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#unspecified smut
myhiddenspot · 4 days ago
Intoxication- Unspecified Series (Pt. 1)
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Title: Intoxication
Pairing: Unspecified!Male X Female!Reader
Requested: No
Word Count: 847 words
Warning(s): fingering, multiple orgasms, no plot, smut
Summary: It's a moment of bliss. The moment before being shoved off the deep end. And (Y/n) was happy to jump... as long as it was for him.
Author's Note: Masterlist here! The fandoms I write for here! Information for requests here!
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I wish that I knew what exactly led me here... but I don't think there'd be an ounce of regret even if I remembered.
My naked back pressed against his clothed chest, both of us leaning against the wall behind the bed. The tension could've been cut by a blade.
I was covered by a thin sheen of sweat. Every time he let out a breath, I felt it. It made me shiver. My thighs were spread, resting on his. His hands ran across my body. He would reach down and circle my clit with his finger.
I was intoxicated by him. Every part of him. His touch, the breath that swept over my neck and breasts, the small chuckles and dirty comments in my ear. Everything had overwhelmed me to the point where I was willing to surrender everything to him.
I think that he enjoyed it. He enjoyed watching me react. He enjoyed breaking me down to my barriers, seeing me in my purest and weakest form.
I whined as he moved his finger away from my clit. It felt like he had been pushing to the edge a thousand times and had just pulled me back. He chuckled and started to kiss and nibble at the skin on my neck.
"So needy," he said into my ear. "Do you want to know what's about to happen?"
I moaned quietly as he continued running his hands over every part of my body. I gasped when he grabbed and pulled on my nipples. I nodded at him.
"Speak to me," he mumbled.
"Please," I begged. "Tell me what you're going to do."
"I'm going to make you unravel so many times that you can't think of anything other than my name."
I bit my lip as he spoke. I couldn't tell if this sounded like heaven or hell. After another tug on my nipples, he started gliding his hands down my body.
One of his hands rested on my thigh as the other moved in between my legs. I let out a sound that was somewhere between a moan and a gasp as his fingers glided over my clit. My back arched slightly against his chest.
I bit my lip and looked down so I could watch his hand move. His finger rubbed circles on my clit. He sucked on my neck, making as many marks as he could.
"Look at you," he spoke directly into my ear. "You're just so needy for me."
I nodded, moaning again as I saw his fingers starting to glisten from my arousal. He started rubbing faster. I rolled my hips up into his hand.
"My pretty girl," he mumbled. I leaned my head back on his shoulder, letting out a small, distracted chuckle.
My moans were getting more dramatic as he continued to kiss my neck and rub my clit. I bit my lip.
"Are you gonna cum?"
I tried to nod but I was more focused on rolling my hips into his hand. I licked my lips. I stammered out what may have been nonsense before my back arched against him. I continued whining and panting into his ear as I came. My muscles felt tight and I almost felt my breath getting knocked out of me.
He didn't let me rest. His hand continued the circles on my clit. I whimpered. My arms moved wildly. I wasn't sure if I wanted to push his arm away or pull him closer.
I gasped when I felt him using his other hand near my entrance.
"Do you want it," he asked. "Want me to finger you so you can cum again?"
"Yes," I said.
He slid two fingers into me. He moved his fingers slowly, trying to tease me. I moved to grab his legs. My nails dug into his pant leg and hissed at the feeling.
"F-faster," I begged, rolling my hips to his hand again.
"As you wish."
It was a difference between night and day. His fingers moved in and out as fast as possible. I looked down to watch how wet I was. The sounds were pornographic. I would've been embarrassed if I wasn't so caught up in my pleasure.
"Fuck," I moaned, squeezing my eyes shut.
"Play with your tits," he almost grunted into my ear before sucking harshly on my neck again.
I reached up, tugging on my nipples. I rolled them between my fingertips. I could tell he was watching closely because of how he was moaning in response to me.
"God, I need you to cum," he growled. "Do it. Fucking cum. Now."
I gave up trying to speak as my back arched. My head lolled back, my eyes rolling backward. I started letting out a string of curses and his name as I started shaking with pleasure. I let out one more shout as I started coming down from my high.
His hands stopped touching me. I let myself relax into his arms with a tired smile.
"Don't get too comfortable... I'm not anywhere near done with you yet."
