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#this was such a relieving experience to write
emeritus-fuckers · 22 hours
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Hellow~ 👉👈 I’ve been writing a few songs lately and i wanted to ask for sodo x Reader who writes songs in secret and he discovers their notebook and realize some of them are about him
Only if you have time and want to do it of course 😘
(Skasjaksj i Luv you so much your blog bring us so much comfort thank you for all your hard work)
~🏹
Sodo finding out his s/o writes songs
He/him pronouns used for Sodo. Gender-neutral reader.
You and Sodomizer never really kept any secrets from each other. You never meant to, at least.
In your defense, it was never meant to be a secret. You just never got around to telling him, with all the tours and such.
Which lead to you being very surprised when you saw him, sitting with his back against the wall on your bed, hair in a loose braid (courtesy of either Rain or Cumulus, no doubt) thrown over his left shoulder and his eyes fixed on a small notebook that you knew all too well.
Not many people knew of this, but Sodo liked arts and crafts. It was one of the things he did as self-therapy. Helped keep him calm and happy. So when you got a notebook with a hard back, he was very happy to decorate it. It was a bit more worn out by now, since you'd use it often, but it was undeniably the same notebook.
The notebook you wrote songs in.
It was just a little hobby you picked up while he was gone. You meant to tell him eventually, just never got the chance to. And so, apparently mister 'Mizer decided to help himself to the notebook you left on the bed.
"Sodo?"
He jumped a little, but visibly relaxed again when it turned out to be you. You held back a relieved sigh, happy that you didn't stress him out enough to trigger his selective mutism. It usually only triggered when he was on stage. He loved performing, even if the stress that came with it forced his mind to shut down his ability to speak. Fortunately, one of the Siblings was kind enough to teach him ASL, so he could still communicate. Even if he mostly used it to call people slurs behind their backs.
"Hey, uh... it was left open on the bed."
"Fair enough..." You chuckled awkwardly. "So... what do you think?"
You sat down next to him, leaning against his shoulder gently. He seemed completely relaxed right now. You loved when he was calm, it was always so... soothing.
You loved seeing him calm. His BPD would often steal those precious moments from you, but you were always ready to help him whenever he would need it. Even if many viewed him as just a demon with anger issues, you knew better. Those close to him knew better. But not many of them were actually allowed in fully. Not everyone was allowed to see him at moments of tranquility. Beautiful, peaceful moments where you could see his face completely relaxed. And it was your absolutely favorite view.
He didn't answer your question, instead putting the notebook down and furrowing his brows a little. You moved back, confused about his actions, but it all made sense a few seconds later when he moved his hands like he was holding his guitar and experimenting with playing it in his imagination. It made you giggle a bit.
If he was already making up riffs like he would with Copia, staying up in the middle of the night to make songs... he must've really liked your lyrics.
It almost made you wonder if he realized just how many were about him...
~
Written by Nosferatu.
Taglist: @copias-fluffy-asscheeks @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @calliedion-dungeon @callmeicaro @thecuriouss @nuntia @dio-niisio @ethereal-maniac @mamacarlyle @mybotanicaldemise @igodownjustlikeholymary @natoncesaid @bloodmoon-bites
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homeofthepeculiar · 3 days
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I loved readers and Daphnes relationship in the story could you write a drabble with them🥺
yes!! I love them so so much
Over the Garden Wall - Sisters Series Masterlist
Warnings: Drinking; gambling-ish; mention of smoking
Word Count: 1.1k
There had only been a two month period where neither Daphne or Y/N were pregnant. For years, it had either been one or the other. Or, in most cases, both of them. It wasn’t that either of them disliked being with child. In fact, they enjoyed it. Sometimes, of course. But there was something relieving about not having to worry about health or the occasional imbibing of alcohol. 
“What is this?” Y/N wondered as Daphne took her arm and led her up the steps of the Danbury residence. 
“As I said, it is a surprise,” Daphne said with that signature Bridgerton mischievousness in her eyes. All the princess had been told was that Daphne figured they needed a night out. Nights out weren’t frequent amongst women of the ton, as far as the princess knew. That seemed to be more reserved to the gentlemen and their clubs or brothels. Y/N posited that there should be establishments similar for women. The clubs…not the brothels. Though, of course, that wouldn’t be the worst thing, even though both Y/N and Daphne were happily married. That was a conversation for another time. 
So, they entered the Danbury residence together, arm in arm. The princess was surprised to see the house lit up and filled to the brim with people. Well, not just people, but women. There were tens of tables in the salon where women flitted about. Some of them were playing cards. No, not just cards, they were gambling.
“Oh, this is brilliant,” Y/N said. She turned to see Daphne smiling at her with wide eyes.
“I was quite shocked the first time,” Daphne explained. “I figured it was best to experience it with no preconceived notions.”
“I understand,” Y/N responded, slightly distracted. 
“Ah, you have arrived,” Lady Danbury said with a smile. She bowed to both of them. “Your Royal Highness. Duchess. Glad you could join us.”
“Thank you for having us,” Y/N said. “This is…” She didn’t really have a word for it. Lady Danbury just smiled and nodded in understanding. The older women led the two of them over to a free table where they were immediately handed cards and two glasses of wine. “I do not know how to do this,” the princess explained.
“Well, you take the glass and bring it to your lips,” Daphne started with a snort.
“I know that,” Y/N responded with a light hearted roll of her eyes. “The…cards.”
“Oh,” Daphne responded with a smile. “It is quite simple really. I shall explain.” And she did. Y/N listened with rapt attention as Daphne explained every single detail. After a while, the wine started to take hold and her words became more and more confusing. That didn’t stop Y/N from winning two hands in a row. She found that she quite enjoyed it.
The math was similar to the math her father would spew out when talking about the details of the heavens. And, even though she rarely understood that, some of it seemed to have sunk in. 
Daphne let out a yelp as she almost toppled out of her chair. A cackle left her which set Y/N off as well. 
“Shall we get some air?” Y/N wondered with a giggle. Daphne nodded and, together, they attempted to stand up. It took a few tries seeing as they kept dissolving into laughter and pulling each other back down again.  
They went out to the terrace with two fresh glasses of wine. There were women out there smoking and Y/N felt as though she had fallen into another universe. “I love it here,” she said with a wistful sigh. “We must do this more often.”
“I quite agree,” Daphne said with an emphatic nod that had a bit of wine spilling out of her glass. It landed with a splash at their feet. And there went another round of laughter. 
They found a bench in the garden and sat down, a feat that was much easier than standing up if not less graceful. 
“I love my life,” Y/N said unprompted before taking another generous sip of her wine.
“Me too!” Daphne agreed as though she had just discovered the secrets of the universe. 
“I enjoy your presence very much, Daph,” Y/N said after a moment. It wasn’t the strangest thing to say. They had been close for a while. A long time, in fact, but Y/N wasn’t really sure the last time she had said anything like that. She hadn’t been raised in a family that openly shared their affection. But, being around Benedict for so long and being around the Bridgertons had opened her up more.
Daphne’s face softened. “I enjoy yours as well.”
They continued to drink well into the night. Their rather serious conversation had dissolved into something more light-hearted all too quickly, the alcohol making their attention spans even shorter. The thing about Daphne was, she loved embarrassing her brothers. Payback, she called it. Y/N wasn’t really sure what the payback was for, especially not when she got entertaining stories about her husband.
Even after all these years, there were things that she didn’t know.
“Spiders?” Y/N gasped. “Where did he get spiders?”
“Hell if I know,” Daphne snorted. “Yes, he was quite the mischievous child. Anthony was too, at first…” She let out a small sigh. Y/N did not comment on it. “Colin was worse though. The second Benedict got into pranking, Colin followed suit. One time, he dyed all of Eloise’ clothes pink.”
“What? How!?” Y/N shrieked in laughter. 
“Something with flowers or something,” Daphne said with a lazy shrug. 
The princess sighed. “I love your family.”
“We love you,” Daphne said. Her face was soft and Y/N immediately felt tears in her eyes. They both let out a chuckle. Daphne reached for Y/N's hand, squeezing it lightly. 
“I never thanked you,” the princess said. Daphne looked at her questioningly. “For Kate and Anthony’s wedding. You didn’t know what was…you didn’t know and you still helped me.”
“I will always be here for you,” Daphne said. “We all will.”
“I know,” the princess responded. And she did know. After all those years, she had never experienced anything to the contrary. They were her family. “I believe you are my best friend, Daph.”
“We’re sisters,” Daphne corrected. “Sisters and best friends.”
Y/N couldn’t stop her smile as she repeated, “sisters and best friends.”
---------------------
Taglist: @imdoingbetternow @dd122004dd @soulmates8 @aureolinb @poppyalice2001 @thatgirljas13 @sunnygrey99 @frogsandhomicidalducks @dreadity @psychomanias @muxshwriting @erinroney @theregencywriter @wobbly-fluggers @moonwayne @esposadomd @marvelspogue @avengersgirllorianna @bwormie @noirrose21-blog @themadhattersqueen @ziarah @esposadomd @thicficbich1 @luvaerina @smileofthesun27 @mythical-mushrooms13 @siimiasoi @wannapizzamymindposts @everavenclaw @kno-way-home @unfortunatekiwitrash @melsunshine @butterfly-skinnylegend @yunloyal @fanfiction-she-wrote @iamaslytherin0 @marvelouslyme96 @soundslikerains-blog @ilovespideyyy @isagivinny @eyesarefullofstars @beingalive1 @the-great-imagines-of-1812 @rayisthehoe @empressnatsume @hopefulatrocity @daddyissues-muah @boo8008 @pinkpantheris @yourmumstoy @jupitervenusearthmars @strawberrypink-jellybeans @crispysublimecupcake @galactict3a @dumdumsun
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tswwwit · 2 years
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is anyone like Gideon or Wendy in this AU? If so what would be their reaction to Dipper being Bill? :o
also tysm for writing these, i love these :)
Gideon, Wendy, and Soos all exist! I've only written something with Gideon though - I've never really gotten around to doing something with the other two. Maybe one day, when I have a good premise!
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crab-milk · 1 year
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just wanted to chime in and say (like the other anon) i also feel funky abt my mixed asian identity as a westerner. idk it’s weird being in the in-between spaces. i appreciate you talking abt it on the blog a little, makes me feel less like i’m the only one who feels that way
i'm glad i could help out, even if it was just a little :3
for real though, it didn't occur to me how much cringe i'd have to get over myself just to get into learning chinese and talking to other chinese people about being too american; i find that other asians who aren't born or raised western don't get it and probably find it weird that there is that guilty sentiment of not being 'asian enough,' but i think that in itself is a pretty unique experience worth discussing
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straykats · 2 years
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i want to talk about what i want to write about but i also dont want to confess and immortalise/acknowledge how personal such a piece would be for me
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kifu · 2 years
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One, eh, not problem per say, but ... predicaments? I guess? One of the predicaments I did not forsee about having the Tribes become such a LONG STANDING brain child project is not that my goals have changed. Rather, I simply wish the main character to age with me. I would prefer writing a 30 year-old Kifu than an 11 year-old Kifu.
When I was first building this story and this world, I wanted to be Kifu. So bad. She got to shake the shackles of expectations and live an incredible life. She was awesome. She was strong and eventually very skilled at what she did.
I don’t want to change that about Kifu. I don’t want to change the main events and qualities in her life that I developed throughout my high school years.
But I really don’t want to be her anymore. I’m so glad that I’m not her. Because those main events? They made her bitter. They made her miserable and so depressed and full of anxiety, but - as I’m writing the crack fic - I realize that she can’t see a way out of it. She can’t find a better way of dealing with her traumas. And that’s how she’ll stay as a character. I won’t let her have the same realizations I had the past few years as I transitioned to adulthood. I’ll still let her grow, but she’ll never feel that fulfillment that she yearned so much for as a child.
And it strikes me as something important.
She’s still skilled at things I’ll never be good at. She’ll still have that incredible life. But she will never be able to emotionally cope, and it will slowly smother her.
