears ringing as the blissful sensation envelopes his shaking figure—like a lone autumn leaf blown by the wind. white was all he could see, and remnants of your godly face as you close your eyes to savour his taste but amidst that, your sweet praises cuts through the ringing in his ears, “good boy.” it almost makes him whimper, pride blossoming in his chest like the first flowers of spring. “only for you . .” scaramouche mutters. you might just give him another mind blowing orgasm with how good he’s being.

#₊˚ෆ YUE WRITES!#scaramouche #genshin impact #scaramouche smut #scaramouche x you #scaramouche x y/n #scaramouche x reader #genshin impact smut #genshin impact x you #genshin impact x reader #wanderer #wanderer smut #smut #mdni

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sirfrogsworth · 3 months

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We moved into this house back in the early 90s. We bought it from an old man named Fred Salmo. As we began living in the home every once in a while we'd discover some weird new thing wrong with it. Never anything catastrophic, but small frustrations that my dad had to deal with all the same.

Fred thought himself quite the handyman.

He was not.

He was a union sheet metal worker and I guess he thought that translated to home repair. But in actuality he would usually try to fix things with sheet metal even when that was not an appropriate solution.

And so whenever we'd find one of these issues we'd joke that we got "Salmo'd" again.

Almost all of the electrical outlets were wired backwards. "Looks like we got Salmo'd again."

A heating duct would have some terrible patchwork (with sheet metal). "He really Salmo'd this."

There was a bedroom ceiling fan that was not securely attached to said ceiling. "He's going to Salmo us to death in our sleep."

We kept finding these inept fixes for many years. One by one, my dad (who was an actual handyman) would properly fix them.

Eventually, we were pretty certain all of the Salmo'd shit had been addressed.

Until last night.

I noticed something looked off about the big light on our garage workshop on the back of the property.

It was... lower... somehow.

I walked back to figure out what was wrong and discovered this.

The wind was blowing pretty hard and the light fell off of its mount and was dangling by the electrical wiring.

Upon closer inspection I noticed something.

It was mounted to a piece of thin metal decorative trim. I could see nothing structural it could have been attached to. No stud or beam. Just that trim.

That light was here before we moved in. Which means it has lasted over 30 years without falling down. And knowing how it was mounted, that is kind of incredible.

But it definitely feels strange getting Salmo'd again after all this time.

I'm not entirely sure what to do about this yet. My brother took our only ladder a long time ago and never returned it. I'm not even sure how to power off the light without turning off all the power to that building. But I guess I should make that a priority today and go from there.

Replacing that light is one of the first things I wanted to do if I got some money to fix up the house. It has a horrible green tint and for as big as it is, it only lights up a small area. Hopefully that won't be a super costly repair.

Fucking Fred Salmo.

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obsessive-valentine · 5 months

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Sleepy time with the yanderes

I’ve got bad writers block so have this in the mean time, sorry guys :/

Barbarian - You wake up to thunder and find yourself wrapped up in many layers of fur, more than you had fallen asleep with, you are warm and snug and cannot see even your hand infront your face, all you hear is the pitter patter of rain on the tent roof and the quiet snores of the barbarian next to you. You almost instantly fall back asleep.

Childhood Friend Fae - The room is dimly lit by the small pile of logs in the fireplace -you hear them crackle and pop- watching the dying flames dance as your eyes get heavy, you can also hear him flip a book page as he reads beside you. By the time the fireplace dies you find sleep -he blows out the candle he was using to read before joining you under the covers and snaking a arm around your waist. “Sleep well love”

Fisherman - Aged handmade knitted and patchwork blankets rub against you, laying your head on him it rises and falls with his chest and a muffled heartbeat and hand that rubs your back lulls you to sleep. Your breaths synced a long time ago.

Vampire - You keep the dim table lamp on to chase away the shadows of the unfamiliar room, looking around at the old paintings and decor, the wind whistles through the old windows and doors and the luxurious silk sheets do little to comfort you; however the almost inaudible violin he plays on the other side of the manor reaches your ears and comforts you enough to find sleep.

Platonic mad-scientist - You lay on the small leather sofa in his study, cheek squished against a pillow and fast asleep, with his back to you he intensely writes at his desk. It’s dark outside but the room is fairly lit, you still however found sleep to the sound on the pen and his muttering. He shuts his book and drops the pen, you hear the faint steps in your subconscious of him coming to take you to bed. “Let’s get you to bed”

Classic Yandere - The cold cuff stubbornly hugs your ankle a harsh contrast to the gentle fingers that trace patterns on your arm, the murmurs of the tv and it’s light dimly bouncing off the walls making the walls glow and flicker aids in your quest to find sleep. You fall asleep faster than usual due to emotional exhaustion from the long day. His eyes peel away from the film to glance at you seeing you asleep he doesn’t stop tracing patterns on your arms. “I love you”

Hockey player - He convinced you to stay over his house for the night, you both talked and laughed till you fell asleep the house now quiet aside from the sound of cars and people out late on the streets that slipped in through the window. He dreamed of where he’d take you for the first date.

Changing husband - Your stomach is full from the dinner he helped you cook and you felt content with your day, at peace, and most importantly -in love. With his arm draped over you he dozed in something similar to the sleep you experience but dreamless and light, he was almost silent aside from some shuffling letting you know he’s still very much alive. The comforting arm was all you needed to fall asleep.

#yandere oc #x reader #yandere barbarian #yandere fisherman #mad scientist #platonic yandere #yandere fae #yandere vampire #yandere hockey player #yandere changeling #Classic Yandere

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softshuji · 4 months

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𝟒:𝟐𝟕𝐏𝐌 | 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐈 𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐔

Title: Maybe, somewhere in another life.

Summary: Rindou and you believe you have forever to confess to each other, but on the eve of the Haitani's biggest fight, you realize time is slipping away and that things are about to change. Reblogs Appreciated!

Cw: fem!reader, tenjiku era Rindou, reader wears heels, dresses and makeup, semi-suggestive, pet names (princess, pretty thing), mutual pining, vague mentions of violence but that's it! Back to masterlist here.

Rindou has been fiddling with the ends of his hair for nearly 20 minutes now. The blue has faded a little, and he absent-mindedly makes a mental note to re-dye it when he can. Perhaps, he thinks, you might even help him this time. He’d like that.

He sees the light in your room flick off and then hears the jingle of keys as you leave and bound down the steps from your apartment complex.

Both of you are young and the summer of that year is swelteringly hot, the sky a sheet of deepest blue. You’re silly, innocent in ways neither of you quite know yet and you assume you have all the time in the world to figure things out, to figure each other out.

Rindou watches you fiddle with the strap of your heels, grinning sheepishly at him over the tall and overgrown hedge and he suppresses a small and hesitant smile when you practically skip over to him.

You jump, throwing your arms around him, your hair tickling his nose as he pulls you into the hug and his chest rumbles as he chuckles. His shirt is soft against your cheek, the ends of his blue and blond hair dancing on your skin. He smells of strawberries and clean linen, of a warm summer morning and endless possibility.

‘Miss me?’ You pull away and the sun’s stark rays hit your eyes at such an angle that the outline of his body is a glittering yellow.

‘You weren’t sick for that long,’ he replies deadpan, rolling his eyes, with the beginnings of a smile curling at his lips all the same.

‘It was two weeks!’

‘See? Not that long,’ he says, outright grinning when you pout and unwillingly his eyes shift to your lips, the bottom one pulled in by your teeth. It is not the first time he has thought about kissing you. Not the first time he’s thought about biting down on your lips, his hands moving along your sides, dipping his head till your nose brushes his and he feels your hot breath against his mouth.

‘So you didn’t miss me?’ You fold your arms over your chest in mock outrage. You have these little games between you, inside jokes and quirks, tiny moments that flit through your friendship and then fall between your fingers. It’s been that way for years between you, and the friendship has always felt easy and good, a cool breeze in the swarming heat, water in the desert.