18 notes · View notes
poisonsxgar · 2 months ago
you’d be lying if you said this isn’t what you wanted. you just wanted to rile him up a bit. you didn't know he’d get this mad, but you also couldn't say you didn't like it. the whole time you were at the club you were teasing him. your short red dress with two thin straps that perfectly shaped your body making him want you even more. slowly you’d grind on him pushing the edge of your dress up and up revealing more and more of your thighs. what’s more was that your hand was placed on his dick, rubbing up and down. when he had finally reached his limit, he grabbed your hand and dragged you towards his car. rough and calloused fingers rubbed your inner thigh on the drive back. the cold metal of his rings turning you on even more. you were practically dripping on the leather of his seats. it was a silent ride yet you could still hear ringing in your ears from the anticipation of what was to come. as soon as the car pulled in he gave your thigh a harsh squeeze, telling you to go to the room. first, he’d have you bet over his knee, ass sore from the repeated contact of his hand. his mouth would be spewing dirty words, only making you wetter. “dirty girl, getting off on your punishment.” he said as he circled two fingers around your clit. “you just love acting like a whore. and i bet you‘d love it even more if i start treating you like one.” he said as he slipped a finger into your sopping cunt. adding another one he scissored and as soon as you felt your orgasm coming he would take his fingers out, waiting a few seconds before he would go back to abusing your poor pussy. he continued this for what seems like forever. “sir! please let me cum, i promise i’ll be good!” you’d say. “are you sure? you’ve been acting so slutty. my sweet girl. you want sir to make you come?” he prompted while his fingers seemed to move at an inhuman speed.“ ‘m coming, wanna come sir,” you said along with mumbling incoherent words as a mindblowing orgasm washed over you. as you started to sink into the bed you felt two fingers push the cum back into you. “oh, you thought we were done? pretty girl, we’re far from done”
!!!not proofread!!!!
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sexgodashton · 8 months ago
“Don’t close your eyes.”
His voice is breathy, strained as he fucks you nice and slow. Your leg rests on his shoulder while his hand presses down on your sternum for leverage. Your eyelashes flutter, struggling to obey his quiet plea. His own eyes never leave yours. They’re dark, desperate.
“F-fuck!” you whimper and squeeze your fingers into the sheets.
Your eyes shift from staring into his eyes, tracing down his nose, mentally caressing over the curves of his lips. Then he hits the perfect spot that has you moaning louder, eyes glazing over and going unfocused. Your mouth drops open as your entire body shivers.
“So good,” he whispers, “so perfect around me.”
Your eyes come back into focus to see him smiling down at you, a bead of sweat dripping down his forehead. He speeds up his thrusts and you groan, but then he’s pulling out completely. He edges you both like that, off and on for a few minutes.
It’s always a series of hushed whispers in your ear when he drops down onto his forearms. Telling you how much he loves having you like this, how amazing you are, how close he is. He kisses you with an unrushed intensity. Lazy but passionate.
And you’ve never felt closer to unraveling at the seams.
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dhoya · 9 days ago
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The eye is the window to the soul. It can reveal everything and nothing at the same time, leaving one to suffer its effects. The world of academia still has no explanation as to why such a phenomenon exists, but perhaps that is also a part of the eye’s tricks. Armed with a distinctive red glint in their gaze, the holder of these eyes charges through Neo City with unspecified goals. 
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Theme: “Kagerou Project” by Jin, which was later animated into “Mekakucity Actors”
You are not required to use Jin’s original story in your entry. The main focus of this collab is how you, the writer, can utilize a setlist of “eye abilities” that will be revealed under the cut.
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CONCEALING EYES, 2/2: The eye ability that allows one to hide oneself, diverting attention from people and objects alike. 
STEALING EYES, 2/2: The eye ability that allows one to read a target’s thoughts. 
DECEIVING EYES, 2/2: The eye ability that allows one to change and control how others perceive them. 
LOCKING EYES, 0/2: The eye ability that allows one to turn a target into stone.
COMBINING EYES, 0/1: The eye ability that allows one to combine and simultaneously use multiple eye abilities. 
DRAWING EYES, 2/2: The eye ability that allows one to draw attention to oneself.
OPENING EYES, 1/2: The eye ability that allows one to split their consciousness from their body. 
FOCUSING EYES, 0/2: The eye ability that allows one to see everything from any distance in an aerial view. 
AWAKENING EYES, 1/2: The eye ability that allows one to physically remake one’s body at their own will. 
CLEARING EYES, 2/2: The eye ability that allows one to “clear” a target’s soul through possession. 
FAVORING EYES, 1/2: The eye ability that allows one to project their own thoughts, emotions, and memories onto others.
RETAINING EYES, 1/2: The eye ability that allows one to remember everything at first glance.
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22/23 slots open, since I will be taking a slot myself. 
This is a first come, first serve collab. If you want to apply, send me an ask or dm me a member with your eye ability of choice.