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very-uncorrect · 9 days
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I wish I had the energy and motivation to write more because it is genuinely my #1 joy in life, I remember a year or 2 ago I was sitting in English class and something just clicked in my brain and I realise that I 100% want to be a professional writer and the amount of joy that washed over me was like nothing else
If callings are a real thing then writing is 100% mine, I just wish I could actually get myself to do it
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profoundwitchsalad · 1 year
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Genuine question, do you have DID? Just regarding the discourse post going around, wanted to know what you actually know about the disorder itself-
very fair question, especially with the context of the situation and the info i added.
i do. experiences differ from person to person, though if any concerns or curiosity arises, please feel free to ask and i'll do my best to respond (or express if i cannot).
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leossmoonn · 4 months
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do u think you could write something for mikey humping the bed while eating out the reader ☺️
18+ under the cut - includes: fem anatomy
not edited so lmk if i made mistakes lol
just thinking about giving you head makes mike hard. thinking about how you respond to his actions, how wet and needy you get for him. he reminisces about your pussy gushing around his fingers as he perfectly hits that spot. he daydreams about how loud you can get if you’re alone while he sucks on clit. sometimes his thoughts of you gets so bad, he needs to excuse himself at work and relieve himself in the bathroom or a closet.
but today he held off. he wanted to get off while eating you out. so when you got home and abby was at vanessa’s, mike practically grabbed you and ran with you to the bedroom. now you’re sprawled out on his bed, chest heaving up and down. one of your hands tugging at his hair and the other hand gripping the sheets next to you. your thighs are enclosed on his face and you’re always afraid you’ll suffocate him, but he has one hand on your thigh, keeping it close, causing the scruff of his facial hair to burn on your skin as he moves his head.
from the moment he pushed his fingers into you and felt how wet you were, he’d be searching for a release. his cock throbs at every little gasp you make. pre cum spurts and wets his briefs as you grab his hair, bucking your hips up and pushing his face further into you. the way you moan his name as his tongue flicks your clit make him moan into your skin.
mike looks up at you, his cock twitching in his underwear. you just look so perfect with your head tilted up, eyes screwed shut and lips parted. there’s a certain glow you get when he eats you out. he can’t help but admire you. without really thinking about it, he starts to rut his hips against his mattress. it’s like his body has a mind of its own, but he doesn’t stop.
it doesn’t take him long to come. he focuses on the sound of your wetness moving around his fingers as he pumps inside of you. your juices are soon seeping out of your folds, dripping along the side of his hand and wetting the bed. you begin to move your hips along his face, essentially riding him as you begin to get close. your moans become erratic and you feel like you can barely breathe.
“mike, don’t stop, don’t stop!” you push him on further. “i’m close. fuck, mike. i’m gonna come.”
his name tumbling out your mouth is the last straw for him. he tries to keep silent and keep focused on pleasuring you, wanting to give you the best experience up until you start to push him away and tell him it’s too much. but if anything, him moaning and groaning makes it all the better for you.
you’ve been feeling the bed move since he’s started. hearing him pant and whimper made you throb around his fingers. butterflies erupt in your stomach as you realize what he was doing. all of it ultimately brings you closer to your release. you like to think that he’s not only eating you out because you like it, but because he loves it so much and it brings him just as much pleasure as it brings you.
your thighs squeeze around his ears one last time and soon you’re pushing him away as it becomes too painful for you to stand anymore stimulation. mike slowly raises his head, the bottom of his face glistening with you. you look down at his waist, seeing the tip of his dick peeking out. there’s cum on the bed and along his stomach.
“s-sorry,” he says, a little embarrassed. he always tried to save himself for fucking you, but he just couldn’t wait this time. you don’t hold it against him. you smile and take him by the hand, wrapping your hand around the nape of his neck. “i thought it was pretty hot,” you whisper into his ear.
he can’t help but blush. “well, everything about you is hot, so i couldn’t help it.”
you grin and kiss his cheek. “maybe next time you eat me out, i can help you at the same time.”
he gulps and nods, eyes widening at the idea. “i’d like that a lot.”
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kalicocoa · 1 year
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Watching Proseka events from JP release/far in the future from EN release, and I’ve gotta say. While I relate a lot to most of this cast, seeing myself in them can be really scary sometimes.
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bloodlust-1 · 3 months
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Would you be okay with writing something with a Tav who is a virgin that is kind of scared of sex but still desires Astarion?
Totally! I imagine Astarion to be completely shocked, but relieved. Why? Tav would never have to experience the sexual abuse he had. Some lovey-dovey Astarion, anyone?
Hope this is good enough anon! <3
˚ ° A purity like yours ° ˚ part 1
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Astarion x fem Tav — fluff, Explicit 18+
Summary: Tav has a secret that’s been heavy on her heart. Her virginity was a topic she ran away from, but it’s time for Astarion to know the truth.
Notes: I LOVE making companions in love, it makes me whelm all up inside🥹 Not exactly smut, but talks of explicit topics. Part 2
Tav sat quietly, her eyes focused on the floor as Astarion licked the last of her blood from his lips. Tav was unusually silent and he wasn't sure what was bothering her so much of lately.
He paused and narrowed his eyes, "You're rather quiet this feeding, my sweet. Is something wrong?"
Tav lifted her head slightly and looked up at Astarion. "I'm just...thinking," she said softly.
To Astarion, Tav was always thinking of lately. Especially when he's done feeding from her. He was confused if maybe he had done anything wrong? Was she having any doubts about their relationship?
Astarion brushed Tav's hair away from her eyes and smiled. "About what?"
Tav looked away again, her brows furrowed in concentration. "Just...us, and our intimacy." She shook her head, pushing away the thoughts. "It doesn't matter. I'm alright."
Astarion cupped Tav's face in his hands and looked into her eyes. "It does matter. Tell me, what's wrong?"
Tav sighed. "I feel so...embarrassed." She mustered any courage to finally look at him, her eyes glistening. "I feel like there should be something more to this. W-When you feed from me, I mean."
Astarion tilted his head confused, "You're embarrassed because you want to do something more?"
Admittingly he was blank. But when Tav opened her mouth his eyes widened in - anticipation. Even his ears pointed up with shock.
Tav didn't know which stung more, the fresh punctures on her neck or her confession.
"I just want to make you feel good and I want to have sex with you but-"
Tav bit down on her lower lip, she could feel the heat running into her eyes as her vision became blurry. "I just don't know how...I've never had sex before."
Tav finally allowed the emotions that had been building up inside her to come pouring out. She felt a deep sense of relief, but at the same time, a wave of shame washed over her. She felt embarrassed for even having to ask Astarion for sex, feeling naive and inexperienced.
At the same time, Tav felt so inadequate when it came to physical intimacy; Astarion was the only one who had any sort of skill in that area. And it made her feel so small.
Astarion's expression softened as he realized what Tav had been hiding from him. "...No -...you?"
Tav wiped away the single tear, nodding.
Astarion felt his face burning as his heart raced and his palms grew sweaty. Tav was absolutely stunning and he had been wondering why she had grown so flustered and shy when her body trembled and begged for him. Now it all made sense.
"But..." Astarion cut himself short in the midst of his thoughts, overwhelmed by the magnitude of her offer.
He was taken aback by her beauty, her inexperience, and her willingness to give him something so special, something so treasured and valuable.
But Astarion felt undeserving - he couldn't help but feel guilty. He knew she deserved much better and that her virginity was too precious to give to someone like him.
He chuckled softly and scratched the side of his head, "I am the worst person for this." Meaningful sex? This was completely foreign to him. How could she even ask him that? Of course, he wanted her more than anything.
He leaned over and with the pad of his thumb, he wiped away Tav's damped cheek, "Now, now, little love." His arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer until she sat on his lap. "You should not feel ashamed of something like this. I mean, look at me."
Astarion's ears lowered in shame as he half smiled, "I can't remember half the people who used my body. I wish I knew a purity like yours." He rested his head on Tav's shoulder, "I'm just relieved you will never feel what I've felt."
Astarion felt protective towards Tav more than ever, he wanted to keep her safe. No harm would come to her as long as he was there to watch over.
Tav threaded her fingers between his white curls, sniffling away the embarrassment, "I want to feel you in every way possible, even if you think you're unworthy." Her lips connected with the skin of his forehead. "You were always special to me, Astarion."
He shifted his head up, catching the glisten in Tav's eyes. She chose him and still continues to each day. "You're full of surprises, aren't you?" He scuffed sarcastically before pulling Tav into a kiss.
His hands gently caressed her spine down into her back dimples. Astarion felt Tav shudder under his hold. She started to breathe heavily into the kiss, "I want you to know how much I love you..." Her eyes locked with his.
"Darling, you don't need to prove yourself with your body." The tension around them went soft and he held tightly onto her body, laying them both down against Tav's bedding.
Astarion cuddled Tav closely against his chest in an embrace. "On a perfect night, when the sky is clear and the environment is forgiving, I will take you into me and make you feel things you've never felt before. Ecstasy, my love."
"What if I don't know what to do?" Tav nervously glanced up at Astarion, who was quietly gazing out into the distance while gently stroking her hair. He was trying to be patient and not pressure her into making any decisions.
He wanted to take her under a bed of stars, and tonight he just wanted to hold her in his arms. Shield her from anything like he wished someone did for him. He would be that somebody he needed so long ago.
"I'll teach you, of course." He reassured her softly, still stroking her hair.
"You're not the only one who would be learning something." He peeked down at Tav, a smile tugging on his lips smugly.
"What, how?
Astarion's hands ran down Tav's side. His touch was gentle yet confident as he moved lower and lower. He whispered sweet nothings in her ear, telling her how beautiful and perfect she was. "I need to learn what gets you hot - "
Astarion smiled slyly as he felt her body react to his touch, knowing that he was driving her wild. His hands moved with a sensual grace as if they had done this many times before. "Where you shiver - "
"Where it hurts - " his hand gripped Tav's ass firmly, making Tav blush and squirm. Astarion continued to fondle Tav's ass, enjoying the feel of it in his hands and the way that the heat from Tav's skin seemed to seep into his own.
He leaned over Tav's ear, whispering teasingly, "Where you would want me to cum. Inside your tight cunt, or outside your soft stomach…"
Tav's body grew hot and her heart raced as Astarion's hand explored her body. She gazed up to look at him, her eyes wide with surprise and pleasure. Astarion smiled and leaned in to kiss Tav, their lips lingering together as he continued to caress Tav's ass. Intertwining their tongues together in a harmonious dance. She felt herself melting into his embrace, her body trembling with pleasure.
After what felt like an eternity, Astarion finally pulled away, and a satisfied smile tugged his lips. Tav blushed deeper, wondering what Astarion was thinking.
He chuckled, leaning in to kiss Tav's cheek. "You're so beautiful," his voice low and husky. Tav felt the aching between her legs, but she smiled, feeling her heart swell with happiness instead.
Sex was a scary thing for Tav. However, Astarion made her feel safe and seen, so maybe it was all in her head. She looked forward to when Astarion would take her as his.
They lay there in each other's arms for a while, their bodies intertwined in a peaceful embrace. Love was more than just sex, and it proved a hell of a point to them both.
Part 2 here
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Any thoughts? Comment 👇🏼 I love to engage!
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akutagowa · 1 year
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bubble bath!
bathing with their s/o headcanons. SFW. NO WARNINGS.
pairings: (seperate) diluc, ayato, xiao, scara, kaveh, mona, itto, pantalone, dottore, & dehya... x gender neutral reader!
a/n: tried to write a few new characters! enjoy!
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Diluc loves bathing with his s/o! If you wash his hair he’ll melt, leaning back into your touch. He loves skinship! As you lay against his chest, he will rest his head on top of yours, allowing his muscular arms to wrap around you protectively. The water is getting cold? No need to get up or move toward the faucet. He puts his pyro vision to good use, warming the water until you think it's right.
Baths with Ayato are a treat! He’s always so busy and overworked that he often doesn't have time to do anything more than a shower. When he finds the time to settle down in the tub with you he does not spare any resources. Scented candles? Check. Dimmed lights? Check. He just wants to lie quietly with you. He won’t ask– but please massage his shoulders you know he’s sore.
The first time you bring it up, Xiao refuses, seeing it as a waste of time. The moment he sees your frown he will cave and MAN is he glad he did. He quickly fell in love with those moments, not that he’d ever admit it. Bath time is a special time reserved for you two only! Liyue has to wait.