‘I didn’t say that, did I Princess?’ And he is lucky, he thinks, that the warm heat of this particularly hot July, is a good cover for the red tickling his ears and cheeks, that it gives him an out for just how flustered he feels in your presence. Every time you lean in and he catches the faintest trace of your perfume still lingering on your skin and his vision swims just a little as the scent settles on his tongue.

You are both young and in love and neither of you know that yet either. You both wrongly think your feelings are one sided, unrequited, and yet this friendship of tentative smiles and secret glances, of days spent under the stars, is too precious for either of you to risk doing anything for.

The bike dips as you sit, your hands finding purchase on the smooth planes of his abdomen and you fail to catch the shuddering breath, the hiss that escapes his lips when your legs tense and your hands squeeze too hard around him. The muscles in his back shift and slide as he leans forward, revving the engine and then speeding off, the wind whipping your hair, blowing the hem of your dress up enough to expose your thighs. Despite that, despite the glare of the sun and the stickiness of the air, you hide your face in him all the same, relishing in the way his heartbeat thrums under your cheek, the slip of his muscles under his skin. You wish you could be even closer than this, that you could touch him, cradle his face, press your lips to the curve of his shoulder.

‘No need to hold on so hard Princess, you won’t fall off!’ He yells over the rush of the wind and the blare of car horns, increasing the speed when you squeal and bunch your hands into fists, grabbing his shirt between your fingers.

It’s a common pastime for the both of you, to ride around late into the night, the street lights turning the tarmac a coppery burnt orange, the air now refreshing and cool, the moon opalescent and shimmering white in a clear sky of stars. You go for hours, the silence punctuated only by the revving of the engine and the dangerously loud drumming of your heart.

The hot afternoon gives way to a rosy dusk and the sunlight bleeds into the horizon, a splash of red and orange. The clouds are pink, scattered, and the remaining light makes Rindou’s eyes flash lilac and pale violet when you look at him. And you’ve known him for so long that you don’t mind the way his eyes linger on you when you adjust the hem of your sundress because his gaze is warm when it falls on you. Warm, genuine and you know if you asked him to stop, he really would.

Perhaps this is all too much effort, too meticulous, too extreme for two people who call each other best friends but Rindou was the sort of person you felt it was right to make the effort for.

Those nights, days, months even, when he’d hit up a convenience store at midnight just because your voice on the phone was punctuated by barely repressed sobs. When the solitude and crushing weight became a little too much to bear and Rindou was always there, his voice sometimes laced with sleep, rubbing the grit from his eyes, just to see you again. He’d knock tentatively on your door, muttering a muted ‘Princess?’ before slipping in and curling against your body under the weight of the comforter. It had always just felt natural for him to slot against you, to breathe in the scent of your hair, wrapping his arms around you, tight enough to shatter the aches and pains, to will the hurt away.

Ran would call sometimes as the two of you were giving way to sleep, listening to the whir of the air conditioning unit and the thwack of branches against the wall outside.

‘Where are you?’ he’d say, and you would hear the jingle and clatter of keys through the receiver.

‘I’m with Y/N,’ Rindou would reply, his eyes closed and fluttering with the heavy weight of fatigue, lashes dark and long under the moonlight.

‘Right.’ Ran would smirk knowingly on the other side, undoing his braids with one hand and cupping the receiver to his ear. ‘Well, see you in the morning then. Have fun!’ And Rindou would groan and dash the phone onto the bedside table as he descended into sleep.

He parks beside your house again, the bike hidden by a tall cherry blossom tree, whose branches are dotted with rosy pink petals and extends a hand to help you off the back. His shirt is clinging to him, the sweat not just from the hot and sticky summer air but from the tight coil of nerves winding around his ribcage, a consequence maybe of being near you.

He holds your hand in his as you lead him to the entrance of your house, his thumb painstakingly brushing over every knuckle, so gently, so tentatively, as if you are a porcelain doll he’s afraid to crack. You glance down and the silver sliver of scars on his palms, his knuckles and arms, catch the light of the sun dipping on the horizon.

From here, the skyline is a shimmering line of lights winking at you, and the streetlight just beyond your house splutters to life.

‘Thanks for today Rin,’ you say and turn to face him, your eyes level and his hand still in yours. You glance left and then right, your ears alert and trained for the hum of your parents approaching car. But you’re safe for now.

A hesitant smile pulls at his lips and he looks down, kicks absent-mindedly at the lush grass beneath him.

‘Do I get anything?’ he says and lifts his head to flash you a cheeky grin.

‘For what?’

‘For today obviously and for bodyguarding you every day.’ He raises an eyebrow and smiles outright, the sun filtering through the blond strands of his wispy hair. He shimmers gold again and the sun, in all its glory, dances on his skin.

‘Last time I checked I didn’t ask you to.’ You roll your eyes and your nose crinkles as your gaze softens. That’s the point though isn’t it? You didn’t ask him to and he did it anyway. Just like you didn’t ask him to buy the expensive necklace on your birthday that had your initials in gold or open the honey jars when you were sick, or carry you sleeping on his back, resting your head in the curve of his neck. All of these, he just did, because he is so irrevocably him, so full of contradictions and complexities and strange wonders. Your Rindou, always yours.

He steps closer and you see the smooth column of his throat lift up and down as he swallows the lump there.It’s now or never Haitani, he thinks. Come on, you’ve been in gang fights, and you’re afraid of a kiss?

He hears Ran in his head, feels his Brother pushing him gently as he sucks in his bottom lip, his stomach tight with nerves, and he’s so anxious he thinks he might pass out if he doesn’t just do it.

‘Rin?’ Your eyebrows crease when you can’t read the emotions on his face, the way he looks terrified and yet breathtakingly beautiful, the way his pupils shift and dilate and his lips part as if he’s going to say something. ‘Are you okay?’

Faintly, in the distance, rising over the city skyline, the night’s first star winks at you, a coruscating silver. Venus, the morning and evening star, that shines so brightly that it is the first to appear and the last to leave at dawn.

His eyes fall to your lips, tantalisingly close, and he knows all he has to do is bridge the distance, tilt his head and let it happen, that you probably taste of cherries and promises, of summer nights and new beginnings. God he shouldn’t want it this much. But he can’t help it. He can’t help that you’re pretty, kind, that he wants his name on your rib cage and his tongue to explore your mouth, that he wants to spend hours with his hands on your body.

‘Y-Yeah,’ he says, and as you hear the drone of a familiar car, the moment passes and Rindou curses himself for what must be the umpteenth time today for not being braver and just taking the plunge.

‘Well.’ You rock on your heels and flash him an earnest smile. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah? Same time?’

He nods and his chest deflates with disappointment, resentment at himself and at the bubble of longing that threatens to break him every time he’s near you.

You wave over your shoulder, blowing a kiss at him as you slip into your house and Rindou shoves his hands into his pocket, kicking at the grass as he turns towards the direction of home, seething with anger at himself.

Both of you are young and you think there is plenty of opportunity, that you know the future, that everything, despite the scruples of life, can stay the same, that you have plenty of time to fall in love.

You are wrong.

The next day, you bound from your front door, looking left and right as you usually do, before crossing to the hedge that separates your house from the cherry tree outside.

You’re early, and so you don’t expect him to be there just yet. You pop your head around, look down the lane, the summer heat scorching the back of your neck, half expecting to see the flash of blue and blond hair rapidly approaching you but to your dismay, there is nothing but the smell of burning tarmac and the heat.

You wait. And the hours drain by. Lunchtime to afternoon, afternoon to sunset, and there is a funny feeling in your chest that can only come with the anxiety of having had all your calls to his phone go straight to voicemail.

You try Ran and are confronted by the beep beep of the automated voice telling you ‘the number you have called is not available.’

Something in you deflates, even more so the next day when Rindou fails to show up, the spot by the cherry tree just as vacant as it was before. You wipe your sweaty palms on the hem of your sundress when you knock tentatively on their door, hoping that at some point, either of them will crack it open and you’ll be greeted by Rindou’s fuzzy bedhead, hearing him mutter under his breath as he searches for his glasses.