Minimum word count: 2k. I will only be accepting entries that are written as a full narrative. You can write as much as you want.
Once you’ve been accepted, please reblog this for momentum. 
A discord server will be made, and I shall send you a link once you’ve been accepted 
Actively communicate any news such as a URL change
There’s a limit to how many abilities one can use on the chosen member. To keep each entry diverse, I’ve done the math and decided that each eye ability except for “combining eyes” will have two open slots. I will be crossing out the eye ability once it reaches its slot limit. 
IF you decide to write on “combining eyes”, please consult with me immediately.
IF you want to change your eye ability, please consult with me a month before the due date at the latest
That being said, references to the other abilities are welcome. Just make sure that your entry and the pertaining member focuses on one ability
All genres are welcome, meaning your fic doesn’t require romance if you don’t want to write it
If you’re writing smut, then Chenle, Jisung, and Sungchan are immediately out of the options // on another note, those of you that wish to write smut have to be 18+ of age
For suggestive content, you must be 16+ to write 
IF you want to write your entry on the smut genre, please consult with me immediately.
Add respective content warnings if you’re writing about detailed depictions of violence or sexual content. 
If your fic includes discrimination and/or the glorification of n*croph*lia, p*doph*lia, v*re, inc*st, your slot will be relinquished immediately. 
If you have any other questions, my dms are open.
Deadline: April 25th, 2022
Dropout: December 25th, 2021 // if, under any circumstances, you wish to drop out after December, please contact me a month before April. 
Once everyone finishes writing their entry, I will be posting an m.list of everything a week before the due date, so by then you should have a cohesive synopsis that outlines your story well. 
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SLOTS, 9/23 left:
Taeyong - @en-see-tee, favoring eyes
Johnny - @stayinzencity, opening eyes
Yuta - @127-mile, clearing eyes
Kun - @moondustaeil, clearing eyes
Doyoung - @doievoir, stealing eyes 
Ten - @ki6hyun, concealing eyes
Jaehyun - @mingyuwus​, drawing eyes
Jungwoo - @/dhoya, deceiving eyes
Lucas - @saltaeyong, retaining eyes
Mark - @dundun-baby, drawing eyes
Xiaojun - @10102000, deceiving eyes
Jeno - @zhongriot, awakening eyes
Haechan - @renhyucks, stealing eyes
Jaemin - 
Chenle - @insomni-writing, concealing eyes
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48 notes · View notes
i've never been there, but someday i will
by Did
"I mean. I just. I thought you...didn't?"
"...didn't what?"
"You know." And, okay, glancing meaningfully down in the direction of Jon’s crotch was probably not the most graceful way to express that sentiment, now that Martin thinks about it. It looks like it did the trick, though, judging by the way Jon’s eyes widen, after a brief delay.
"Oh. Oh!" Jon actually has the nerve to look a bit sheepish, as if he hadn't been getting very well-acquainted with Martin’s thigh mere moments ago. Then he gives Martin a look of almost plaintive confusion. "...why, though?"
Words: 2220, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English
Fandoms: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Categories: M/M
Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Additional Tags: Trans Martin Blackwood, Trans Male Character, Insecurity, reassurance, a microdose of angst, just enough to stimulate the immune system, fluff and also boner puns, Relationship Negotiation, prelude to first time but no actual smut, unspecified sex favorable ace jon, very specifically sex anxious martin, ambiguous setting but hand-wavily canon compatible, Cuddling & Snuggling
0 notes
rainbowsixreader · 18 days ago
Modern AU
Missing Piece
Reader is unspecified gender. Have fun all.
I tried inserting a linebreak hopefully that works this time. I didn’t know how to connect to the smut so it’s a little rushed in the middle sorry in advance hopefully it doesn’t stop you from getting your jimmies ruffled.
Summary:Reader has been thirsting for Historia and Ymir the school power couple. Long story boring they invite you to a threesome.
Warning: 18+, NSFW, Smut, cunnilingus, fingering, pegging, handholding, thirsting for pretty women.
If you were being honest with yourself you weren’t even sure what sport you just bought tickets to see with your friends.
Sasha has invited you to tag along with herself, Connie and Jean for the school sporting event that night. Sasha knew you’d agree in a heart beat when she mentioned the cheerleaders would be there building moral. ‘Cheerleaders’ the word echoed in your head, thoughts of Historia danced through your mind like a slide show. She was the cheer captain after all. So wherever the cheerleaders were, that cute small blonde would be leading them. Her shimmering blue eyes, winning smile, positive demeanor and overall cheery attitude made her hard not want to imitate. Historia was an angel in human form, and your degenerate eyes were currently focused on how short her skirt was. You couldn’t help but stair. Admiring her milky pale thighs.