How did you manage to get Scaramouche in the bath with you? The first time you ask he feigns annoyance. “There’s not enough space for both of us.” Liar. I headcanon that he’s a little insecure about the ball joints on his body. (Please kiss them.) If you stay in the bath for too long he might doze off on your chest. You’ve created a monster. Heading to bathe alone? He’s wordlessly trailing behind you. Don’t tease him for it or else he’ll stop </3
Kaveh is one of the best people to bathe with. Similarly to Ayato, he sets the mood. Bathe time with his s/o is the best stress reliever for him. “I think someone is ringing the doorbell.” You’d laugh, and he’d respond by mumbling into your neck. “They’ll leave soon.”
Mona starts out the bathe ranting on about her reports as you run conditioner through her hair. She ends the bath by softly snoring on your chest, only waking when you call her name. She’d listen intently as you talk about your day, running a washcloth down your arms. Talking about an argument you had with someone and you're without a doubt in the wrong? Fuck it. I guess you both are because she’s backing you up anyway. “How rude of them?!” She’d say, rinsing your back.
Itto is..not the best to bathe with. For one he’s massive, taking up all the room in even the biggest tubs. No matter how hard he tries he can't stop moving, splashing water onto the floor for you to slip on later. That’s alright! He’ll pay you back with cuddles! If there’s one place you're safe in, it's his arms.
Pantalone’s tub is massive…rich bastard. (I want him.) If you wash his hair then he will wash yours in return, he's all about fair exchange after all. He always has a glass of wine resting on the side of the tub. This is the only time you see him without his glasses, the other being when he sleeps. He prefers the bath to be quiet and peaceful, so peaceful he might bring a book for the both of you to read. Despite his greed, his favourite things are simple moments like these.
If you plan to bathe with Dottore then you might wanna take a light shower first. There’s no telling what weird lab stuff is on him. Because of his smarts and status as a harbinger, I feel like he’s always listened to, but never heard yknow? Massage his neck and let him ramble about his experiments. Be proud of him, please. The more interest you show in his mad science rambles the happier he’ll be, even if it's hard to see it.
Dehya is playful in the bath, scooping bubbles onto your head when you aren’t looking, slowly making a tower of them. She’s the big spoon in the bath, leaning in to give you kisses on the cheek. Her hair is so long, it takes forever to get the soap out. If only she had some help….
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toshidou · 1 year
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lighthouse for a lost comrade . . .
Pairing // Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader
Word count // 4.9k
Tags // 18+ ONLY, AFAB reader, soft simon riley, written from simon's perspective, mild descriptions of injury and blood, hurt and comfort, aka simon finally allows himself to be looked after <3, he is a big boy with a heart that yearns to be loved you cannot convince me otherwise, the softest of smut, praise, you accidentally give ghost a 'sir' kink, reader calls ghost sir a couple of times because they're hot like that, unprotected sex (tut tut), creampie, a whole lot of swearing
AN // i love this man a ridiculous amount, so me writing nearly 5k about how much i love him was inevitable
AO3 link here
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Simon Riley is not a man who cares about his own health. In fact, his wellbeing never has, and never will be a priority to him. He has work to do, gruelling, gritty, gruesome work, it is beyond pointless wasting time even thinking about when he last had more than 3 hours sleep, or how long it’s been since he consumed anything other than cold military rations. In his defence, he’s never really had a reason to give a shit, he sees the hourglass whenever he allows himself to close his eyes; watches the sand slip rapidly through the cracks, counting down until his inevitable, most likely painful death. He’s living life on a timer, and he’s never had a reason to change that.
Until he met you.
You were a wide-eyed rookie, Laswell bringing you into the fold as a technician, a skilled hacker and mechanic who despite your innocent doe eyes, held lethal talents. He remembers so vividly, the way your head had cocked to the side as Laswell introduced you to the peculiar members of task force 141, remembers the way your eyes stopped on him. You showed not a single ounce of fear or hesitance, just pure unbridled curiosity. That same curiosity led you to asking him far too many questions, relentlessly prying to see more of the man behind the mask, to see Simon Riley, rather than ‘Ghost’. It should have pissed him off, he should have reprimanded you for your callousness towards your Lieutenant, but somehow you knew exactly which questions to ask, knew exactly when to stop and move on to other subjects.
Contrary to popular belief, Simon doesn’t hide his past, doesn’t try to use it to fuel the mysterious and mythical reputation he’s unwittingly built. It’s just that no one ever asks. Maybe it’s something about the skull mask, or the egregiously high kill count he sits so casually on top of that has people wary of ever approaching him. But you—you had no hesitation. You read him like a goddamn book every single time, and it simultaneously terrified and relieved him.
One glance and every secret he shoved behind his balaclava is left bare before you, leaving him with a vulnerable, gaping wound in the shape of a lifetime of trauma and tales that Simon knows no person should ever have to experience. And yet, your eyes hold not an ounce of pity, no awkward silences attempting to be alleviated with an awkward pat on the back and a “that sounds rough, buddy”. You see his past, his pain, his suffering, his bad habits, without him ever having to explicitly say anything. And in return, you say nothing. You don’t try and mollify him about circumstances he’s moved on from long ago, you make no effort to coddle him, to sit him down and patronisingly ask him if he’s doing well, or when the last time he slept was.
Instead, you leave him cutely packaged leftovers on his doorstep, easy meals he can throw in the microwave when he’s too tired to even comprehend making food. You buy him a multitude of jigsaws and puzzles for when sleep evades him as it so often does. You never once try to change him, never force yourself into his life just so you can claim that you’re some selfless martyr. To Simon Riley, you are nothing short of a blessing, and falling in love with you was quite frankly the easiest thing he’s ever done.
He takes off the mask for the first time when neither of you were prepared, nor expecting it. The mission had been so fucking rough, camped out in the middle of nowhere on the hunt for someone he was sure had long since gone. Weeks spent trudging through thick mud, swimming upriver, tracking footprints that led nowhere, steered them to no one. His bone-deep exhaustion finally caught up with him after being shot in the leg and falling nearly 75 metres off of a cliff, plunging into the water below. Price had insisted he go straight to the medic tent back at basecamp, but then simply sighed and shook his head, resigned, as he watched Simon limp off the chopper, and in the exact opposite direction.
To most, this would be the latest example of Simon Riley once again disregarding his health for the sake of keeping up the stoic, strong mask he never let slip. Yet this time, Simon Riley was not disregarding his health, he was, for maybe the first time, trying to preserve what little of it he had left. His leg was near numb by the time he made it to your tent, his foggy mind quickly soothed by the sound of you humming along to the radio, accompanied by the rapid clicking of keys as you worked on some coding. It takes him hissing in discomfort as he attempts to remove his military boots for you to turn around, eyes going impossibly wide as you watch an alarmingly large pool of red grow at his feet.
“Jesus Christ Ghost, are you trying to redecorate my floor?” He kept his mouth shut, using the last dregs of his energy to keep his gaze pinned on you, dark brown irises following your every move as you usher him into the chair you occupied merely seconds before, gingerly hovering your hands over the drenched material that clings to his thigh, soaked in blood and water.
“I’m going to cut the material above the wound, okay? I need to see what I’m working with here.” Your eyes connect with his unwavering gaze, translating his silence into a language that has taken you an eerily short period of time to become fluent in. He watches you nod to yourself, can pinpoint the cogs turning in your mind, can practically see you write the list of how best to deal with this situation as you unpack your first aid kit. Somehow, despite his leg stinging like a bitch, despite how utterly worn he feels, so raw and rough around the edges, he feels at peace.
Price may think he was a stupid bastard for not seeing one of their trained medics, but Simon knows without a doubt that you will always be the best thing for him, you will always be the first port of call, the lighthouse that guides him oh so safely to shore, to home. Even when your stitches are a little uneven, even when you dab a little too much alcohol disinfectant onto his wound, even when you wince every time the muscle in his leg twitches involuntarily, he watches you pour every ounce of care and tenderness into every touch, watches you take care of him in a way no one else ever could, not that he’d let them.
You’re finishing off wrapping up the wound on his thigh when Simon realises he doesn’t want this moment to be over. He selfishly craves more of your delicate, gentle care, unsure if he could ever have this again after tonight, if he deserved it.
So, he waits. He waits for you to lean back on your haunches, bending back to check your handiwork with a satisfied smile tugging at your pretty lips. He waits for your eyes to drift to his, as they so often do, and then he speaks.
“I uh, I got hurt here too,” The words grate against his throat like sandpaper, rough and unsure as he lifts his hand to prod at his cheek, “think I hit a rock in the water after falling.” You stand immediately, eyebrows furrowed together as your fingers gently brush the small rip in his mask.
“I can’t see much with this in the way, Ghost, though I think you’ll live.”
Simon couldn't pinpoint exactly what had his fingers hooking under his mask, couldn’t single it down to any particular moment or word that had him pulling the black material over his chin, and up past his nose, he just knew it felt right. All he focused on was the way your lips fell agape, how your hands lifted automatically towards his wrists, whether to stop them or encourage them further he didn’t know, but he sure as fuck clocked the slight tilt to your head, taking him immediately back to when you first laid eyes on him.
You were looking at Simon in a way he can’t say he’s ever experienced. Like a complicated mixture of guilt and awe. But he feels no fear, no regret as he throws the skull balaclava unceremoniously onto the floor, and directly into the pool of blood he’d left by the door.
“Should be a little easier to see now, don’t you think?”
All he gets in return is a small huff of a laugh, the ghost of your breath fanning across his exposed face, he swears he’s never felt anything as sweet. That is until your hand comes to cup his face, shudders erupting down his spine when the pads of your impossibly soft fingers brush just under the superficial cut on his cheek.
“I don’t know Si, I think we might have to amputate.” You murmur, an overly dramatic lilt to your voice as you pretend to further examine the ‘wound’. And Jesus fucking Christ, if he isn’t so impossibly, incredibly fond of you.
“That bad, huh doc?” He leans forward, just enough to catch the way your pupils dilate, the slight hitch to your usually even breath, “Are you sure there’s nothing you can do to save it? I’m particularly fond of that cheek.” He drinks in the soft hum you give in response, watches you with rapt attention as you lean further forward, and nearly passes the fuck out when you press your lips to his upper cheekbone, because what the fuck.
Before this, Simon Riley could say with absolute certainty that he’d never once blushed in his life, but now? He could feel the blood rushing to his face, knowing without a doubt that you could feel the heat radiating from where your fingers and lips remain connected to his skin. His wide eyes, blackened around the sockets from a mixture of paint and week-long exhaustion, remain firmly fixed on you, hardly hesitating before he secures your hand against his face the second he feels you pulling away.
There are no words exchanged, nothing but shallow breaths and searching eyes before Simon allows himself to be selfish just this once and pulls you onto his uninjured thigh, guiding you to sit with his other hand, fingers digging ever so slightly into the meat of your hip. And now he has you here, right where he’s always wanted you, there’s not a chance in hell he’s ever letting you go.
“Please kiss me, Simon.”
As if he could ever say no to you.
“Since you asked so nicely.”
He removes his hand from your wrist, dragging his scarred knuckles as delicately as he possibly can across your cheek, fanning out his fingers around the side of your face, using the leverage to guide you impossibly closer. He allows himself one last look, tracing his gaze from your lidded eyes to your lips before he lets his eyelids fall shut, and loses himself in you. Loses every ounce of tension and exhaustion under the ministrations of your fingers as they tangle into his hair, and finally, fucking finally, he feels his once cold, dead heart thrum to life as you sigh contentedly against his lips. Kiss of life in-fucking-deed.
He's lost in every inch of you, can’t get over how soft and warm the plush of your waist is under his fingers, how responsive you are when he slides his hand ever so slightly under your oversized t-shirt. He wants more, he needs more, can’t help himself as he moves his kisses from your lips, down your jaw, until he reaches the base of your throat, sucking deep purple bruises into your supple skin.