But again, the sun settles on the horizon and the moon climbs high into the sky. Like that, the days pilfer on by, and no amount of asking around brings you any closer to finding the truth. Your heart cleaves every night, and when you look at the moon, you wonder if he’s doing the same, if wherever he is, he’s safe and perhaps happy, that maybe he simply just didn’t want to know anymore. It hurts, and the pain brings a fresh tundra of tears but you could live with that, you think. The thought that maybe he just moved on, because it was a safer alternative to what your heart told you, that perhaps messing around in gangs had finally caught up with him. Your tears blur your vision when you think about the concept of a world without him, without the promise of kissing him, of feeling him curve against your spine on the cold nights.

And like that, a year comes and goes. Then two. Then ten.

And as much as you want to spend forever thinking about him, trawling through the country, overturning every single crevice to find him, you know life goes on, and it won’t wait for you to finally accept what in your heart you know to be true, before it thrusts you back into the fold.

You graduate, you have a few boyfriends and girlfriends, you move out, and it seems like for a time, you are content. Perhaps not happy, but content, and at this point, you’ll take what you can get. An apartment in a high rise, a stable job that pays semi-decently, friends you see occasionally for coffee.

And the loneliness of a lifetime. Because no matter what you gain, the gaping hole of the loss never heals, and sometimes he is there in every blue sky, and every shimmering star, every appearance of the moon.

You think about him often still, at least once every day, and always with a soft spike of sadness in your heart. Your best friend, your moon and stars. The smile previously on your lips drops again as you trudge through the snow and you’re not sure why today of all days you feel like crying for him, why your heart aches with such longing to feel the smooth planes of his stomach under your hands, to tuck his hair behind his ear, to kiss his wrist and watch the blush faintly colour his cheeks.

‘God, get over it,’ you mutter to yourself, wiping your nose with a sodden tissue now softly mildewed by the cold air. You sniffle, suppressing the sob, opting to wipe your eyes with your gloved hands, your feet slogging through the thick layer of snow and it feels like you’re pulling the weight of the world with you as you do.

You slip, your feet tumbling out from underneath you. You squeeze your eyes shut, preparing to hit the hardened snow face first, throwing your hands out to break the fall.

Which never comes.

‘You need to be careful.’ A hand around your wrist, the other lifting you by the elbow, strong and firm, the warmth of it seeping through your coat. ‘You could have gotten seriously hurt.’

The shock of losing your footing has your head disorientated and your eyes are wild as you struggle to regain your footing again, the streetlight casting a pale orange glow on your panicked silhouette. You grasp onto the hand and right yourself, blowing hair from your eyes, partly ashamed for having fallen in the first place and partly embarrassed at having done it whilst crying.

‘Thank you,’ you say and stand, dusting off the delicate flakes of snow from the hem of your coat. ‘I’m a little clumsy, I’m sorry.’

‘It happens.’

You look up.

Into a pair of lilac eyes flashing with hues of violet, irises outlined in gold from the reflection of the streetlight.

At first, he only stares, his brow creasing as he rifles through the memories of the last ten years and you can almost see the cogs turning in his head, the shift and slide of the film of memories playing.

‘Y/N?’ he says, his breath a cold plume, wavering and uncertain, the mist curling from his pink lips.

You think your chest might explode, and it takes a starved and choked breath for your vision to stop swimming enough to formulate a response.

You shake your head. ‘You’re not him. You can’t be.’ You take a step back, feel the snow crunching under your boot, your back brushing against the lamppost and you glance at the your shadows lengthened along the ground. Your heart climbs up your throat, threatens to push its way out of your mouth and the sensation is dizzying. Your head spins, a pulsing pain that creeps up your temple.

This is a sick joke. Not even you could have come up with this.

‘Rin?’ Your lip wobbles and you realize absent-mindedly, he still has your wrist in his grip, his eyebrows furrowed as he searches your face for some element of recognition. You’re still not sure it’s him, it really truly can’t be can it? He’s gone, he left, he died and you suffered and mourned him for years. You screamed at the wall and left yourself to rot, wishing you could join him in death. You deliberately kept the news out of your life because you couldn’t let it confirm what you already felt to be true.

‘Y/N….’ Not a question this time. His lips part and his eyes widen when the weight of the truth crashes down on him.

‘Y/N,’ he says again, as if tasting your name for the first time in eleven years and oh how you’ve missed it, the way your name sounds on his tongue. Like sugared lemons and starlight.

‘You…’ And your tongue is a rock inside your mouth, slack, heavy and unmoving. ‘You changed your hair…’

He laughs, albeit hesitantly, his grip on your wrist softening. He takes a step forward and as he moves into the light, you catch the vague shape of a tattoo on the smooth column of his throat.

‘Yeah,’ he says and rubs the nape of his neck, the pink and purple strands of the wolfish mullet he’s sporting lifting slightly with the sharp breeze. ‘I had to change things up a little.’

You bite your lip and tentatively step forward, lifting your hand to touch him, to feel the realness of him under your fingers. You tentatively brush the hair from his forehead, tracing the high cut of his cheekbones, his full lips, your thumb skimming the tattoo at the base of his throat. Anything to feel the realness of him, to feel the warm blood pulsing under his skin.

He flinches. You wonder at what manner of horrors he has seen, what he could not tell you that he suffered.

The question on the tip of your tongue is a boulder, and as much as you want to ask, you’re still afraid of the answer. Would it hurt more to know or not know? Would it change anything?

You swallow thickly. ‘What happened Rin?’ Where did you go? Why did you leave?

He looks down, kicks the snow at his feet, and the action has your chest tightening with nostalgia. In your mind you see the grass, the cherry blossom tree long since cut down, the house and the hedge you tried to hide behind.

‘The day after,’ he says. ‘I was arrested. Both me and Ran. When I came out, things had changed.’

‘How?’

‘I couldn’t involve you anymore.’

The gravity of it descends on you and you want to argue, to say it wasn’t his choice to make, to say that he owed you an explanation when he was released. But in your heart, you know it makes sense, and perhaps that sort of understanding can only come from two people who’ve known each other like you have because you know you’d have done the same. Sometimes one must be cruel to be kind.

‘I waited…’ You don’t mean for it to sound so needy and desperate, for the tendrils of heartbreak that have built up over the years to leak into your voice, but they do and your eyes well with unshed tears. ‘I waited for so long, Rin. I thought you’d died.’

His life had never been a secret to you. You’d known what he was involved in, the gangs, the violence, the multitudes of criminal activity that was only spoken about in hushed whispers. You’d stayed anyway, because a dangerous life with him was better than a safe one without.

‘I’m sorry…’ he says and he knows the words have no weight, that they can’t begin to undo the years of pain he’s put you through, the longing, the yearning, the nights he couldn’t be there when you’d needed him. Maybe he says it just as much for you as he does for himself, for what he denied himself, for pushing down his ache to have you, to love you.

‘Oi! Can you hurry up?! Mikey’s going to have my ass if we’re late!’ A man with pink hair shouts in your direction, leaning on the open car door, his scarred mouth curved in a grin.

Rindou turns back towards you, his parted lips trembling with cold, his jacket doing very little to protect him from the sharp winter chill. He is still as graceful as ever, still a star you can only graze with the tips of your fingers.

‘Y/N I- I have to go,’ he says and the words cut through the both of you. There is so much you have yet to say, so much pain you have yet to voice. Despite this however, despite the heartbreak of the ten years, you know you’ve already forgiven him, that you’d done so the minute he left and would have done no matter the circumstances. You love him, he loves you and although it isn’t enough, that this is a case of the right person at the wrong time, you know the outcome on your part would be the same. You’d wait a thousand years if he asked you to.

‘Wait-’ You grab his sleeve with your trembling fingers, ‘Don’t…’

‘I have to.’