Suddenly you spot Historia turn her head and wink. You follow her eyes and see, none other than the other woman you showed up to gawk at, Ymir. You knew you would have to show up to this game when you heard Ymir was in the starting line up. You saw Ymir wink back to Historia as well as blow her a small kiss. ‘God, why can’t that be me!?’ You screamed internally.
Ymir lept up and shot from behind the three-point line. The crowd erupted into cheers and excitement as the ball fell straight through the net.
Ymir lifts her jersey to wipe the sweat from her freckled face. You get a clear view of her flat, solid abs. You unconsciously licked your lips with desire. ‘God! What I’d let her do to me.’ You thought to yourself once again.
Sasha snapped her fingers in front of your face to get you out of your thirsty gaze.
“Hey! Y/N! Are you paying attention?”
Sasha asked waving her hand in front of your face.
“Y/N’s paying a little TOO much attention Sasha.” Jean chides handing out food having made a run to the concession stand.
“You know Y/N I hear they’ve been looking for a third wheel.” Connie joined in taking a bite of his soft pretzel.
“W-what do you mean by that?” You ask confused
“You know what I mean.” Connie said
“Those are just rumors Y/N, Connie don’t know what he’s talking about.” Jean spike handing you a bag of chips.
Sasha leaned over stealing a chip from your bag saying “I could always introduce you. I’ve known them since freshman year” you gently bite your lip and nod your head.
Skipping ahead several months
The two girls always knew you were crushing on them HARD. They could feel your eyes boring into them whenever you showed up to a sports game. They loved the attention you payed them. Turns out those rumors Connie mentioned weren’t exactly rumors when they asked you if you’d be interested in a threesome. You were in shock for about a day before telling both Historia and Ymir that you were VERY interested in this idea.
Which lead to where you are now, being picked up by Historia and driven back to her large suburban home in a gated community. Ymir was getting everything ready for the three of you. Historia’s hand was gently placed on top of yours as she drove. Her reassuring words did wonders to calm your nerves. Soon enough you were being dragged into the house, a house that closer resembled a mansion than a home.
Your heart was thumping out of your chest as Historia lead you through her house. A large house in the suburbs, everything inside clean, orderly, and pristine. Historia looks back and gives you a toothy smile, calming your nerves.
“Ymir is waiting for us in my room.” Historia’s angelic voice filled the still and quiet hall as she gingerly wrapped her dainty fingers around your wrist, guiding you down a narrow hallway to a large wooden door painted baby blue.
Historia open the door and you’re met with the sight of Ymir sitting in the large plush bed. Your heart going crazy at seeing Ymir in...minimal clothing. Wearing only her tight sports bra, pushing up her relatively small chest. She wore simple black boy shorts that hugged her hips and really showed off her curves. Ymir had her muscular legs crossed, as she leaned back resting in her arms.
“Kept me waiting long enough. What happened Y/N? Did ya get lost?” Ymir asked with almost sinister grin.
“N-no, I’m sorry for running late.” You say desperately trying not to stare at Ymir’s exposed skin. You were fixated on her tanned skin. Her iconic freckles coating every inch of her skin.
Historia gently wrapping her arms around your waist, her small hands moving across your body. Her hands were cold against your hot skin, as you watched Ymir lick her lips at the sight. Historia helped you pull the rest of your clothes off until you were left in nothing but your simple undergarments.
Ymir stood up and you saw she was hiding something between her toned thighs. Ymir has a pink dildo strapped to her hips. Your eyes go wide wondering just what exactly she’s gonna do with that big thing. Historia reaches into her pocket and handed a small bottle of lube to her girlfriend. Ymir grabbing a handful of your rear before lightly sparking you to see your flesh jiggle under her strike.
The girls guided you to the bed, pushing you down till you’re bent over the side of the mattress. Historia taking her place just above where your head lay. The petite girl spread her legs wide open, her flowy pleated skirt unable to conceal her white lace panties. Historia ran her fingers through your hair lightly gripping a handful as she guided you once more. Moving your practically drooling mouth to her sex.
“You’re being so good for us baby.” Historia complimented.
“Yeah I never expected you to be into this.” Ymir spoke pulling your underwear down to your knees.
The tall girl slapped your ass once more before cupping your cheeks and slowly spreading them apart.
“Hmm.” Ymir hummed, “You’re gonna be in for a good time baby.” Ymir squeezed the small bottle into her open palm. The cool substance made you shiver as your long time crush rubbed lube along the crack of your ass.
“Y-Ymir what. What are you doing?” Your voice shaky.