“You taste like heaven,” He’s all too aware of how raspy his voice has become, desire only deepening his tone further as he drags his lips back up the expanse of your throat, a deep groan pulled from his throat when he feels you shift on his lap, highlighting the growing pressure of his cock straining against his pants. “Driving me fuckin’ wild already. Look what you’ve done to me, gorgeous.” His fingers come to curl under your jaw, directing your gaze down to the prominent tenting of his trousers, ensuring his eyes don’t dare drift away from your face as he watches you take in the view before you.
“Mine.”
The noise Simon makes in response is nothing short of primal, it wasn’t a sound he was even aware he could make, near guttural, but of course you would be the one to pull it out of him.
“That’s right baby, all yours, fucking hell,” he’s powerless to stop his eyes squeezing shut when he feels your fingers curl around his clothed cock, mustering every ounce of strength he has left not to cum in his pants there and then, because he’ll be fucking damned if he lets anything get in the way of giving you the pleasure you deserve.
“Come on Si, look at me.” He takes a deep, shuddering breath before he finally opens his eyes again, instantly zeroing in on your fingers as they begin to unfasten his pants, before flicking back up to meet your gaze, “Is this okay?”, your voice tentative.
“More than okay, Jesus,” Simon wastes little time after that, hands sliding under your shirt and shifting further up your torso, muscles freezing when his hand contacts nothing but bare skin, grazing the flesh of your breasts.
“No bra? Lucky me.” You laugh, arching your back further into his touch.
“More like lucky me, those things are basically torture devices, Simon, I’d like to see you try and work with metal wire and straps digging into your boobs and back,” He grins, pinching one of your nipples between two of his calloused fingers and revelling in the way your smirk twists into a moan, hips twitching against the rough material of his cargo pants.
“I think it’s about time you took these off,” He mutters, one hand dropping to thumb under the waistband of your sweatpants, “Can’t tell you the number of times I’ve thought about how pretty you’d look getting yourself off on my lap.” Apparently, Simon doesn’t need to say anymore, watching with intense eyes as you pull away from his grip, and begin undressing. Your top joins his mask on the floor, soon followed by your pants and underwear until you’re stood in all your naked glory, mere inches away from him. Simon must be the luckiest son of a bitch on this entire fucking planet.
He takes advantage of your absence by lifting his hips, cocking an eyebrow at you as he gestures towards his trousers, “Give an injured soldier a hand, would you doll?” Truthfully, Simon knows he would have no issues removing them himself, but why would he do that when he can have this instead? When he can have your body pressed in between his thighs, your deft hands undoing his buttons and sliding the material of his military pants slowly over his wrapped-up leg, when he can watch your eyes drink in every inch of new skin revealed with barely contained desire. No, he would much rather have this, especially when your dainty hands peel away his boxers, leaving him only in his top and vest plate.
“Simon…” You whine, your lips so perfectly pouted, a cute little furrow between your brows as you pull and tug at various parts of his vest, “help me take this shit off. It’s not fair that I’m the only one naked here.” He hums, schools his face to show careful contemplation, reaching up a hand to rest on your bare upper thigh.
“What’s the magic word, sweetheart?”
“Please, sir.”
Well fuck. That awakened something within him.
With military precision, he unsecured the armoured vest from his body, wasting no time in pulling his shirt over his head, joining the now large pile of clothes left scattered across the floor of your tent. For a brief second, Simon feels so incredibly vulnerable under your intense gaze, wondering if maybe this is how people feel when he fixes his stare upon them, bare and defenceless. But then you lower yourself back into his lap, settling across both his legs with such gentle care, wrapping both your arms around the back of his head and pinning him with a look he thinks most likely reflects his own.
“You’re so beautiful, Simon,” It’s almost too much, the sincerity in your voice mixed with the way the words were uttered so softly into the air, as though they were a secret only to be shared between the two of you.
“I’m nothing compared to you.” You shake your head, smiling, leaning forward until your nose brushes his.
“Just take the compliment, Lieutenant.” He tries his best not to shiver as he feels your hand trace down his spine, instead shifts his focus onto how close your lips are to his, or the quiet noise you make in the back of your throat as his hands come to grip the meat of your thighs.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Something in the air changes, as though the collective patience between the two of you could stretch no further, so taut it had no choice but to snap. His lips crash into yours, desperation surging through Simon’s veins like wildfire. Fuck, what are you doing to him?
“Can I touch you?” he mumbles against your lips, large hands aching from where they rest, yearning the feeling of your wet heat against his fingertips.
“God, yes, please.”
With newfound strength, he lifts you from his lap and twists you until your back is flush to his chest, uncaring of the twinge of pain he feels from his leg as he settles you fully on his lap. Now, Simon has full access to every inch of your perfect body, nuzzling his face into the side of your neck as he litters the skin with open mouthed kisses, humming contentedly at the way you arch into his hands as he cups your breasts with both hands, fingers toying with your nipples until they’re perked and firm under his touch.
“No teasing, please,” Your pleading breaks him from a momentary stupor, bringing his head up to watch as you place one of your hands over his, guiding it further down, sweeping over your sternum, past your belly button, until his palm rests over your cunt, “I need you here, Simon.”
Fucking hell.
He couldn't find the words, couldn’t articulate them even if he had any. So, instead of speaking, he presses his hand over the curve of your cunt, groans when he feels just how hot and wet you are, all for him.
“Mine.” He repeats your words from earlier into the shell of your ear, a smirk stretching onto his lips at the full body shiver you give in response, growing near predatory when he feels your pussy twitch under his hand. God, how the fuck are you so wet? His fingers glide over your folds with ease, teasing your clit on every upwards swipe of his fingers, and when he finally dips his index finger into your cunt, he’s rewarded with the sweetest symphony. Breathy whines and whispered pleas of “more”, “deeper, Simon, please”, every request he happily indulges, now curling two fingers against your velvet walls, searching for the spot he knows will have you keening against his body. It takes a shift of his palm, the angle changing just enough to have you choking on a gasp, his other hand remains fixed to your breasts, pushing your chest down until you’re pinned against his body.
“Atta girl, feels good huh?” He slips a third digit in, cursing under his breath as he feels your pussy clamp down, twitching helplessly around his fingers as they continue to stroke relentlessly at your g-spot, “Gonna need you to cum at least once on my fingers before I give you anything else, baby.” He dares to steal a glance at your face, and is met with closed eyes, your mouth agape, and head thrown back onto his shoulder, you’re nothing short of a masterpiece. Your hands desperately grip onto his arms, nails digging sweet red crescents into Simon’s inked skin, as though the hold you have on him is the only thing keeping you grounded, and he feels positively fucking drunk on it.
You’re close, that much he can tell, and as much as he could absolutely keep you like this on his lap for another good few hours, he takes pity on your furrowed eyebrows and soft whimpers, removing his hand from your chest and placing his thumb into your open mouth. He doesn’t even need to instruct you as you close your lips around his digit and suck, your tongue eagerly lapping at the rough pad of his finger. He doesn’t have the strength to leave it there for much longer, overly aware of the way his cock desperately twitches from where it’s trapped between your bodies, instead focusing on the way you react the second his spit slicked thumb begins to rub tight circles around your clit.
“Si-, fuck, Simon ‘m close, so close, wanna cum,” There was never any other option for him than to watch you fall apart on his lap, but if he somehow needed further encouragement, “Please Sir, please make me cum.” It would be entirely impossible for him to stop the moan your words drag from his throat, to think of anything other than giving you your release. It’s obvious when your orgasm hits, having to stop toying with your now engorged clit to instead pin your hips down, worried there was a chance you might fall to the side if he didn’t keep you grounded.
“Good girl, such a good fucking girl, made such a mess of my fingers baby,” Simon hums against the side of your head, slowing his ministrations until he’s lazily fingering your still spasming pussy, drawing out the sweet sounds of post-orgasm sensitivity from your spit-shining lips. He waits until you finally regain some form of lucidity, waits until your neck straightens, no longer lolled against his collarbone to finally withdraw his fingers, soothing your whines at his absence with kisses to your jaw. But he makes sure your eyes are locked with his when he brings his fingers to his own lips, ensures you’re watching with nothing less than rapt attention as he cleans every drop of your arousal from his skin.
“Taste fuckin’ divine, princess.” Your head tips forward into your hands with a groan, and Simon couldn’t hide his pleased grin even if he tried.
“You’re not allowed to be this hot,” Your words muffled into your palm, the Ghost’s heart rate spiking when you looked at him shyly through your fingers, affection surging through his bloodstream like a shot of pure adrenaline. “Especially when I can feel your cock pressed against my ass.” As if he needed the reminder, as if that singular thought hasn’t been plaguing him for the past 10 minutes.
“And what exactly are you going to do about that, darling?”
His words were meant to make you shy, were said to watch those sweet eyes of yours widen. Except, Simon realises, he must have awoken something within you, something bold, something utterly fucking debauched, because instead of shying away, you lock your eyes with his, rising to the challenge he set. You stand up, turn yourself around, climb back onto his lap and sink down onto his cock in one fluid motion.
“Fucking-, shit, what the fuck,”
“I think that works for both of us, right, Simon?” You need to stop, or you at least need to give him some time to adjust to whatever the fuck it is you’re doing right now. He can tell you’re far from unaffected, however. The slight quiver to your voice, and the way the slick walls of your pussy clench greedily around him show at least that much. And yet, you’re pinning him with a fierce gaze, your fingers forming an iron grip on loose brown hair at the base of his skull, using him as leverage to grind your hips in circular motions. “Let me take care of you, handsome.” His response cut off by a groan as you begin to fuck yourself on his cock, his eyes frantically flicking from where your cunt swallows every inch of his shaft, back up to your heavy-lidded gaze, locked onto his as you effortlessly ride his cock.
So instead of trying to take the lead, to lift his hips to meet yours, for the first time ever, Simon Riley does as he’s told. He allows you to control the pace, lets you direct his hands to your waist, but doesn’t use it as a point of control. Instead he caresses your skin with rough fingers. He lets you take care of him. And God, does it feel good.
He lets his head fall back, lets his eyes slip closed, and allows himself to just exist in this moment with you. A luxury he hasn’t been able to afford for far too long. Instead, he focuses on the sounds dissipating into the air around your joined bodies, the soft pants and moans that spill from both his mouth and yours, the rhythmic slap of skin on skin combined with the slick noise of his cock fucking into your heat, and if he focuses hard enough, he swears he can hear the rapid beating of your heart where your chest is pressed flush to his.
“C’mon Simon, baby, look at me.” It takes an embarrassing amount of energy for Simon to lift his neck up, refocusing his gaze onto you, “You’re doing so well, letting me look after you like this.” And fuck, he doesn’t want to cry, can’t remember the last time he allowed himself the comfort of crying, but he feels so unequivocally safe around you. Still, the time for tears will come later, right now, Simon wants nothing more than to feel you lose yourself on his cock. He secures his hands on your ass, and stands, ignoring your surprised cries and worried scolding, and walks as best he can towards the mattress near your desk. He doesn’t want to admit that lowering you both down onto the cheap material nearly left him breathless, and he definitely won’t admit that you were right, he didn’t have the strength to do that. But now that he has you lying on top of him, cock still buried deep inside of you, he knows the pain was more than worth it. Because in this position, he can ground his feet into the mattress and focus on fucking you like you deserve.
He ignores the sting of pain in his thigh, no doubt ruining some of the stitching you had done earlier, but he couldn’t give less of a shit. Not when you’re mewling into his chest, nails scratching long, thin pink lines down the expanse of his chest as he fucks his hips ruthlessly up to meet yours. He knows he won’t last much longer, you feel too fucking good, and he has no strength to hold back, praying that you’re as close as he is as he snakes one hand down to toy with your clit once again. Relief washing over him when he feels your cunt clench like a vice around his length, allows himself one, two more thrusts of his hips before he finally reaches his peak, cock twitching like a heartbeat from where it’s buried within you, not moving until the last weak spurts of cum finish painting your cervix white.
“Fucking hell,” with his energy long since depleted, his body slumps into the mattress below, dragging you down with him, his arms still wrapped securely around your form.
“That good, huh?” You grin up at him, eyes glinting in the low light. You look positively stunning.