Can we go back to the way things were? You want to ask. Can we ever be like that again?

‘I only mean,’ you say, casting your gaze to the sky, as if searching for the words in the stars. ‘Don’t be a stranger yeah? Come say hi, when you get a chance. Please.’

Yes you are desperate, the both of you are, and it would be so easy to grab onto that red string of fate and let it pull you along to each other, as it has always done. But you know in your heart, that some things are changed forever, that there is no more trailing after him, no more of him borrowing your light like the moon does to the sun.

Your heart splinters when he gives you a shaky smile and you have a visceral urge to kiss the corner of his mouth, to ghost your lips over his neck, your warm breath on his collarbones. Just like before, the moment passes and the moon passes behind a cloud again, cloaking you in semi-darkness.

‘Of course. I’ll always be your bodyguard won’t I?’ he says, grinning outright now, the edges of his smile tinged with barely concealed sorrow. A thrum of watery pain lances through your heart.

‘Yeah…You will.’ A tear slips, sprints down your cold cheek and disappears into the fabric of your scarf.

He turns, walking back to the car, looking over his shoulder at you still under the streetlight, watching him with your scarf between your fingers, small and fragile and as big a crybaby as ever and he thinks that this is the moment his heart breaks, when he leaves you for a second time. He lifts a hand to wave, uncertain, cautious and meticulous as he’s always been.

He could go back, he could run towards you like before, and you’d barrel straight into his arms and he’d pick you up with ease, twirl you around and slot his lips against yours like he should have done.

Even as he thinks this, he knows how unrealistic it is to drum up the stuff of daydreams, that even if he does stay in touch, the past is a dead body long buried. The life he leads now is even more dangerous than before.

He slips into the car.

‘Ready?’ The pink one asks from the driver’s seat.

‘Yeah,’ Rindou says and casts a final glance at you, still standing there, waiting as you always have and the guilt churning in his stomach is a parasitic worm.

‘Who was that girl?’

Rindou narrows his eyes at the pink one through the rear-view mirror. ‘Why?’

‘She’s a pretty thing isn’t she?’

‘Don’t even think about it, I’ll rip your throat out.’

Sanzu snickers and raises his hands in mock surrender. ‘Why not? Could show her a thing or two.’

‘Are you begging to die or something?’ Rindou bites his cheek and resists the urge to look back again.

You watch the car speed off, see the purple mullet through the back window, and you wonder if this is what heartbreak really feels like, to have him and then not.

Perhaps in another life, you might have got it right, might have been able to have what others took for granted.

At some point, the moon moves from behind the clouds and the snow is pearly white under its light, flakes gathering on the hem of your coat, your collar, your lips. It lights the way as you traverse home, ice and snow and sleet crunching under your feet. The moon and stars, the only witnesses to your shared pain, as they always have been.

a/n: I have no explanation for the tragedy of this on halrin anniversary, please accept my deepest apologies !!!!

taglist: @reiners-milkbiddies @mxnjiros @prettyiolanthe @sugusshi @snakegentleman @haitaniapologist @lonnie19 @nafarsiti @bejeweled-night-33 @ranscutedoll @the-travelling-witch @orchid3a @rottingreveries @qiiuusoup-xo @hoetani @sinfulseashell @welcome-to-the-internet-it-sucks @obitohno @sweet-seishu @burnishedcrown @saintokkotsu @nikokopuffs @sin-and-punishment @deskaisers @mochimiyaas @bertholdts--butt @theaonlax @blackfire2013 @wotakuhime @severellamahottub

Let me know if you would like to be added!

#tokyo revengers #tokyorev x reader #haitani rindou #rindou x reader #tokyo rev #tokyo revengers x reader

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amberlynnmurdock · 5 months

Text

Neighbor Pt. 2

Matt Murdock x Reader

Summary: Matt makes sure she gets home safe after work, then officially introduces himself the next morning.

Words: about 1.6k

A/N: Trying out third person for fics, I kind of like it better than using "you" all the time... let me know what you guys think. Thanks for all the interest in being tagged!! <3 <3 <3

Part 1

Matt couldn’t stop thinking about her prayer the next day at work. He was anxious to get home from the office and immediately change into his Daredevil gear. Matt whispered a prayer holding his cross to his lips, and then stalked up his steps to the roof.

This wasn’t the norm for Matt’s nighttime activities. He usually stood on the corner of his rooftop and listened for any sound of trouble in the city. The sound could be anything: police sirens, a scream, the scratchy sound of a gun tucked in someone’s jacket, the soft friction of a knife in someone’s bag. This time, he knew what was out for.

He sat on his rooftop (their rooftop) and listened as she got ready. Not too closely, but enough to know that she was about to leave for work. She sprayed perfume on—warm vanilla—and closed her drawer. He heard her keys rattle and upon this, he crouched to listen as she walked down the apartment steps and outside.

She didn’t work far, about eight blocks downtown. But it didn’t matter if one worked a block away or ten blocks: Hell’s Kitchen wasn’t safe at night.

When she opened the door to her work, Matt heard bells jingling and an instant waft of coffee filled his senses. It wasn’t a coffee shop she worked at, though. From the smell of paper, leather, creaking wood, and suede couches, Matt surmised she worked at a bookstore.

“Hey!” he heard someone greet her at the counter, another young woman. “Thanks for closing tonight. I appreciate it.”

“No problem,” Matt could hear the smile in her voice. "Close at nine, right?”

“Right.”

9 PM.

This meant Matt had about four hours to kill elsewhere in the Kitchen before he’d come back to make sure she made it home safely.

———

The hours passed, and Matt was already waiting in the alleyway of the bookstore, listening to her close-up for the night. Closing up meant politely telling customers the store was about to close, and Matt could hear the anxiety in her voice—she was in a rush to get home, in a rush to not be walking home alone. Although she didn’t know it, she didn’t have to worry—Matt would ensure she was safe.

“Have a great night!” She told the last customer before shutting the large door and locking it. He heard her sigh as she began to quickly close up the front counter. And Matt waited. And waited. And waited.

Soon enough, she was walking out the front door and locking it behind her. Before she sauntered off in the direction of their apartment, she took a deep breath and looked both ways on the sidewalk. Matt presumed it was to see if there would be anyone walking behind her. There wasn’t. Using his senses, he quickly scanned the surrounding area and was relieved to find it relatively quiet with no disturbances.

“Please, God,” she prayed once more in a whisper. “Get me home safe.”

She began to walk, and Matt followed in the shadows. Her heart was pounding in her chest the faster she walked, anxious to get home sooner than later. She held her arms tight around her chest as she fought the wind blowing in her direction.

Finally, approaching their apartment building, Matt quickly crawled up the fire escape to the roof and listened as she opened the door with her keys, letting the heavy door shut behind her. She rushed up the steps and quickly unlocked the door to her apartment. Once inside, she locked it again.

She breathed a sigh of relief.

Matt breathed a sigh of relief.

“Thank you, God.”

Matt smiled softly. He quietly let himself in from the roof.

———

Matt was awoken by the sound of pots and pans clattering in an apartment below him. Groaning, he turned in bed, silk sheets sliding all across his chiseled body, and pressed a pillow to his ear. The pillow was even worse, though—he could hear his blood rushing tenfold. In frustration, he threw the pillow off the bed and retreated to the sounds of clattering pans.

His senseless eyes were open and remained on the ceiling. It had to be at least an hour earlier than when he was supposed to be awake. In another apartment, the TV played the news loudly, news he didn’t particularly want to hear this early. The static from the TV sounded like popcorn popping in a microwave.

“Crime is rising again in Hell’s Kitchen, but can Daredevil manage it all—“

Matt refrained from that apartment and moved on to the next one. He was greeted with a loud, vibrating snore.

Sigh.

There were so many sounds, none pleasant to the ear. He wished he could turn off his heightened senses, from time to time…

But then he remembered her.

Was she awake?