“Don’t you worry sweetcheeks. I’ll take good care of you. You just focus on my girl okay?”
You draw your attention back to what’s in front of you. Hesitantly teaching forward, you look up into Historia’s eyes. She smiles and nods her head letting you know it’s okay. You pull her panties to the side and slowly bring your tongue out and slowly begin to trace the goddess’s pussy with your tongue.
“That’s right baby. Eat that pretty pink pussy” Ymir leaned forward to whisper in your ear. You flatten your tongue and drag it up across Historia’s folds, pressing a kiss against her clit. Your nose rubbing against Historia’s little blonde landing strip. Your eyes shoot open once again as Ymir slowly pushes two fingers inside your back door. You tighten around Ymir’s fingers as a hot burning sensation fills your rear.
“Just relax baby, you’re doing great.” Ymir reassured you. You took a deep breath. Slowly exhaling blowing your breath over The blonde’s pussy. You can feel the cheerleader captain shudder, her hand still tangled in your hair.
“You’re doing an amazing job so far Y/N” Historia complimented gazing deeply into your eyes. You couldn’t help but get lost in your crystal blue eyes. Your tongue lazily swirling around her clit. The small blonde bit her lip and you slowly pushed a single finger inside her.
“O-Oh fuck!” Historia’s breath hitched feeling you fill her small little pink cunt.
“Well I guess it’s time for the main event.” Ymir stated behind you. She slid her fingers out of you with an audible *pop*
“Y/N, you’ve been so good for us baby. I want to repay you.” Ymir said as she dug her nails into your hips roughly pulling you back. Your nose now buried in Historia’s pubes. You clench your teeth as you desperately try to relax your ass as Ymir forcefully, steadily and slowly slides the shaft of her strap on inside you. She doesn’t stop pulling you closer until your anus hits the base of the dildo.
“Just tap out if you can’t handle it babydoll.” Ymir warned grabbing you by the hair and forcing your face down into the cheerleaders cunt once more.
You desperately lapped your tongue across her labia, swiping the tip of your tongue between her folds. Your hands finding their way wrapped around thin pale thighs.
Historia throws her head back unable to think straight as you desperately and veraciously devour her core. Her breathing is ragged and fast as she lets out her moans, not trying to hold them back.
“Oh-Oh-Oh Y/N!!! Fuck! Your tongue!” She screamed, her eyes tightly closed.
“Time for your reward!” Ymir began rocking her hips back and forth slowly pulling her new member further out of you, until reaching the tip then she’d bring herself back forcing it deeper inside.
Ymir continued this rhythmic motion, slowly building up speed. Each time you pull a moan from Historia’s pristinely glossed lips, Ymir rocks her hips faster and faster until she’s roughly pounding the full length of her shaft as far inside of you as it will go.
“Fucking take me bitch!” Ymir yells bringing her hand back and delivering a crisp and sharp slap across your rear. You moan into Historia.
“What was that slut!?” Ymir pulled your head back, a string of saliva connecting your lips to Historia’s dripping cunt.
“Harder Mommy!” You yell.
The tall brunette licks her lips, she forced your face back down before delivering a flurry of strikes across your ass, leaving large red handprints as she stretched out your back door. Sweat dripping down Ymir’s freckled face, down the bridge of her nose and onto you.
“Y-Y/N! I’m! Im gonna cum!!” Historia yelled tightly wrapping her legs around your head.
You felt your own orgasm coming, your own fingers dug into the small blondes hips. Ymir roughly slammed into you sheathing her silicone shaft as deep inside you as it would reach.
Pure bliss
Your legs turn to jelly, Historia shudders against you. As Ymir’s sweat coated body falls limp against your back.
The brunette finds enough strength to pull out of you, and let her strap on fall to the floor. Historia slides down her bed to pull you and Ymir higher so your legs are ant dangling off the side of the mattress.
You muzzle against the white lace of Historia’s bra. She runs her fingers through your hair, petting your head, a content sigh leaving her lips as you listen to her heartbeat.
Ymir tightly wrapped her around your waist pulling herself closer to you, burying her nose in the back of your head.
“I wasn’t too rough with you was I baby?” The freckled girl asked.
“No you were perfect...mommy.” You hesitantly say, slightly cringing to yourself.
Ymir chuckles kissing your ear. “Be good for Mommy and I’ll reward you again real soon.”
Historia locked her fingers with Ymir as they rested your interlocked hands against you. Their agreement was unspoken but clear to the two of them that this threesome was about to be more than just a one time thing.
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ketchmydarling · 22 days ago
John Winchester/Original Female Character
Warnings: Smut. Age difference (unspecified). Brief death mention. Daddy!kink.