“You know it, sweetheart,” Simon pauses, looks down at where you’re still sprawled against his chest, and silently thanks the motherfucker who decided to shoot him in the first place, he’s not sure if he would have ever gathered the strength to have you like this, in the way he always craved. “C’mere, I want cuddles.” He grunts, choosing to ignore the surprised laugh you give in response, says nothing at your incessant teasing and light threats to tell Soap that “oh my god, Ghost likes cuddles”.
He does none of that, instead, he holds you close, stares up at the ceiling as you bury your face into his neck, whispering sweet confessions into his skin, words he soaks up and saves for a rainy day. Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley has never been a man to care about his own health, even now he still sees that damn hourglass, unsure of how much sand remains. But now he has a reason to change that.
Now, he has you.
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11K notes · View notes
eelnoise · 16 days
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random sex headcanons! (nsfw)
had some thoughts during my workout today, so i figured i'd write them out as a break from the endless wips in my docs. :) zoro, sanji, usopp(!), and law x afab reader tagging: @bby-deerling @kaizokuniichan @throwmethroughawindow (hello soppers)
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Zoro
Prefers a position where he can see your face.
He wants to watch you squirm under his touch, wants to see your expression twisting with ecstasy each time his cock slides against your walls.
Big on touch. His hands will glide along your body, squeezing at any flesh he can get his fingers around, but has a slight preference for grabbing your thighs - not only because he's a thigh guy, but because they're your thighs. Also helps him manhandle you into deeper positions.
Has two modes - rough and nasty, or gentle and loving. The first is more of a stress-reliever, or for a quickie in the training room before a meal, but its raw and real and even between his forceful strokes he's praising you, telling you how good you are, how good you feel, that you take him so well, or that you're made for his cock and his alone.
But if he's in his feels about you, he prefers it slow and steady. Missionary, lotus, cowgirl, whatever it is, Zoro finds great joy in watching you enjoy yourself. He'll hold your cheek in his palm and if you nuzzle into his touch you may be rewarded with a long, passionate series of kisses and words of love between each one. He tells you that you make him happy, that you're perfect and beautiful, how he's so lucky that you put up with him, and how much he loves you.
Sanji
Also a big face watcher, just the sight of you moaning and mewling for him is enough to make the coil of delirium unravel. 
Takes a while for him to stop finishing so quickly (he loves you!), but he gets that iron will eventually - and will use it to make you into a panting, tired, sweaty mess. 
Super switchy. Sanji will always lovingly top you, but loves being the bottom. Ride him, peg him, and gently tease him all you want - just treat him like the sweet prince that he is and be affectionate. Show him that you love him, take it into your own hands and watch him melt into you. 
Really likes seeing you dressed up, just to dress you down later. Kisses your neck and coos in your ear about how lovely you look while he unzips your dress before sliding it down your shoulders and into a heap of fabric on the floor. Undresses you with a fire in his veins, taking his time to caress every inch of flesh available to him, kissing down your body while taking off each piece of remaining clothing that lies his way. 
A pussy eating king. Sanji knows taste, and will bury his nose as deep into you as he can, licking and slurping up your juices like it's his last meal. He kisses it often, usually murmuring something in his native tongue against your folds and making you shiver from the timbre of his voice. 
Usopp
The sweet boy is so shy. Takes him a few tries before he can even look you in the eye (he’ll cum too quick :( !) during. So at first he takes you mostly from behind. 
His hands love digging into the plush of your ass, though. Gets really hypnotized by the way it bounces back onto his cock and tends to lose himself in the moment and - wanting to see it move faster - absent-mindedly picks up the pace to slam into you with harder and harder strokes. 
Once he opens up a bit, you find that he's really fun in bed. He makes love to you like you're the last thing he'll ever touch, but will switch it up on the fly and rail you until tears of overstimulation peck at your tear ducts. Folds you around as he wishes, trying every angle, every position that he can wiggle the both of you into - and every time you're happy to let him experiment. 
Call him Captain Usopp mid-sex and its over for you. Something emerges from him that makes him go feral. Grabs your hair or your arms and fucks you faster and harder than he can realize himself. Very dominant this way too - demands you say it again, or to keep calling him by the name. Assaults your neck and back with kisses and bites, hungrier than ever to mark you up as Captain Usopp's girl.
Always makes sure to show his feelings for you through touch and praise, but always says “I love you!” right as he cums. 
Law
Usually has no preference on positions. Law will fuck you in any way you want. Though is apt to end up telling you how he wants to take you regardless, urging you onto your hands and knees, pressing you against a wall, or bending you over his desk. 
Great with his fingers. Coaxes several orgasms from you before even considering putting his cock in you. Long, lithe digits scissor in and out of your entrance, spurring you magnificently over the edge over and over again. Loves to shove his fingers into your mouth afterward, and can barely keep his focus when you clean your slick from them. 
Absolutely gets pussy drunk. His cock twitches wildly in response to your walls clenching around him, making his head spin with want and desire. Leans back to watch himself disappear deep inside of you again and again, mesmerized by the way your pussy grips him and how wet and warm and tight you are. 
Plays into your sensitivities. If you have sensitive nipples or breasts, his mouth is on them, sucking and licking and nibbling in ways that have you crying out for more. Sensitive clit? Law is rubbing it in slow, agonizingly sweet circles as he thrusts into you, bringing you just to the edge of reality but not over it just yet. 
Very weak for affection, especially during intimacy. Hold his hand and hear him whine before grabbing you tighter and fucking you harder, but kiss him and watch his brain fray into blissful petals of pure devotion. Has been known to stop all together to just lock his lips to yours for a while. 
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randomshyperson · 5 months
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Sanctify - Cult Leader!Wanda Maximoff x Reader - Kinktober #06
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Summary: After your worst semester at NYU, your Aunt Agatha convinces you to join the Children of Chaos as an alternative, and very expensive form of therapy. Leaving the cult becomes a very difficult task when you develop an unexpected affection for their leader.
Warnings: (+18), dom!wanda and brat!reader, rough smut, face-fucking, power dynamics, brat taming (ish), praising, lots of tension and teasing, definitely blasphemous on some levels, a lot of plot, mentions of past toxic relationship, unspecified age gap.  | Words: 7.900k
A/N-> I’ve been dying to write something about Cult Leader Wanda since I watched the second season of Yellowjackets and became obsessed with Lottie Matthews, so while writing this, I was picturing Lottie’s cult to be fair. I also like how I ended this, as it makes it possible to turn it into a series. Good reading!
General Masterlist | Kinktober Collection | AO3 | Wattpad
-&-
Although the movement of the car brought a gentle breeze through the window, the weather was hot enough to actually make thinking painful.  In an attempt to relieve the temperature a little, and perhaps escape Aunt Aggie's provocative reminiscences about the long journey and the events that made this trip necessary in the first place, you put your arm on the door, and propped your chin up, your face on the safety edge outside the window.
New York had been out of sight for hours and had given way to countless trees and a plantation further and further away. You figured it wouldn't take long for the radio signal to stop working, but to your pleasant surprise, the soft melody of cassette tapes hidden in the glove compartment by Nicholas were picked up once that happened.
Your cousin had grown up over the summer - His still youthful appearance now featured neatly cut curly hair and reading glasses that he often hung on the collar of his shirt. When younger, it was common to hear how much he resembled Sir. Scratch, his scumbag father in the words of Agatha and the other adults, not yours - but over time, he looked much more like his mother.
Nick met your gaze through the rearview mirror and gave you an assuring smile. You didn't reciprocate, but not because you were upset. Just because you were distracted by the huge sign coming around the next corner. 
"Oh, boy, I've missed this place." Agatha commented with a nostalgic sigh, as soon as she noticed the entrance plaque. She slowed down enough that the wind wasn't enough anymore, so you returned to your original position with a low snort.
"There's still time to turn around." You muttered, getting a warning look from the older woman.
She leaned over, without answering you, to grab something from the open glove compartment. You pushed your hair back as a pamphlet was dropped into your lap.
"I know you hated the idea, but you need to trust your elders for once in your life, darling." Agatha began, as you grimaced at the crumpled paper. The title Children of Chaos was painted in red, but it was faded in several places. "The 70s were the apex for this place, I had a lot of fun here. It's such a unique experience, connecting with nature and the chaos that is part of us all."
Nick chuckled through his nose. "Mom, don't start your witch thing again, you'll scare her." Mocked your cousin from the passenger seat, but Agatha waved him off.
"She'll thank me when she gets there, I'm sure." 
But you didn't do that. When the car finally came to a stop, and what looked more like a fancy farm merged with the forest took over your vision, all you did was crumple the Immersive Community pamphlet into your pocket and throw your old backpack over your shoulder.
Aunt Aggie and your cousin hugged you tightly, saying they were going to write, but they couldn't get past the reception desk since they weren’t part of the program. You saw Agatha take your mom’s borrowed credit card out of her purse to start your so-called treatment, and the last goodbyes left your tongue before one of the tutors started the tour of the place.
In between presenting a large number of different huts that served as dormitories and classrooms for the most diverse activities - painting, handicrafts or poetry were the ones you memorized - Mr. Emil Blonsky also took the time to welcome you, emphasizing how incredible the community was and how lucky anyone was to be there. You bit your tongue to keep from telling him that only those with money could.
Finally, Blonsky showed you the stables and greenhouses on the edge of the property, and on the way back to the rest of the huts, you noticed the path up the hill.
"And what's up there?" 
The man stopped walking with a small smile. He was wearing clothes very similar to those of the other people you'd seen on the tour, the difference being a golden necklace with a strange symbol that was hidden by the movement of his loosely buttoned shirt.
"We must not go up there without permission." He begins, although he's smiling, there's something in his gaze that says this rule cannot be disrespected. " The Prophetess' Retreat is a sacred place of peace and reflection." 
You look back at the hut at the bottom of the mountain, far enough away that you can't make out the decorations on the balcony, but still beautiful and quiet, high enough to make it look like the prophet had her own little piece of heaven.
"So, no bothering the boss without asking? Got it." You retort, getting a chuckle from the other at the summary. He starts walking again along the path towards the general area, but you can't help the curiosity burning in your chest. "About this prophet, will she be isolated up there or will I get a chance to meet her?"
Blonsky walks up beside you, and looks you in the eye to say; "You'll meet her when it's time to meet her, not early and not late."
You don't know what to say to that, everything here is so theatrical in a way. Mystical, you might say. It suits Aunt Aggie so well, that it's not hard to imagine her here, dancing to the midnight moon and talking to the trees. She already does that in New York, it should have been much simpler in the middle of the forest.
"Come, child. You must start the cleaning process soon." Announces the man as he picks up the pace on the trail. With a sigh, you decide not to contradict him by saying that you bathed before coming, thank you. 
It was soon revealed that the cleansing process really meant a bath - the colleagues around you who helped you laughed when you joked that it was a strange way of saying that someone stinks, before clarifying that it was nothing of the sort. The Cleansing Process was a bath of salts and herbs, in a tub of stones and some kind of botanical baptism, the latter of which only members who had completed thirteen full moons could take part in. You would be invited to the baptism with the prophet's blessing, but there was still a long way to go.
Blonsky handed your uniforms, and explained the last rules before leaving you alone, or almost, since your hut was shared with six other people, and despite this, it seemed very comfortable and organized. There were bunk beds and private bathroom spaces, and at least three spacious shelves for each. The latter wouldn't be of much use to you, since you'd brought almost nothing and the vast majority of your belongings had been left at NYU. Just thinking about that place gave you a terrible stomach ache: You would have skipped dinner, but the mere suggestion of not attending made one of your colleagues frown in concern and repeat the rules, so you ended up giving that up.
The routine that followed was calm: it didn't surprise you that the new members were responsible for the hardest tasks, and it didn't bother you either. You were never afraid of hard work, and keeping your hands busy also helped to calm your mind, so it was a win-win. Besides, even if you didn't get the jobs nobody wanted, all veterans had chores. There was some rule about the amount of service time and dedication being rewarded, so those senior members could choose what they wanted to do first. 
You didn't have to worry about this anyway: you would do what you had to do because, after all, the agreement was to stay here only for the summer. However, with each passing day away from exams, traffic, and New York's typical filth, it became harder to imagine leaving the Children of Chaos and their strange harmony and kindness.