Matt tilted his head in bed, focusing on her apartment which was only across from his. Inside, he could smell fresh lavender and honey tea. Soft baroque music was playing and Matt could hear her shift on her couch, turning the page of a book. Not many sounds came from her apartment. The only thing he wanted to listen to, however, was her heart.

And so, he did. The gentle beating paired with the sound of paper being turned lulled him back to sleep.

After an extra hour of sleep, Matt got ready for work. He changed into his usual gray suit and black tie. As he was in the kitchen pouring himself a glass of orange juice, he was shocked to hear her getting ready for—something—as well. In a leap of curiosity and anticipation, Matt drank his OJ in one gulp and grabbed his suitcase just in time to “run into” her on his way out.

She sprayed her perfume and headed out the door, at the same time as Matt.

———

She was mildly curious about her neighbor, the one who lived across the hall from her. She only saw him occasionally. When she did see him, she made it a point to say hello, at the very least.

“Good morning,” she said softly. Good morning was all she ever said. Maybe she would say more if she weren’t so shy.

“Morning,” he replied with a smile. When she did run into him, she was always reminded of how handsome he was. Always donned in a well-pressed gray suit and a briefcase. Dark red glasses to hide whatever color his eyes were. Light stubble on a sharp jawline. Chocolate brown hair. She’d read enough books to know he had to be a businessman or lawyer.

“Early start to your day?” He asked while she still faced her door to lock it. She paused holding her keys in her hand.

She was caught off guard by the follow-up question—their interactions never lasted more than a greeting, but still, she was gladly roped into conversation. At least he was the one to initiate it.

“Yeah,” she said, “luckily I have the earlier shift today. Get to leave early and beat the dark.”

“I hear you,” he said softly. “I’m—I’m Matt, by the way. I don’t think I’ve ever introduced myself.” Matt held his hand out for her to shake, which she did. She quickly switched her keys into her other hand and took Matt’s, which felt soft and cold. She slowly pulled her hand back as she introduced herself, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. A moment of silence filled the space between them. He stood with one hand in his pocket, one hand holding his cane. He smiled in a friendly way.

“So uh, what do you do?” He asked.

“I work at a bookstore a few blocks down,” she nervously pushed a hair behind her ear and felt her cheeks heat in a blush. “What about you?”

“I’m a defense attorney,” he said sheepishly. “A bookstore?” He changed the subject off from himself. “What kind of books do you carry?”

She smiled at his question, resisting the urge to giggle. “A lot of books. Fiction, non-fiction, fantasy. What do you like?”

Matt huffed his chest, shrugged his shoulders, and spun his cane around as he thought about it. “Anything. It’s been a long time since I’ve read for pleasure. I think the past few years have been dedicated to my law books,” he laughed. She mirrored his reaction and laughed as well. “Do you—carry any books in braille?”

For some reason, his question made her demeanor soften a bit. She bit her lip, thinking if her store carried any. She had a feeling they might have a small section but wasn’t sure. She’d be glad to order something special—just for him, if not.

“I’ll check today. If we do, I’ll drop a book off for you. It’ll be a surprise.”

“I’d love that.”

“Great,” she smiled. “Well, I better get on my way so I’m not late.”

“I’ll walk you out,” Matt offered. She nodded her head, then quickly spoke again, realizing her mistake of nodding.

“Sure, that’d be nice.”

Just as they were about to walk down, Matt suddenly stopped in his steps. “Oh, I think you forgot to lock your door.”

“Oh!” She gasped nervously, not even realizing she walked away without locking it. She quickly slid the key in the lock and locked it, then met Matt again at the stairs.

He began to walk down them with his cane hitting each step in front of him. She watched as he carefully held onto the railing and slowly took each step. Normally, she zipped down the stairs, but today, she took her time to walk with him. She half wanted to offer her arm for him to hold onto but didn’t know if that was appropriate.

Outside was overcast, meaning the bookstore would be busier than usual. After a slightly awkward goodbye from Matt, and her promising him again about the book in braille, she walked in the direction of the bookstore, but not before glancing once more behind her to watch as Matt made his way down to his job.

TAGS: @mattmurdocksstarlight @yentroucnagol @danzer8705 @allllium @i-marvel-bitch @mattsgirlsworld

#neighbor #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #charlie cox x reader #charlie cox x you #daredevil #daredevil x reader #daredevil x you #daredevil born again #mcu #marvel #the defenders

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sunkendreams · 5 months

Note

I'm not really that familiar with 'The lost boys'

But, at the moment i just can help but think about any of them just absolutely going feral for reader in their period;

Just- top tier pussy eating and indulging while helping reader ease the pain.

This can either go really dark or really *really* soft :))

once bitten, twice shy.

( paul x fem!reader x marko. )

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. | paul x fem!reader x marko (paul-centric fic with a healthy side of marko)

𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓. | one-shot — requested.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓. | 5.2K.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. | SMUT! (mdni), vampire antics, blood drinking, bloodplay (they’re vampires), period sex, cunnilingus, oral sex (f!receiving), biting, hair-pulling, dirty talk, scratching, paul loves your tits, marko is kinda selfish, making out, kissing while they’re bloody (hot), threesome, ambiguous ending, panty-stealing

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄. | so ,,, I would absolutely love to write a part 2 to this with them blowing the reader’s back out, so if that’s something y’all wanna see, please comment and/or send a request! I love writing for the lost boys so much ,,, most inspired I’ve been in a long time! I’m gonna start answering requests, too! I’m so excited to be back in the thick of things. Love you guys so much, thanks for your support!

TAGLIST: @dootys ; @reveluving ; @sat10 ; @milland ; @iamcautiouslyoptimistic ; @darklylucid ; @sirstompely ; @chaotichellscape ; @callsigncrash ; @manicpixiimurderdoll ; @sandeepics ; @rainbowcreepie ; @kiki-dohedo

They were descending upon you like a pack of slavering wolves — like sharks in the water, drawn to the scent of your blood. Whenever your menstrual cycle came around, it was as if you were wearing a dinner bell around your neck. Dwayne knew better than to interfere when you were in pain, and David simply told you that it would be over soon, without any real compassion.

Paul, however, had no real concept of boundaries, nor did he really have a desire to adhere to them. As soon as he caught wind of your blood, he was always a little closer — never too far away. If Paul happened to be nearby, it was a possibility that Marko was right behind him.

As you lay in your makeshift nest, nestled atop the rickety mattress, you were partially tangled within well-worn sheets, wishing for your torment to end. An excruciating ache spread throughout your lower belly, sending dull shockwaves of pain towards your limbs. Your head vibrated with an unpleasant humming.

Your alcove was shrouded in thick curtains which served as a door — even then, there wasn’t a purpose for it. Privacy was threadbare around the cavern, especially when it came to you. With a low groan, you rolled over, attempting to find a comfortable position, but everything felt horrible.

It was as if your body was imploding, ripping itself to pieces while still barely functioning. Sometimes, you wished that you could turn — if you were a vampire, menstruation would cease, becoming a thing of the past. You were half-tempted to beg David for a sip of the crimson bottle, but you knew he would decline.

With a shaky exhale, you sluggishly rolled out of your bed, gritting your teeth together as another wave of pain radiated through your lower back. A hot bath and plenty of sleep would do you good, but living with the boys had completely altered your circadian rhythm. There was no use in trying to return to normalcy.

Draped in one of your blankets, you wandered toward the drawn curtains, gasping when your foot nudged into something sitting atop the rocky, uneven floor. It was a small pile of chocolate, accompanied by a partially-destroyed box of tampons. You weren’t sure who left it there, but you had a hunch.

You stooped down, gathering the many offerings as you retreated into your chambers, mood improving by a sliver as you went about eating some of the chocolate. They were Milky Way and Secret bars, something you might’ve grabbed at the convenience store once upon a time. You assumed that one of the boys stole it.