Summary: Alex gets into a fight with Sam after a hunt and John comes to talk to her.
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smellsfaintlyofvanilla · 27 days ago
Heyyy so yk I’m sorry for bothering you but do you think you could maybe do like a Ymir smut for a black Y/n who’s insecure abt being chubby and not curvy but still having yk...big’s very specific but we don’t rlly get much attention as a poc:( you don’t have to I just wanted to ask
Big honkers it is :D
Also this is kinda short though (at least compared to how long I usually write these anyways) so apologies in advance :'D
Insecure (Ymir x Reader)
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AU: Unspecified
Warnings: None
Category: Smut, hurt/comfort
Summary: Ymir's s/o gets insecure during sex, and she's there to voice her support for them.
Words: 1.8K
Sensations of Ymir filled your mind, her fingers entwining themselves with yours, pushing your hand into the cushiony mattress. Her lips were soft and warm against yours, so different from her usually hard and closed-off demeanor.
Her lips detached from yours, and she took a minute to stare into your far-off eyes, before shifting slowly to plant a line of soft kisses from your throat all the way to your cleavage. Slowly, delicately, her free hand traveled to the hem of your shirt, trying to pull the garment off of you.
You felt your heart pick up a few paces and the blood rush to your cheeks as her hand slowly exposed your stomach—a sight you hated so much, looking at the extra layer of fat that lined your abdomen with disgust.
Your hand immediately left Ymir's grasp to swipe her hand away from your shirt, and she pulled away to look at you with confusion and concern.
Truth be told, when your lover had come to you late at night saying she had "missed you", you understood the implications, and were undeniably excited as she slowly threw you onto the bed and crawled on top of you. Yet, when her hands made their way to your sides, you couldn't help the thought that crawled up into your mind. The distinct, dreadful feeling that you were undesirable, and that your girlfriend, so fit and muscular, wouldn't want to see your body in it's entirety.
It had always bugged you. Every time you'd undress, you catch a glimpse of yourself in a mirror, and a twinge of pain always made it's way to your heart. Insecurity.
"Is something wrong, Y/n?" Ymir questioned, dragging you out of your thoughts.
"I..." You wanted so badly to tell her, but the words couldn't seem to escape your throat. Instead, you turned your head to the side, refusing to look her in the eyes.
She shifted to straddle your thighs, sitting up as her hands fell to her sides dumbly.
Suddenly, her eyes widened. "Oh! Uhm... when I said I wanted to spend the night with you, I think we had... different things in mind." She rubbed the back of her neck awkwardly, a small blush rising up her cheeks.
"No, no that's not it..." You muttered, making Ymir's confusion intensify. Truthfully, you wanted it too, but your insecurity kept you from continuing. You were afraid—however irrational it sounded—that your girlfriend would find your body disgusting.
Ymir seemed to finally sense it, as her expression softened and she leaned down, planting a gentle kiss to your cheek before shifting her mouth close to your ear.
"Is something bugging you?" she exhaled, making you shudder.
She knew the answer. She had always noticed your insecurity, in the back of her mind. Like how you'd always wait until she wasn't in the room before you started changing, or how you hated it whenever her hands or head rested idly on your stomach.
She had always wanted to talk to you about, and to reassure you. It stung just a little bit to see how you looked at yourself everyday. But, she had no clue how to go about that conversation. Now, the opportunity had presented itself.
"Let me take a guess; you're worried about your size, aren't you?" She asked, surprising you with her bluntness.
"Th-that..." You muttered, unsure of how to respond to such a forward, yet loaded question.
Without saying a word, she sat up, wrapping her arms around your neck and pulling you up into a hug. Her right hand rested on your lower back, holding you closer to her, and her left found your head, leading you to rest on her shoulder.
"You don't have to worry about any of that." She soothed, sifting her fingers through your hair, dragging her fingertips down your scalp sensually. "I don't care what you think, you're the most beautiful girl in the world." She rested her chin on your shoulder, letting out a sigh as she leaned her head against your neck. "It always tore me apart to see you beat yourself up over it. You're such an amazing person, such an amazing girlfriend, I just want you to see yourself like how I see you."
You arms had been thrown around her torso, now gripping her just as tightly. A small sniffle passed your lips, and she held you closer at the sound, rubbing your back tenderly.
A few traitorous tears flowed from your eyes. Whether you knew it or not, you had desperately needed to hear someone speak those words to you your whole life.
"Shh..." Ymir cooed, comforting you softly while waiting for you to collect your composure.
Eventually, your tears slowed to a halt, and you swallowed a lump in your throat before whispering weakly.