After three weeks in the group, you learned to knit. You also earned the privilege of mail when you showed up for all your appointments without delay and decided to check the items in the privacy of your cabin during the last hour of prayer.
Since you hadn't yet found your faith or received your calling or whatever weird way Blonsky explained this, you barely joined in the prayer sessions. This evening, excited to receive news from home, was no different.
Aunt Aggie wrote about the store doing well and mentioned your mother, who didn't write to you with more than vague words about hoping you'd feel better soon. The best present was hidden in Nicholas' letter about the university being a sack without his favorite cousin. Wrapped in silk and next to a lighter.
You haven't earned the right to write outside yet - something about a month in isolation to accomplish. So you just clutched the items to your chest and wished your cousin knew how grateful you were.
Your initial intention was to save the weed for some more stressful day - which was rare in the leisurely pace of this place - but the last letter made you consider using it all that night.
The recipient's perfect handwriting, and the address you knew by heart. You didn't even open the item, you put it away in your drawer and stood up with the weed hidden in your pants pocket.
The common area was empty, as the vast majority of your colleagues were praying. You stepped up to one of the bonfires and threw the unopened letter into the flames, without hesitation and without caring to see it burn. You turned on your heels and continued along the trail, heading for one of the few more secluded spots you had discovered during the hours of exploring between tasks.
The rules were clear about the prophet's hut but said nothing about the road towards it. And since apparently everyone there was afraid of upsetting the boss, that spot was always empty and the perfect place to smoke in hiding.
You leaned against a tree, curled up and lit the weed, and tried to keep away all the painful memories about last semester that the damn letter had brought up.
You were halfway through a joint when you heard a voice at the end of the trail next to you.
"Good evening, Y/N."
"Jesus fucking Christ." You gasped, jumping with fright and almost dropping the blunt to the ground. You looked sideways abruptly, imagining that you were hallucinating because of the weed, and were almost sure that you were when the words escaped you due to the apparition in front of you. The most beautiful woman you've ever seen in your life. Instead of a uniform, she wore a loose dark wine dress that hugged her curves perfectly; her long red hair cascaded down her shoulders and back and her emerald eyes shone curiously in your direction. The dim light from the fire lamps scattered along the trail and the moon really made the woman look like an angel. 
You coughed awkwardly. "Sorry, you scared me." You clarified, the cigarette hidden behind your back a stupid attempt to mask what you were doing. Sure enough, your pupils were dilated, and it was very easy to see the smoke. So, as soon as you tried to hide it, you gave up, offering the woman an awkward chuckle and gesturing the cigarette gently. "Don't tell on me."
There was a soft pause, which you couldn't tell from the intoxication in your system. The woman watched for a moment as the charming gesture of bringing the cigarette to the smile formed on your lips and blew the smoke into the starry sky with your neck slightly stretched. Your mind seemed to clear, and before the woman could speak, you grimaced. "Wait, didn't you just say my name? How..?"
She smiled, folding her hands in front of her body. "It was premeditated that we met today, of course. I'm Wanda."
You've heard her name before, in conversation circles and in advertisements about her heavenliness hanging around. 
"Shit." It was your natural reaction, which made her laugh softly, and it must have been the weed's fault that the sound echoed in your mind and made your body shudder.
"Don't worry, I won't snitch on you." She assures you with an easy smile playing on her lips, and you swallow dry, completely at a loss.
"Thanks... but I thought you were the boss." You mumble, and Wanda makes a funny expression, like a false realization. 
"Oh, you're right." She murmurs amusedly. "I think I can let this one slide if you'll share it with me." 
"Fuck, of course, here." Your limbs feel strange, almost too heavy to move around her. You awkwardly hand her the cigarette, certain that your face is flushed. Hell, the last time you were this clumsy was last semester, with-
"You swear a lot." Wanda's comment pulls you out of your daze. She takes a long drag before adding: "Especially for a Christian."
You chuckle, shaking your head. "My father's a Christian, not me." You retort, and end up grimacing. "And how do you know-"
"This is a very exclusive program, sweetheart." Wanda cuts you off again, the cigarette between her fingers but her gaze is completely focused on your face. "Having a lot of money or being someone's niece isn't enough to guarantee you a spot, but a good letter of recommendation might. And Agatha wrote me almost everything about you, except the reason for rushing to get you here before the next recruitment period."
The sentence was an invitation for you to speak, but you didn't fall for the bait. On the contrary, you looked away with tense shoulders, and Wanda didn't press. At least, not now. She took another drag before commenting more softly:
"We have general meetings every Wednesday. We encourage members to open up." 
You grimace softly. "Group therapy isn't my thing."
But Wanda smiles lopsidedly, giving you back the joint. " Neither is nice weed." She retorts a little provocatively, attracting your attention. "If you want to try something new, show up next week. And if you want to try something good, you should try the weed from our greenhouse. It won't taste like crushed dirt." Adjusting her hair around her shoulders, she offers you a wink. "Have a good night, darling."
You think about the color of her eyes for the rest of the night.
-&-
Sooner than you'd expect, you'll discover that Wanda isn't the type to let things slide. Far from it, she notices everything, especially those who are being too slack and prone to not following the teachings of the Children of Chaos, possibly ruining their record of total efficiency or something.
She puts an end to your plans for a quiet summer, trying to go unnoticed among the countless other followers just as abruptly as she left her meditation hut. Wanda seems to appear at every moment that you consider escaping from your commitments - it even occurs to you that she has a particular interest in watching you, but the idea sounds so absurd that you push it away while forcing a polite smile before returning to your duties.
Less than two weeks after you met, you finally stopped avoiding Group Therapy and showed up on time to join the session. The presence of Wanda, in a loose dark purple dress and her red hair tied up in a neat braid, makes you almost give up, convinced that you couldn't say anything without stuttering in the presence of such a stunning woman.
But she offers a gentle smile, opening her arms softly. "Come along, darling, you're just in time." She greets and you stumble towards a corner in the background, begging the gods that you can attend in silence this time.
It doesn't seem so difficult when it's other people doing it. A young man with whom you've already shared the task of looking after the stables spoke of the frustrations of returning from enforced service with a missing limb, and how the support he didn't get from the government and family members, he found here. Bucky received a finger-snapping applause - something that was explained to you as a way to avoid triggers on the countless ex-combatants or victims of post-traumatic stress that make up the crowd - before giving his turn to another ex-military woman, Carol Danvers.
More stories were shared until Wanda's gaze fell on your slumped figure and she called your name. All the attention in the room fell on you too, and you chuckled awkwardly.
"Thanks, but I'm not good at public speaking." You retorted, but Wanda, with her hands folded over her stomach, gave you a gentle smile.
"Don't worry about it, dear, this is a no-judgment zone." She says, but you make no mention of getting up, and her gaze becomes more insistent. "It's important that we all make an effort to be present at these exercises. We encourage participation around here. Come along, dear, please." And she smiled so kindly that you could only trust her.
The group offered a small chorus of encouragement, and before you knew it, you were a few steps away from the redhead, who held out her hands for your wrists.
"I want you to take a deep breath and close your eyes." Wanda guided, her melodic voice bringing goose bumps all over your body. "Turn all your attention inward. And tell me, is there anything in there that you'd like to share with the group?"
The memories of last semester hit you full force. But Wanda massages your wrists and it feels as if she can calm down the whole storm inside of you.
You sigh, before opening your eyes. "I... I don't know where to start." Your whisper is met by another chorus of support from the members, who retort that you're safe. Wanda releases your wrists to sit with the others, and you try not to be so self-conscious while you're in the spotlight. "I think I can share with you the reason why I'm here." You declare a moment later, taking another deep breath.
Bucky gives you an encouraging smile, mimicking that of the people around him, and you swallow.
"I don't have a history of fighting and overcoming war or any illnesses, so I'm sorry to disappoint anyone." You mumble, receiving confused looks.
The former sergeant assures you: "No problem competes with another. All our pains have their importance." And it seems to be something that has already been repeated here a few times because everyone shakes their heads in agreement.
You scratch the back of your head awkwardly. "Right... well, I won't beat around the bush. A month ago, when I was first enrolled here, I had just been kicked out of my house. Well, it wasn't exactly my house anymore, because I'd been living on campus for about three years, but I think you get the idea." You say, laughing awkwardly at the anxiety in your chest. You try to clear your throat so that your voice doesn't come out so shaky, but only Wanda's gaze really helps to calm your nerves. "And the reason for this was a relationship that my parents, more specifically my mother, didn't approve of. To be fair, no one really approved, because, well, the person... hm, I don't think there's any other way to put it, was another woman. An older woman, and also my professor. And well, the whole thing would have been a scandal anyway, but I really let myself believe that when the worst was over, we'd be fine. Bad news, we weren't." You laugh sadly. You pause, imagining that you'll get judgmental looks, but everyone listens attentively. "For a while, I thought the worst part was afterward. When everyone knew and judged me, and how my mother freaked out, and I tried... but no. The worst part was not realizing what that love if I can call it that, was doing to me. How ill it was making me. And until I got here, learned things about myself, and managed to take a break from everything that was left behind... For a while, I really hoped to go back and fix everything, but now... damn, sometimes I don't even think about leaving this place."
The group celebrates quietly, exchanging words of encouragement. Your ears feel warm, and Wanda stands up again. "You can stay as long as you need, darling." She says, massaging your forearm. She calls someone else to speak, but doesn't miss the opportunity to whisper in your ear: "I'm proud, stay a little longer today, I want to talk to you." 
And you think you haven't absorbed anything for the rest of the morning.
Eventually, the session ends, and as soon as the room is empty, Wanda turns her face towards you.
"You were brave today, sweetheart." 
Your hands, busy putting the cushions away, tremble a little. But you offer her an incredulous chuckle.
"Yeah, right." It's your answer, which makes Wanda frown in curiosity. At her inquisitive silence, you sigh before clarifying: "Everyone's nice, but I know it's kind of silly that my big trauma is a break-up and not post-traumatic stress from war or something that actually matters."
Wanda presses her lips together, studying you for a moment, and you take the opportunity to put away the last of the cushions. Suddenly, she says:
"This lack of respect for your own feelings comes from parental negligence, I suppose."  You turn your face away in surprise, but Wanda gives you a small smile: "James wasn't lying when he said that no pain should compete with another. We all have our internal and external battles, and we shouldn't belittle our pain. I believe we should honor it, and wear it. And here, dear, you will learn to do that." Wanda makes her way around to one of the cupboards at the back, and you watch her movements in silence, from reaching into one of the last drawers to returning to you with an item in hand. "I have an invitation for you."
She opens the box she's brought, and inside is a necklace very similar to the one the instructors wear. The main difference is the symbol, the crown that Wanda also carries on the pendant around her neck. You frown in confusion.
"What is it?"
She wraps the item between her fingers, her gaze on you. "The disciple's necklace. The last one from the current solstice." 
You imitate the gesture, touching the item with the tips of your fingers. Wanda doesn't move her hand away as your fingers brush together, and you ignore your own shyness as you watch her bite her lip for a moment. "I don't understand what it means."
She licks her lips, and the movement doesn't go unnoticed by your eyes. "It means that you would be my apprentice. You would accompany me during periods of meditation, you would study my teachings closely, you would be... entirely dedicated to..."
"You?" you add, and Wanda lets out a shuddering breath, warm against your cheek. When did she get so close?
"If you wish." She whispers, and you pull away gently, your face hot but the last thread of sanity in your mind.
"I'm sure there are more experienced members dying for this position. It wouldn't be right-"
Wanda shakes her head, interrupting you. "They weren't chosen. You were." She assures you, pressing the box with the necklace against your chest. "And if it wasn't you, the place would be empty until the next solstice. You don't have to accept it, darling. It's not a summons. It's an invitation."
You sigh, holding the box against your chest. "I just... I've never done anything like this. I don't want to mess things up."
There's a bell in the distance, signaling the start of the next activities. Wanda glances outside briefly before stepping close enough to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth that makes your whole body heat up at once.
"Just listen to your instincts." She whispers, before pulling away with a small smile.