As you sat along the edge of your bed, your mouth flooded with a rush of gooey nougat, sweet as can be and somewhat of a relief. It wasn’t enough to quell your constant aches and cramping, but the gesture was thoughtful. You placed the rest in a box underneath your bed, discarding the wrapper into a bin.

Your mattress was the most inviting thing you’d seen all day, coaxing you back into its plush warmth. Swaddling yourself within one of your blankets, you intended on sleeping — attempting to sleep the day away, if you could. Best to do it now before you were rudely interrupted come nighttime.

It was best to rest whenever the boys did, knowing that they’d become rowdy once the sun descended. They had a rather common practice of waking you up whenever they got up, and this time wouldn’t be any different.

“You’re on the rag,” Paul’s voice sliced through your slumber like a hot knife cutting into butter. “I can smell you from miles away — bet anybody could.” Your eyes fluttered, groggy from sleep as you adjusted to the low, flickering candlelight of your nest. It didn’t surprise you to see your boyfriend perched at the foot of your bed, smirking like a maniac, the bastard.

As much as you adored Paul, he was the last person you wanted to see. The unfortunate part about cohabiting with vampires was their nosiness, their desire to feed, their backward circadian rhythm — your boyfriend was the worst of all. With a soft groan, you twisted away, drawing the blanket over you.

Another sharp jolt of pain cut through your stomach, the sensation equating to that of a gut punch or shallow stab wound. You didn’t want Paul to see you like this, all disheveled and haggard, a mess of gore and exhaustion. “What time is it?” You mumbled, briefly rubbing at the bridge of your nose.

“I don’t know,” He shrugged, slithering forward until he was right next to you, close as could be. “Poor baby,” Paul crooned, peppering kisses against your face. “You’re just dying over here, aren’t you?” Admittedly, he wanted to eat you out — he hadn’t asked before, but being in such close proximity without having fed in awhile, he was ravenous.

His lips felt so cool against your feverish flesh, like ice against fire. You shamelessly careened into those brief pecks and fleeting sensations, lips parting as you let the blanket slip a little bit. “Feels like it.” You sighed, hand reaching toward his chest. His skin was always icy, perfect to quell the searing feeling that coursed all over your aching form.

Paul’s motives were mostly self-satisfying, an attempt to extinguish the ragged burning that blistered through his throat. Of course, he wanted to help you — take some of your pain away, but above all, he wanted to feed. He’d drink from your cunt like a fountain if he needed to, but it was all about execution. He wanted you to agree to it.

Marko would want in on this, Paul contemplated.

Sharing with his brother was an act of generosity, but Marko had some claim over you, too. Paul loved you, you loved him — Marko loved you, too. He felt obligated to alert his fellow blonde to your suffering — he was just as hungry. Though, Paul was delighted to find that he could have his fill first, no waiting in line.

“You feel so nice,” It wasn’t intended to be flirtatious — but for Paul, he’d take any scrap that he could get. In an attempt to feel his cold skin against your cheek, he playfully groped at your chest, causing your brows to furrow in mild annoyance. “Paul, not right now.” You sighed.

“Not right now?” He parroted, tone jocular and mischievous as he pressed another kiss against your cheek. You really were warm. Paul watched with a twinge of empathy as you winced, contorting and writhing around atop the mattress. You were in pain — he hated seeing you like this, wrought with an agony that he couldn’t rip away from you.

A bout of silence passed between the both of you, and you looked to Paul, whose mind was racing with lascivious thoughts. Saliva pooled within his mouth, a desperate hunger intermingling with his desire to no longer see you suffering. You curled up against him, hands pressed flat atop the mesh shirt he wore.

You’d grown accustomed to his smell — a pungent aroma, like carrion in the sun attempting to disguise itself as a bottle of stale cologne. At first, it was extremely off-putting, especially when you were having sex, but now, it was simply apart of his very being. You had been surrounded by vampires long enough to understand their distinct and disgusting scent.

“Baby, you gotta let me help you,” Paul murmured, cerulean hues taking on a predatory sheen. He was partially just a boy wanting to fuck his girlfriend, and the other half was a greedy creature who simply wanted your blood. “Got an idea to make you feel better, yeah? Make your pain stop for a little while.”

His icy hand traced over your cheek, thumb sweeping across your lower lip as he continued to shower you in feather-light kisses. It was akin to cold raindrops peppering your flesh. Paul’s hand then drifted underneath your shirt, an item that coincidentally once belonged to him, now repurposed.

That chilled temperature was a nice feeling — as much as you desired heat, the cavern could become oppressively stuffy and overbearing. When the California summers died down, the interior became a little cooler, more mellow. For now, you endured the heat. “Paul, I don’t think sex is going to help me.”

Paul guffawed, grinning wolfishly as he planted a kiss against your lips. It was open-mouthed and needy, which happened to make your cunt throb with a distant ache. You hated Paul sometimes — he made you so aroused and pent-up that you wanted to scream.

His facade of ‘dumb blonde’ charm initially worked on you — a carefully-crafted disguise that gave way to his underlying intelligence. Paul was wicked smart, but he enjoyed keeping up a charade for the fun of it. Easier to hunt that way, he’d told you, once upon a time. He was so charismatic, like a magnet — drew you right in.

“Don’t knock it ‘till you try it, sweet thing.” Paul snickered, crawling a little lower as he pressed kisses against your stomach, which made you so unbelievably flustered. “Let me help you out, baby. M’hungry,” He murmured into your skin, idly rucking your shirt up towards your chest. “Wanna taste you so bad.”

Realization washed over you then and there.

He was hungry.

The fresh menses that coalesced between your thighs must’ve been calling his name, and you stiffened as another tendril of blood wept from your core. It was always an uncomfortable sensation, but Paul could smell it — he had the nose of a keen hunter. You swallowed the lump within your throat, feeling more embarrassed than anything else.

“Paul, I — Are you sure?” If it weren’t for his state of vampirism, you would’ve been mildly disgusted, but this was Paul, after all. He was messy, nasty, and rowdy. He didn’t care whatsoever, and it was one of the reasons why you adored him. He was unapologetically unhinged — his constant state of being.

His cajoling laughter caused you to shiver, knowing what his answer would be before he said anything. It was stupid to believe that a vampire wouldn’t want to have free access to blood, no matter how unorthodox it might’ve been. “I’m very sure, baby. You just lay back, let me handle the rest. M’gonna make you feel better.”

If it weren’t for the context of the situation, he sounded like a doting, devoted boyfriend. You couldn’t help but let out a brief huff of laughter, but then again, if Paul intended to relieve some of your period pains in the process, you weren’t about to stop him.

With a nod, you rolled over, lying flat against the mattress as Paul swiftly shrugged off his tuxedo overcoat, letting it drape against the foot of the bed. His eyes glittered with excitement, and once he was perched at your feet, you got embarrassed. He’d eaten you out before on so many occasions, but this made you unbelievably flustered.

Insecurities got the better of you as you pressed your knees together, hand covering your face. “I can’t, Paul. You’re going to think I’m repulsive.” You groaned, feeling his strong, muscled hand gently clasp around your wrist, dragging it away so that you could see him.

“Baby,” Paul hummed with an urgency, his mane of coarse, dusty-blonde hair looking exceptionally wild when he hovered above you. “You really think that I’m gonna find you gross ‘cause of that?” He inquired, watching your pretty little face scrunch up. “I think it’s hot.”

You scoffed, finding some amusement in that. “You think me being on my period is hot?” It shouldn’t have surprised you — this was Paul, after all. “You’re insatiable. I’m just a free meal for you right now.” You sighed, and even if that was true, you would always be more than that to Paul.

Ever the patient predator, Paul perched his chin against the top of your knee, pressing a sweet kiss against your softer flesh. “Nah, baby! You’re more than that,” He protested, hands rubbing along your thighs. “You’re my sweet little mate.” He watched you shiver, and his lips twitched into a smirk.