"Thanks." Really, you wanted to say more, but you couldn't find it in you to say anything more.
Gently, she pushed you onto your back once again.
"Don't worry about it, Y/n. You know I'll always be here for you." She gave you a chaste kiss on the lips. "So," She smiled coyly, "Do you wanna pick up where we left off?"
You nodded shyly, and Ymir instantly dove for your neck, leaving a line of sloppy kisses from your bottom lip all the way down to your collarbone, and you felt arousal pool in the pit of your stomach at her eagerness.
Her fingers found the hem of your shirt once again, and she brought herself up from your shoulders to look you in the eyes. "Can I?"
You gave her a quick nod, perhaps a little too eager, and she slowly lifted your shirt off and over your head, before throwing it carelessly to the floor.
You shifted uncomfortably in place, but settled somewhat when her calloused hands grabbed your sides.
"It's alright, baby." She hummed, soothing the lump of anxiety that started to gather in your throat. Her hand slunk behind your back, finding the clasp of your bra, unclipping it and throwing it to join your shirt on the floor.
Hands immediately found your breasts, rubbing and massaging them as she leaned forward to continue kissing up and down your body. A whine left your lips as the pads of her thumb pressed down on your hardened nipples.
Her mouth trailed down your stomach until she was met with the waistband of your pants. Her fingers fiddled with the top button, gazing up at you for permission to continue.
"Mmh..." You sighed, turning your head to the side, embarrassed but undeniably turned on. Spurred on by the noise you made, she slid your pants effortlessly down your legs, moving them over your ankles.
She stared down at your panties with an amused expression, pressing two of her fingers against the soaked fabric.
"That really didn't take much, did it?" She chuckled, pressing her fingers further into the cloth.
Your hand shot down to place itself on Ymir's head, tugging slightly at her dark brown hair, undone from it's usual low ponytail. "C'mon, hurry up..." You whined.
She only laughed, hooking her finger around the trim of your panties to pull it down at a teasingly slow pace.
Ymir seemed to be taking her time crawling back up your body, slowly slinking up to place her head inches away from your core. Without any thought or hesitation, you used the hand in her hair to yank her mouth straight to your core.
Dazed, she pulled back and looked at you, to see that even you were a bit surprised by your sudden boldness.
"Eager, aren't we?" She teased, and you covered your face with your free hand shyly. "It's fine, though. Just tonight, I'll be nice and give you what you want, alright?"
Her tongue finally met your wet, aching core, licking a teasing, but deliberate stroke all the way up to your clit. You let out a quiet whimper in satisfaction, encouraging her to continue.
Her tongue was at your clit now, rubbing it in slow circles with her tongue and sucking at it, filling the room with lewd noises. You choked out a moan, and Ymir, seemingly spurred on by the sounds you were making, slid her finger past your folds. It slipped in all the way up to the knuckle—effortlessly, thanks to how wet you were.
"Sh-shit..." You groaned, a small sheen of sweat glistening your face at the sensations.
Ymir brought her head up from your core, using her free hand to rub at your clit, making sure none of the stimulation stopped.
"You really like this, huh?" She chuckled. "You're so warm and tight around my fingers..."
"Y-Ymir..." You moaned, all your insecurities (and shame for that matter) evaporating with the overwhelming pleasure you were feeling.
She only smiled proudly before going down on you once again, adding a second finger in your folds, increasing the feeling tenfold.
"Ymir... God, fuck—!" You moaned out, grasping the sheet with the hand that wasn't tangled up in your lover's hair. Ymir let out a quiet moan against you, the subtle vibrations sending sparks throughout your body.
You were already so close to release as you tugged on your girlfriend's hair desperately. Your legs tightened around her head and your breathing increased, dangling on the edge of ecstasy.
But, a deliberate curl of her fingers inside you cunt hit a certain spot inside of you, and all you saw was blinding white as your orgasm hit.
"Fuck! Ymir, k-keep going... please—!" You panted out desperately, practically yanking her hair in your bruising grip, causing Ymir to whine softly in your cunt. Your thighs shook and clamped shut around her head, practically suffocating her between your thighs.
You rode out your high against Ymir's face, grinding against it until you legs were too tired to move. Sensing you had finished, Ymir rose from her spot, appearing slightly bashful as wet juices coated her mouth and chin.
She gazed blankly at your tired, satisfied face, committing it to memory before reaching over to grab something to wipe her face with.
You were too caught up in your afterglow to notice what Ymir was doing, until you felt the mattress dip next to you. She had laid down next to you, getting situated under the soft covers.
You didn't acknowledge her presence verbally, instead wrapping your arms around her torso, pulling her closer to you as you rested your head in her chest.