You write to Agatha about it the following evening, but you don't have the courage to seal the letter for sending. The whole conversation with Wanda seems too private to be shared in this way. 
Although the woman said it was just an invitation, you could feel some pressure to make a decision, and it seems that the news had been circulating ever since one of the tutors couldn't find the box of the last chaos disciple pendant, and Wanda ended up mentioning that she had extended another invitation.
In a way, you were stalling. Between your activities and meetings, you hadn't made any decisions and you hoped that the end of the summer would force Wanda to choose someone else. But there was also the question of the new, burning feelings that had appeared since you first laid eyes on her, and which seemed to awaken every time you two were in the same environment. 
The idea of departing, of leaving her behind like a closed chapter in your life, seemed absurd every passing day.
In your second month with the Chaos Children, you received a rather unusual request: take the prophet her morning drink.
The crumpled piece of paper was handed to you by one of your cabin mates: Kate Bishop. A former student, a little younger than you, who, after destroying a bell at the university, was sent here by her millionaire mother. Kate was to stay until she had balanced her irresponsible impulses and could take over the family's security empire.
She seemed a little reluctant to interrupt your concentration on cleaning the garden, but much more determined not to disappoint Wanda.
"Just give it to the kitchen staff, they'll know what to do. And prioritize, she doesn't like to wait." Said the girl, but you gave her hand a gentle tug before taking the paper.
"But why did she ask me?" you asked, but Kate had no idea and just shrugged before leaving the garden.
While the kitchen staff prepared the item, you tried to improve your appearance in the bathroom next to the lounge, wiping all the soil from the plants from under your fingers, and even what had run into your cheeks. 
When you came out, there was another order on the counter and a small group of people who hadn't been there before. They didn't see you. Blonsky, accompanied by two other women you didn't know, were talking to each other.
"I bet it was Carter. She hasn't stopped talking about her private piano lessons with the Prophetess for four whole weeks." Said the first, but the other laughed quietly.
" Sharoon is a simp, that's all. Wanda wouldn't choose her after the episode with Rogers last year, she knows she can't trust her." Rebutted the other. "Besides, I would have assumed it was Bishop, after all, she already acts like a maid. Why train another when you already have one so dedicated?" The women laugh amongst themselves until they finally notice you approaching, and fall silent. Blonsky smiles, but he appears very vicious. 
"Hello, miss. Wouldn't you like to have a say in who our next disciple is?" He asks you, but you shrug, moving forward in the queue in front of the canteen to grab the prophet's items that were clearly being prepared in priority. 
"I don't know anything about it." That's your answer, but the shorter woman gets in your way.
"Come on, dear, it's easy." She begins with a giggle. "Every solstice, the prophetess chooses her disciples. There are 24 of them, 12 of whom will become apostles after their apprenticeship."
You grimace softly. "It's very biblical."
Blonsky chuckles. "Of course, it is, despite the multiculturalism of our group, Wanda was raised in a Jewish Christian home. You're not going to tell me you didn't know that?"
You clear your throat. "Not really. Sorry, I have to run."
But the man puts a hand in your way, only to stretch his body out on the counter and reach for some colored leaves that he crushes and drops into Wanda's glass.
"She likes it this way. I would know, I prepared many when I was her houseboy for the first few weeks here." He says, and you swallow dry, mumbling an awkward thank you before hurrying off.
The path is a little tiring, you think it makes sense of Wanda's physique if she had to climb that trail every day, and you mentally curse yourself for thinking about her body. It's not at all appropriate, honestly.
The door is open, but you knock anyway. The woman inside, wearing her typical long, loose dresses at the edge, is busy finishing a loose fringe in her hair and offers you a smile.
"Come in, dear." 
You do so a little awkwardly, almost overwhelmed by the moment of entering the most private place in the whole camp. It's a beautiful cabin, you let her know, without stopping to admire the perfectly arranged surroundings. You would have thought that the privacy of this place would allow her to make some kind of personal mess, but everything is impeccably in place.
Wanda approaches to pick up the items, and the smile falters on her face at the first sip of her drink.
"Did you put... did you put maca root in this?" She asks, and your natural reaction is a short laugh.
"I didn't prepare it, Wanda."
But she doesn't smile again, her tone of voice remains the same but her attitude changes to one of false kindness. "My morning drink is an ashwagandha. I need my concentration to increase, not my libido." It really sounded like a scolding, and her attitude of handing the cup back to you, accompanied by the memory of the recent events, made your blood boil.
"Well, I'm not your fucking maid, so if it's not good, get another one downstairs, or even better, make it one yourself."
It's the first time you see any kind of fury in her gaze, hot and vibrant, and it makes something in you rouse. Your mention of leaving the cabin is prevented by her hands closing the door and trapping you against the wood.
Wanda takes a deep breath, and the gleam in her eyes changes. "Can I ask... where did this attitude come from?"
You hold the glass tightly against your body, very aware that you'll drop it if Wanda doesn't step away and let you breathe. "I just want to make things clear." You retort with a seriousness that doesn't do justice to the way your heart is racing. "I didn't come to this place to be your personal servant."
Wanda chuckles briefly, letting her gaze drop to your mouth. "Oh, of course not, darling." She whispers. "You're not the type to follow orders willingly. You'd do a terrible job."
Swallowing dryly, you retort: "And why am I here then?"
Wanda smiles innocently. "I asked you to bring my drink." It's her reply, clearly trying to tease you, and you snort impatiently.
"I bet you expected an answer. Well, I haven't made up my mind yet, so if there's nothing else, I'll just go."
Wanda moves to take the glass from you and put it on the table by the door. The next second, her hands are in yours.
"Don't be silly, of course, there's another reason." She retorts, pulling you along as she walks backward into the cabin. "I hear you love painting."
What you had assumed was her personal painting canvas is offered to you. The laugh that escapes you is shy and genuine.
"Wanda, I don't... paint anymore."
But she doesn't flinch, her hands still in yours. "I know you haven't since last semester. It was in the letter. But you've progressed so much, that I thought you could paint for me." When you don't answer, she makes such an adorable expression that your heart skips a beat. "Please?"
Wanda definitely knows how beautiful she is, and how those puppy-dog eyes can take her anywhere. You bite back a smile, agreeing, and almost forget to breathe when she jumps excitedly onto your neck, hugging it for a whole moment before letting go as if she hadn't turned you into a complete mess with one touch.
She doesn't complain about the cocktail again - instead, she drinks it entirely while you get comfortable on the painting stool, doodling for a few moments before starting to paint the only thing you could after so many months without touching a paintbrush.
It's only when the drawing is clearer on the frame that Wanda becomes restless again. Loud sighs take your attention away from the painting and towards her.
"Is something wrong?"
She smiles half-heartedly, and only now do you notice the soft color of her cheeks. "I shouldn't have ignored my own complaints and drunk that juice."
You frown in confusion, letting the brush rest next to the paints. "Was it that bad? If you want, I'll complain to the kitchen-"
Wanda chuckles, shaking her head and you have to shut up because she reaches over to push the canvas out of the way and stops right in front of you, close enough to touch.
"Remember what I said? About focus and about... my libido." She asks, and you can swallow dryly, looking up in the direction of her dilated eyes. She lets her hands rest on your shoulders, pressing the weight of her body gently into yours. "Well, I suppose you'll have to see for yourself. Hold out your hand sweetheart, no, no, down... yes, you can move my dress out of the way." Your trembling fingers brushed against her knee, and immediately obeyed the order. Slowly making your way under her dress, while Wanda bit her lip and watched you draw patterns on her thighs. Finally, your fingers reached the side of her underwear. Instead of pulling it down, you let the inks drop to the ground, and your other hand went under her dress too, repeating the same path as before while you and Wanda panted together. Your face fell forward, flush into her dress, and you pressed your nose against her, inhaling deeply the scent of arousal she exhaled so strongly.
Her hands squeezed your shoulders as yours began to pull down her panties right away. A moment later, gracefully as everything so far, she kicked the item aside and spread her legs gently so that you could slide your fingers between more easily.
You looked up the second your index finger met her warmth, gasping at the mischievous smile of the woman in front of you.
"All this time I've been here..." You started hoarsely, your fingers spreading the wetness between her folds, and enjoying the way Wanda's breath caught in her throat. "Were you this wet?" 
Despite the failure of her own breathing, and the way it's harder to stand up with your intimate stimulation, Wanda gives you a mischievous look and leans her forehead against yours, her red hair making a curtain between your faces. 
"I get like this every time I'm around you." She confesses, giving you a provocative tug on your lower lip that forces you to thrust inside her with more determination. Almost enough for her to lose her pose. Almost. "It's disconcerting, to be honest."
Your thumb presses down firmly on her clit, and Wanda almost buckles into you, the delicious sound that escapes her throat will be in your dreams for sure. "Well, should I apologize, high sanctity?"
She chuckles at the teasing hidden in the nickname, before leaning in completely and capturing your mouth in a fervent kiss that takes you out of orbit for a whole moment, intense enough for you to whimper into her tongue, and force her hips down into yours, practically begging her to grind your lap. Wanda's response to this is a dirty giggle mixed with a moan into your mouth.
Without breaking the kiss that turns into a much hungrier one the next second, you get to your feet, adjusting your hands to grab her thighs to pull her onto your lap and carry her around the room. Between stumbles, you press each other against the various surfaces of the room, tables, and cupboards, exchanging increasingly hot and desperate kisses, and you're pretty sure you're going to have Wanda against the bookshelf if she keeps grinding into your abdomen like that.
In a pause for breath, when she's still wedged between you and the bookcase, your mouth descends on her jaw and Wanda struggles to keep her eyes open. She whimpers shamelessly as your curious hands advance down her body, pulling her dress out of the way and leaving it barely hanging off her body for you to clasp your palms over her now-bare breasts.
Her patience for release is quickly exhausted by the precise stimulation of her breasts, your eager fingers teasing and pinching her nipples until you turn her into a whimpering mess. She gives a determined tug on the hair at the nape of your neck, forcing your face back to hers in a hard, dirty kiss that makes you shudder. She breaks it only to give an order: 
"On your knees." And you groan in obedience, falling to the floor almost at once, desperately pulling her dress aside to force your face into her, now with nothing in the way. Wanda arches her back once your hot mouth finds her drenched cunt; her hands desperate for some kind of support on the shelves behind her, while her chest heaves and her hips are restless against your face. 
Your hungry mouth leisurely devours her, your tongue teasing her folds, spreading her wetness around and making a mess on your face. Your closed eyes show your dedication and surrender to the task, but Wanda tugs at your hair again, trying to gain a little control back and order you to quit the teasing and fuck her the way she needs you to. Fully dilated Irises then confronts her from between her legs, and Wanda loses her breath. 
"Beautiful." She panted, staring back, shamelessly grinding herself into your face. "So beautiful... fuck... on your knees for me... oh, God, detka." She struggles to compliment you, but her native language begins to escape mixed with English shortly afterward, her climax approaching. You moan contentedly at the scene, aware of the state of your own underwear from all this play. Wanda's body begins to betray her, trying to pull away so you grab her thighs with a strong grip, and one of her legs ends up over your shoulder, increasing your reach just the way she needs it to fall over the edge.
Wanda comes on your tongue, spasming against the books, and in a deep moan. You don't let her pull away, keeping her restless hips in place as you lick your way through her previous climax in search of a new one. Soon her whimpering protests at the overstimulation turn into begging, and you fail to hide the smug smile at feeling her so at your mercy for a second time.
She's so close, so close, that the Sokovian comes back to her tongue, but there's a sudden knock on the door, and all the stimulation is interrupted by your fright. Wanda gasps incredulously, losing the time to react in time due to her own lust, and having to watch you stumble away - quickly wiping her cum from your chin with the back of your hand - as she tries not to fall down on her shaking knees.
"Why the fuck did you stop?" she asks in frustration through her teeth, but you, with a very flushed face, look at her with a certain desperation.
"Wanda, there's someone at the door!" You retort as if it were a very justifiable reason to steal an orgasm from her. Wanda huffs angrily, lunging at you and ignoring your confused eyes to pull you upright by the collar of your shirt, hurriedly throwing you onto the mattress. "W-wanda, what?"