Unfortunately, Paul knew how to get you hooked — whenever he referred to you as his mate, you became very smitten very quickly. “I know,” You mumbled, listening to his impish laughter as he showered your legs in greedy kisses. “I know I am.” You shuffled your legs apart just a little bit, and Paul was barging right into that newfound space without warning.

Paul grinned — a glittering, vibrant expression that made your stomach do excitable flips. “Yeah you are,” He purred, pushing your shirt up until it pooled around your stomach. That familiar scent of blood invaded his senses, activating that burning hunger. His throat blistered with a dry, festering agony. “Fuck, you’re all mine.” His voice became a touch darker.

You shuddered, skin crawling with an excitable heat as you squirmed atop the mattress. Paul’s ring-adorned digits curled into the waistband of your shorts, yanking them down and off of your legs. With only one thin veil to protect you from Paul and his appetite, you felt his arms hook around you, prying your panties away.

His attention turned to the menstrual pad, gaze sparkling with intrigue as he smelled the freeh blood on it and on you. “Might save that for later, as a dessert.” He let out a bark of laughter, gingerly discarding your panties off to the side, treating them with care. “You smell divine — bet you taste just as good.” Paul groaned.

With a brief inhale, he caught a full gust of your saccharine scent, interwoven that the twang of copper and your menses. He licked his lips, flattening himself against the mattress until he was on his belly. Paul rocked forward, and without hesitation, began to greedily lap at your cunt.

It was as if being touched by an open flame, nerves set ablaze by Paul’s eager, greedy licks. The broad flat of his tongue swept across the length of your slit, drinking in each tendril of blood. A lion drawn to that of a lamb, the predator finally catching its prey. You whimpered, aching something awful as he worked to soothe it.

Your hands lazily clamored toward the crown of his head, digits sinking into his product-stiff mane of hair. It felt coarse underneath your fingertips, but you didn’t care, clutching onto him with a fervor. “Paul, ri—Right there,” You sighed, hips jolting forward. “S’good.”

His oral fixation was rather renowned, and his prowess at giving you mindblowing head was really beginning to show. Paul’s tongue languidly split toward your weeping core, imbibing your menses as your blood began to extinguish that festering pain within his throat.

A molten-hot wave of heat rolled over you, dropping right into the pit of your stomach as he flicked his tongue across your clit. That singular gesture made your cunt clench pathetically around nothing at all, thighs beginning to squeeze at his face. Paul snickered, forcefully parting your legs with a mere shove of his rough palm.

He wished that you were always like this — he wouldn’t have a reason to hunt anymore. That was the lazy way out, and Paul loved the chase, but being able to simply feast on you without harming you was quite the payoff. He cleaned you up, tongue prodding at your entrance with a fervor.

Fortunately, Paul caught you on a heavy flow, and his greed was beginning to shine through. His restraint was thinly-veiled and shattering at the very foundation, hands tugging you forward as he lapped at the trickling rivulets of crimson. A groan escaped him as he devoured your cunt like a man starved, and in all actuality, he was.

“I hope you plan on sharing.” Marko’s voice was extremely unexpected, snapping you out of your lust-induced haze, eyes going as wide as saucers. Your relationship with Marko was a complicated one — Paul was your boyfriend, but you liked Marko, too.

Suddenly, you felt embarrassed — ashamed, even. You almost wanted to kick Paul away and wallow in your own frustration. You wanted to squeeze your legs together, but he wasn’t having it, keeping you spread open with one hand. “Paul, wa— Wait,” You protested, voice meek and soft as he lapped at your cunt. “Paul.”

Paul was laughing, tearing himself away from his meal with his chin and mouth turned scarlet, stained with your menses and ichor. He licked his lips, peering toward you with a mischievous expression. “Marko wants in on this,” He mused, caressing your thigh in an attempt to quell your sudden bout of nervousness. “You mind, baby? You can say no.” He assured you.

It all felt like some fever dream, and you were staring at Paul with an incredulous look. They were always prone to sharing, but this seemed like a step further than you intended. “You … You don’t care?” Admittedly, you wanted Marko — burned for him. He was certainly greedier than Paul, twice as insatiable.

“Nah,” Paul chuckled, seemingly nonchalant about this entire ordeal. He was busy licking your taste off of his mouth with all of the excitable gusto of a dog. “You’re still my mate, but I can share a little bit. ‘Sides, Marko’s been looking at you for weeks. He’s jealous that he doesn’t have a hot girlfriend like you, baby.” He sneered, grinning like a wolf as he kissed your leg.

Marko’s countenance became somewhat dour, but he elected to ignore Paul, who was entirely amused. The curly-headed blonde sauntered forward, inching closer toward your bed until he was at your side. He reminded you of a cherub — a cherub cleverly disguised as a devil with a forked tail.

Paul smirked, slithering back to his perch between your thighs, busying himself with eating you out as Marko decided to finally have his moment with you. Besides, you were his thrall — the girl of his eternal dreams, flesh and blood, all belonging to him. He happily lapped at your cunt again, lips occasionally teasing your clit.

You shuddered, shrinking underneath the oppressive force of Marko’s stare, which glistened with an unrestrained desire. He slipped forward, settling beside you on the bed — it was the closest you’d ever been to him. Your heart pounded within your chest, hammering away just underneath your collarbone.

He uttered something in Italian, something that you couldn’t decipher as he hovered above you, fingertips gently trailing across your cheek. You didn’t expect this sort of behavior from him, considering that he had quite the temper and violent streak, but you weren’t about to complain.

Without missing a beat, you slid your hands toward his waist, wanting to touch him. He noted your hesitation, grasping ahold of your wrists as he guided your hands underneath his cropped shirt. “Marko.” You cooed, voice tapering off into a moan. Goosebumps coalesced along the length of your spine — it was hard to focus when Paul was tongue-deep inside of your cunt.

“You’re beautiful,” Marko hummed, dark, green-flecked hues roving over your writhing physique. Your scent was overpowering, awash with that coppery twang of blood, perspiration, and natural musk. He dipped forward, mouth brushing against yours. “Delicate.” His lips split into a gregarious smirk as he nipped at your jaw.

You shivered, beginning to squirm around as Paul lapped at your oozing slit, mouth rapacious as he lapped at stray tendrils of your cruor. He planted a kiss against your thigh, leaving behind the imprint of bloodied lips, fingers clamping down on your hips as he urged you back onto his tongue.

A myriad of whimpers and moans escaped you, swallowed whole by Marko, whose kiss was completely consuming. He was the smallest of the pack, but easily the most voracious alongside Paul. Your palms slid everywhere they could, flat atop Marko’s abdomen as you kissed him.

He felt like smooth marble underneath your fingertips, cold to the touch. Your breath caught within your throat as he gripped at your neck, holding either side as he continued to kiss you. A soft moan escaped you, barely audible between the barrage of kisses exchanged, soon devolving into tongue and teeth.

Paul licked his lips, tasting your body upon his tongue. “Wanna have a taste, Marko?” He snickered, tossing his sandy tresses back with a shake of his head. It was like some unruly, disheveled halo that surrounded him, stiff and layered in product he hadn’t washed out in years.

Marko’s eyes glittered with lust, intermingled with a rapturous hunger. He kissed you hard before recoiling, swiftly switching places with Paul, who was more than happy to come curling up next to you. Marko wanted nothing more than to feed — whether you came or not. It was entirely self-gratifying.

“She smells good enough to eat,” Marko sneered, playfully biting at your inner thigh. He was rougher, somewhat reckless compared to Paul, oddly enough. Paul knew you inside and out — and he wanted to try and be careful with you, if that were possible. “Don’t you, ragazza?” It must’ve been something in Italian.

Your boyfriend let out a bark of laughter. “What are you tryin’ to say? It doesn’t sound as good as you think.” He teased, and Marko gave him a spiteful look. Paul grinned, bloodied mouth on display, like something from a splatter film as he let you recline against his chest. “You gonna pull your shirt up?” He asked you, matter-of-factly.