"Quiet." She cuts in, pushing your shoulders until you're lying down and following the movement of your body to straddle your lap. The person outside knocks again, and although she's pulling her off, and is still shaking from her last orgasm, Wanda manages to speak in the same tone of voice as she does every morning meeting: "What is it?"
Your protests are muffled when Wanda sits on your face, and in fact, you would have forgotten any guests if Blonsky's voice hadn't sounded in the next second.
"Good morning, Reverend, I've come to join you for today's service." Says the man, but Wanda has to bite her lip hard because you're eating her out again, somehow even better than before. "Reverend?"
Wanda shakes her head, frowning at the difficulty of maintaining a rational thought when she has your tongue inside her. "Hm, I'm not going today, Blonsky... Deliver the service in my place." She fails to sound so breathless and has to close her eyes when your hands grip her thighs tightly, holding her down. 
Blonsky then sounds concerned: "Aren't you feeling well, Reverence?"
Your nose nuzzles into her clit and Wanda reaches for the headboard, a satisfied sigh escaping her. "I feel great." She murmurs back and has to take a deep breath so that the next sound that escapes her isn't a moan. "Just busy. Anything else, Blonsky?"
The man clears his throat, Wanda has to press a hand against her own mouth as you reach another right spot. 
"Hm, yes, Reverend... As you know, the deadline for the selection of the disciple is coming to an end." He begins, luckily unable to hear the muffled sighs inside the room through the closed door. "I have expressed my concerns to Your Reverence about a premature choice of new members-"
Wanda snorts impatiently. "Are you really going to question my choices again, Blonsky?"
"N-no, reverend!" He defends himself quickly. "Never. I just worry that the... affinity, that Your Reverence has acquired for some new members, might affect your judgment about their vocations. The premature choice of a disciple could result in their departure from our community, and we know how the withdrawal of one of our own affects everyone..."
"Don't worry about it." Wanda cuts dry, and now, she's remarkably close to climaxing. She doesn't care about the roughness, she thrusts her hips frantically into your face, muffling your breathless moans. "Y/N is the best choice... she's... so-god... dedicated and-hm... talented-" Wanda's lucky you're quick to react too. She would have screamed to the ceiling, exposing all the inappropriate activities in the room if you hadn't grabbed her thighs and spun her on her back onto the mattress. She didn't have time to lose this orgasm by the brief interruption of your movements - your fingers took the place of your tongue when you hovered above her, and your free hand covered her mouth when you sank inside her again.
Wanda came harder than before, squeezing your fingers and wetting the bed. She clings to your body in a desperate grasp, shocked by the achievement over her body, and grateful for the muffling of her moans. You keep thrusting until she stops squirting on the sheets.
You only remember that Blonsky is still outside because he speaks again. "I'll take your word for it, Your Reverence. And I hope you've made a good choice." He says at last, the sound of his footsteps moving away is ignored by you and Wanda, who meet in a hot kiss in the next second.
Your fingers continue to thrust lightly inside her, even though Wanda shudders from the excessive stimulation. And despite this, she also controls the kiss, which slows down so that she can ask in between: "Tell me, love. Did I do it? A good choice."
You kiss her a little harder. "I still don't know... what I want... or what I should do, Wanda."
She brings one of her hands up to your wrist, stopping your movements. You open your eyes to look at her. Wanda smiles, but her eyes are very mischievous. "You think too hard when the answer is right here." She retorts, giving your hand a gentle tug. You follow her lead, and soon, you have your drenched fingers with her cum inside your mouth. Your hips move instinctively, pressing down on her, and Wanda giggles mischievously, her free hand trailing down your back to encourage the movement. "Don't you want that, baby? You can be all mine."
You suck your fingerprints clean, removing them from your mouth to support yourself on the mattress now that you're so wildly grinding your hips against Wanda's thigh. She doesn't let you indulge in the sensation, grabbing your cheek and stopping your hips with the other at your silence.
Your soft protest is ignored, and your voice is almost a pathetic plea when it comes out. "It's not fair... I was feeling so good."
"Oh, darling, I can make you feel even better, every day if you decide to stay with me." She retorts, her grip softening on your cheek. You look at her, but there is still hesitation in your gaze and Wanda wishes to replace this doubt with something else. She kisses you but pulls away when you go to increase the intensity, ignoring your protest and pushing you gently away by the shoulders. "No playing, until I have an answer."
Wanda flees - because she doesn't think she'll live up to her words if she is under you - and slips out of bed before you can grab her back. Your next long protest is muffled against the mattress because you press your face down.
Wanda giggles half-heartedly as she stands up, reaches for her dress, and tries to adjust her appearance a little. "Thank you for the sex, sweetheart, it was a very pleasant surprise, but I can't let Blonsky lead a communion, he's not good at it. And you have errands, so if you'll excuse me..." Your silence made Wanda, now dressed, look at the bed again. To her surprise, you were sitting on the mattress, hanging something around your neck. 
Your gaze met hers as the disciple chain was secure on your skin. The mischief in your gaze made her swallow. Twirling the symbol between your fingers, you smiled as you asked: "So how does this work? Should I confess my sins so that you can forgive me?"
"God offers forgiveness, not me." Wanda whispers back, brazenly watching you start to unbutton your shirt, the necklace hanging in the valley of your breasts is doing things to her. 
"Hm, since I'm going to be forgiven, maybe I can sin a little more..." Wanda moved on instinct, crawling onto the bed to meet you halfway like a magnet being drawn towards you.
Your foreheads touched, and she sighed against your lips. "I should punish you for this blasphemy." She says, to which you smile naughtily before sticking out your tongue to tease her lips, eliciting a low moan from her.
"Promise?" You challenge, and Wanda gets tired of wasting time.
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bleedingoptimism · 11 months
Text
You Are Mine part 1
When Eddie decided to come out he thought it’d be funny to do so with a music video, so he wrote a song and presented it to the band. The boys loved it and the song was declared the first one of their next album, the third one.
And then it was time to shoot the video.
They hire their personal friend and favorite director, Argyle. Just Argyle, like Cher.
Between him and Argyle they come up with a cool script. The band is going to act in it, they just need two extras, so they hold auditions for a couple in their twenties.
On the day of the auditions, Argyle tells them the interviews are mostly for show, the band can pick whoever they feel the most comfortable with, and the boys tell Eddie he should pick since it’s his song.
The five of them sit at a long table like it’s fucking American Idol or something and just stare at the couples waiting in line through a one-side glass mirror whispering among themselves and watching amused as the couples start getting progressively nervous.
There’s a couple that immediately grabs Eddie's attention when he does a pass-over, a pretty tall dirty blonde and a brunette with big soft-looking hair. 
The guy is absolutely gorgeous, with big kind eyes, a straight cute nose, a square jaw, big shoulders, a small waist, and tan skin that seems to be covered in beauty marks.
He just strikes Eddie as someone that would make Michelangelo cry with his inability to capture his perfection.
‘Oh, that’s good. I should write that.’ He thinks.
He and the girl are talking in hush tones and Eddie watches as she fixes his hair while he jabbers nervously and then, evidently says something that makes her angry because she pokes him in the ribs. The guy giggles cutely and loudly enough to carry over to their room and then blushes furiously when heads turn toward them, hiding behind his friend. The woman in question snorts and chuckles as he chastises her.
Eddie stands up, crouches behind Argyle’s chair, and tells him, “I want that one.”
“What?” he answers, so Eddie points at the couple, “I want him.”
Argyle looks at them considering and clicks his tongue and Eddie insists, “Please Argy, please, I love him, I want him, I want that one, pleaseee”
“Eddie, we need to at least consider the rest of them. This is my job we are talking about here. Please, take it seriously” Argyle says in a calm voice and Eddie deflates,
“Dude...I’m sorry I-”
“Nah man, I’m kidding!” Argyle cuts him off, “Couple number four! Please step forward!” he yells into a mike.
The blonde and the brunette look at each other and walk in nervously as Eddie goes back to his seat at the end of the table and Argyle does a small flourishing move with his hand inviting them to introduce themselves.
“Hi! My name is Robin, and this is Steve, pleased to meet you!” The girl says smiling kindly at them. She nudges Steve on the side and he does a little finger wave at them.
Eddie has to bite his lip not to smile too much because they are really fucking cute. 
Argyle returns the wave enthusiastically, because nothing ever faces him, and looks at the list he has in his hands, “Any experience acting Robin and Steve?”
Robin says yes, something about drama club in high school and Steve just shrugs which amused Eddie to no end, and frankly makes him really curious, for all intent and purposes, Steve doesn’t seem to be interested in the job.
“How did you find out about this job?” Jeff asks them, and Gareth nods like he was just about to ask the same thing.
“A friend of ours told us about it?” Robin answers “He’s a photographer but I don't want to drop names, especially in case we embarrass ourselves,” she says jokingly and looks relieved when she gets a couple of chuckles from Argyle and the band.
“And you were interested because…?” Frank inquires.
Robin starts saying some carefully prepared speech about learning experiences but is interrupted by Steve saying, “We needed the money”
“Oh my god! Shut up!” Robin suddenly turns to him completely red in the face.
“What? You told me to be myself!” Steve tells her frowning. 
“This is exactly why I always talk in interviews”
“What does that mean?” 
“You suck at this Steve! Just as much as you suck at-”
Gareth clears his throat loudly making them stop and look at him sheepishly, “So tell us, do you know the band? Are you fans?”
Eddie takes a moment to look at his bandmates and to his relief they all look as amused as he feels, especially Argyle. The couple of newbies is clearly a mess but in an endearing kind of way.
“Well…” Robin starts but doesn’t seem to know what to say.
“Never heard of it,” Steve says looking apologetic. 
“Wait, Really?” Robin asks him, once more ignoring the director and the band, “They are like, Mike’s favorite band, man! You never heard of Corroded Coffin?”
“Oh well,” Steve shrugs, “I mostly tune out when Mike is talking so…”
Robin snorts and is about to reply but Argyle raises his hand and they both look at him, flinching a little when they realize they had started talking among themselves again.
“Ok.” Argyle tells them clapping once, “Unfortunately for me, I love your energy my dudes, but I’m going to get serious for a second here: I need you two to be professional ok? We have a budget and a schedule and only three days to shoot and I can’t hire you and find out in the middle of the shoot that you are not okay with making out with someone-”
Robin visibly takes a step back and Steve snorts, “Yeah no, I’m not making out with my sister.”
Eddie, who was wondering what kind of relationship they had, does a little happy dance in his head at that.
“No, I meant one of the members of the band” Argyle answers amused.
Robin takes another step back and actually looks a little disgusted and Eddie tries not to find it offensive, “Me?” she asks unsure.
“No,” Frank answers and points at Steve, “Him.”
Surprisingly, they both relax at that, “Oh!” They exclaim in unison and it’s kind of creepy but again, in an endearing kind of way.
And then Steve looks at them one by one, he’s unmistakably and unashamedly checking them all out and Eddie swears his eyes linger on him the most before he smirks and says, “I’m okay with that”
Eddie immediately pushes the contract laying on the table toward Frank, who pushes it to Gareth, who pushes it to Jeff, who pushes it to Argyle and gives him a pen.
Argyle laughs loudly and shakes the sheet of paper, “Well shit, I guess you are hired.”
“We are?!”
He stands up and shakes their hands, hands them the contract and another paper, “This is the script, not that it has any dialogue but just in case you have any questions.” 
They push their heads together and read the script at the same time.
The story is about the band being on tour. Robin and Steve would play as their roadies and the video is supposed to show them in concert, traveling, working, and hanging out. The whole video hints that Eddie is sneaking out with one of them and it ends with the band plus Robin opening a curtain on the tour bus to find Eddie and Steve making out.
The song is called You Are Mine.
When they are done reading, Steve smiles and says “Cute”
And Robin asks, “So which one of you is Eddie?”
Eddie lifts his hand lazily and winks at them.
And Steve, still holding the script, lifts it enough to cover his face but Eddie can still see the tip of his ears as they turn bright red.
‘Oh, he’s gonna eat him alive.’
to be continued
part 1: is this
part 2: ♫ 
part 3: ♫
part 4: ♫
☕ cafecito?
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