You blinked, wincing when Marko’s sharp teeth suddenly nicked your supple flesh, drawing out a thin rivulet of blood across your thigh. “You can take it off.” You mumbled, gasping as Paul’s roughened digits pawed and clawed at your shirt, wrangling it up enough until he pushed it over your head.

Paul’s crimson-coated mouth was on your tits before you could fully form a sentence, letting out a soft moan. You immediately gripped at his hair, thighs trembling as Marko dove right in. His tongue split you open, greedily lapping at your fresh wave of menses, hungry as could be. He was far more intense and animated than Paul, which both excited and terrified you.

With a sigh of delight, your hips twitched and jolted forward, held down tight by Marko, who was greedily drinking his fill from you. His tongue swiped against your sensitive cunt in a rather vigorous pattern, hands clasped around your hips. Paul not-so-gently sucked on your nipple, teeth nibbling around the tender bud as he groped at your chest.

Pleasure rippled throughout your body, like tidal waves of ecstasy. That sharp ache that once blistered within the pit of your stomach had been quelled for now, and you couldn’t have been any happier. Your hands roamed through Paul’s tresses, giving them tugs whenever Marko hit a certain spot.

“Fuck, baby — you got the prettiest tits,” Paul groaned, busying himself with kissing and groping your breasts, dexterous hands caressing wherever he could. “Marko being good to you?” He asked, lips twitching into a rather bemused grin. His brother had a tendency to tease — Paul wanted to make sure that you got your release.

Marko smirked; he was devious, mind working to concoct some plan to torment you. He was gleefully tonguing at your cunt as he fed from your menses, chin steeped in gore. He was the picture of mischief, gaze gleaming with an animalistic fervor.

The curly-headed leech hadn’t bothered to touch your clit very much either, but you nodded nonetheless. You wouldn’t be able to find anyone else who gave as good of head as Paul did. There was nothing like him.

“Nothing like him?” Marko’s sardonic lull pulled you from the heat of the moment, goosebumps rising along the length of your spine. Another unfortunate downside of living with vampires — their mind-reading. You gulped, listening to Paul’s heckling howls of laughter as you peered toward Marko.

“D’aw, don’t get jealous, Marko! She knows who she belongs to.” Paul grinned, pressing a sloppy kiss against your jaw, leaving behind trace amounts of blood, which he happily licked away. “That’s why she’s my mate.” His teeth glinted in the low light, eyes blazing with a lustful fire as he squeezed your chin.

Unconvinced, Marko’s lips curled slightly, mouth hotly returning to your still-weeping cunt. You were so close, teetering on the edge of your climax as you moaned, hips jolting forward. It had become a competition, but unfortunately, Paul was still miles ahead.

At last, those angelic lips of his pursed around your clit, stimulating that sensitive clutch of nerves. Marko was undeniably greedy, adding a slight graze of his teeth as he lapped at your menses. The burn in his throat had diminished, but only by a sliver — he’d go feed on some unsuspecting tourist later.

Your body spasmed, trembling with an explosive bliss as your thighs threatened to smother Marko. Thankfully, the vampire was quick, pinning you apart as he lapped at your clit, swiftly interchanging his ministrations. It was enough to send you careening over the edge.

Paul seemed appeased by this, having to adjust his jeans to relieve some of the friction. Your breath came in excitable huffs, moans tapering off into the cave, reverberating throughout the alcove. Marko didn’t stop, still lapping at your cunt with an eagerness in an attempt to feed just a little more.

Marko growled, drinking in your menses, intermingled with that of your cum as cleaned you up. Paul seemed mildly disappointed that it wasn’t him down there, but there would be plenty of chances.

“Gonna make her explode,” Paul chided, reaching over to shove Marko’s head away from between your legs. Marko’s expression was one of displeasure, but he’d gotten what he wanted, licking at his lips; as satisfied as a cat who’d just caught the canary. “Think she feels better.” He affirmed, pressing kisses all over your face.

You did.

The relief would be temporary, but you were beyond grateful, panting and quivering as you came down from your climax. Perspiration danced along the length of your spine, manifesting as a cold dew. Paul was attentive, hand rubbing into the small of your back as he hopped off of the bed, retrieving a new shirt for you.

It happened to be his, a shredded, dirty Metallica shirt that he’d worn on a handful of occasions. You were still recovering from it all, watching as Marko stood up from between your legs, licking his lips as if he’d eaten something delectable.

“Thank you, Marko.” You mumbled, noticing the blonde’s devilish smirk as he tossed you the box of tampons. “This was you?” That was a surprise — you assumed that it was Paul’s doing. He was much more into giving you gifts like that.

Marko shrugged, but Paul was cackling, grinning at his brother with a sense of understanding. “He’s got a crush on you.” He guffawed, watching as you got dressed — if a shirt and panties counted as such. “I don’t blame him.” Paul purred, giving you another affectionate kiss against your cheek as he slapped your backside.

You noticed that your previous pair of panties were mysteriously missing — but you didn’t say anything, utilizing the tampons gifted to you before clearing your throat. “Can we go to yours, Paul?” You asked softly, wanting to go to his nest, instead. It was much more lived-in and vibrant than yours.

“Sure thing,” He hummed, head cocking to one side. “Don’t you wanna say goodnight to Marko?” Paul mused, planting his hands against your shoulders. You seemed a little flustered but nodded nonetheless, feeling his lips meld against yours in a reassuring kiss. “I’ll be waiting for you.” His teeth nipped at your jaw before he disappeared through the thick curtains.

Tension hung heavy in the air, thick like an inescapable haze as you stared at Marko. You didn’t know what to say, but he beat you to it.

“Will you let me take you out sometime?” He asked, head cocked to one side. Paul must’ve known about this already — otherwise, there would’ve been some sort of rift or protest. Marko’s chin was still stained in your blood, which made your stomach do excitable flips.

“Yeah,” You nodded, stepping forward to wipe off his chin with your discarded shirt. “Thanks for … That.” Heat crawled across your flesh as Marko grabbed your wrists, dragging you in for an invasive kiss. His tongue greedily meshed with yours, enough to make your head spin, feeling dizzy with desire.

The kiss made your heart race — it was different from Paul’s kisses. Marko was always dancing along that fine line of danger, but Paul was, oddly enough, a little more docile. Both were just as satisfying as the other. Either way, you were whimpering, hapless as you moved your mouth against his.

Marko withdrew, angelic countenance reminding you of a fiendish imp instead of a cherub. He swept his hand across your jaw. “Don’t mention it,” He seemed more subdued than he’d been before. “You know who to ask if you need help.” His chuckle was mesmerizing.

You pushed your fingers through his mop of golden curls, chewing at your lower lip. You gave Marko another sweet kiss before the both of you left, Marko going one way, and you wandering toward Paul’s nest.

When you slipped past the mangled web of tapestries and curtains, Paul was laying on his bed, legs kicked up against the rocky wall as he smirked at you. “He asked you?” He inquired, propping himself up on one arm. You were surprised, but admittedly, you shouldn’t have been.

“Yeah,” You murmured, shuffling forward until you sat down next to Paul. The blonde immediately grabbed you, hauling you on top of him as he snuggled his face into your clothed breasts, which made you giggle. “Paul, you know that I’m yours, right? I don’t want us to stop.” You gushed, worried that he’d leave you because of this.

“I know,” Paul mused, grinning up at you with that wonderfully stupid expression of his. “You can be his side meal,” He snorted at his own ridiculous joke, palms caressing and massaging into your hips. It was a nice feeling. “S’long as you’re still my mate.”

“Of course.” You nodded, grabbing his face with your hands, leaning in to give him a sweet kiss. Paul exhaled, sitting up fully to hold you, letting you straddle his lap as he began to kiss you back. It was a rather foul concoction of your blood and his own saliva. “ … Did you steal my panties, by the way?” You mumbled.

Paul snickered, playfully quirking an eyebrow as he jerked his chin toward the entrance of his nest.

“You’ll have to ask Marko.”

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