"Tired darling?" She laughed softly, bringing a hand to comb through your now messy hair.
You gave a small nod, already feeling the grasps of sleep overtaking you.
She pulled your head away for a moment, kissing your forehead tenderly, smiling as her heart swelled with love at the sight of you.
"Goodnight, Y/n." She whispered.
"Mmmm... Night..." You mumbled into her chest, the soft rise and fall of her chest against you lulling you to sleep. "Love you..."
You had already fallen asleep now, but that didn't stop Ymir from planting another soft kiss to the top of your head.
"Love you too, darling."
I don't really like this one either whoops
I get so awkward writing smut sometimes haha
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1004-mem · a month ago
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Hello, glad you could visit
feel free to call me “mem”
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Information about the author
pronouns they/them
Age: unspecified Still a student
I have a weird obsession with angsty stuff
I get writing ideas when I’m about to sleep
Hate floch from aot
Love: tohru, Armin, yelena, hange, kyo, Tsukishima, 707
Important! I do NOT write smut, anything that mentions suicide, pedophilia, bullying (unless specified) more will be added!
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Information about updates
“Strangers” information
Haikyuu!! X reader stories
(And haikyuu requests)
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>Current favorite song<
Fixing up the blog
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darling-disastrous · a month ago
.stars align
{dr. daniel schreber x reader}
rating: explicit
summary: dr. schreber takes advantage of your new life as a prostitute...
warnings: SMUT, non descriptive sex, sub adjacent!daniel, needy!daniel, touch starved!daniel, gender neutral!reader, genitalia is unspecified, reader is a prostitute
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Daniel could see your barely-clothed form through the lacy curtains you had separating the back room from the front. He forced himself to stare straight ahead, grasping his pant legs with a ferocious grip. Even though what he was about to do was objectively more scandalous than watching you change, he refused to peek. It was the principal of the thing.
“What’s your name, honey?” you call out in your beautiful, melodic voice. “What should I call you?”
Your voice catches him off guard. A small part of him aches to know you’ve forgotten, but the two of you met—quite literally—many lifetimes ago. It was his job to make sure you didn’t remember, and so, in a less than confident tone, he replied. “D-Daniel.”
“Daniel,” you repeat. It sent a thrill down his spine, hearing you say his name. “I’ve always liked that name. It’s very handsome ... Very sexy.”
Daniel nearly chokes on air. “Thank you—I, uh, I am glad you think so.”
Your giggle rings out through the small apartment, and finally, you emerge. Oh, Daniel could die happy. The mere sight of you, staring at him with total adoration, was more enticing than that poor excuse of a robe clinging to your figure.
“So...” You saunter over to where he sits and straddle his lap, running your hands up and down his chest. “How do you wanna do this, Danny?”
His mouth ran dry. “I ... I ...”
“What’s wrong, baby? Cat got your tongue?” You trail a well-manicured nail over his cheek and pout. “Tell me what I can do to make you feel good.”
You blink, astonishment coloring your face, “No?”
Hesitantly, Daniel rested his hands on your hips. “I would like—to make you feel good.”
Again, you laugh—this time not out of amusement, but astonishment. You catch yourself and turn it into a sultry chuckle, running your nails along his scalp.
“Oh, baby, you don’t need to worry about me. Tonight’s your night—”
“Please,” he interjects, “Please. Tell me how to make you feel good.” With trembling hands, he strokes your scantly clad ass, relishing in the sensation of your skin against his. “I want to make you feel good.”
In the dim light, he watches your pupils dilate. Your fabricated memory must’ve been thrown through a loop, trying to remember the last time a customer focused on you instead of them.
“Okay,” you murmur. “If that’s what you want. Give me your hand.”
Daniel releases your ass, and you guide him to untie the front of your robe. He struggles, his eagerness getting the better of him, but manages to undo it and push the offending fabric off your body. You sit above him, naked and beautiful. His cock hardens in his slacks, the sight of you enough to make him want to bust.
Gently, you take him by the wrist and lay his hand on your sex. He’s too afraid to move, so you do it for him, stroking yourself against his stiff fingers.
Daniel swallows around the lump in his throat. “Tell me what to do.”
And you do. You teach Daniel things that make your eyes roll. He is fascinated by the way a simple twitch of his fingers can make you moan. You chant his name like a prayer; Danny, Danny, Danny! His name has never sounded sweeter than it did at that moment.
He’s sloppy at first, but that’s to be expected; however, Daniel has always been a quick learner. In no time, you’re spilling yourself in his hand, sagging against his body as if he’d taken the very bones from your body.
You came right on time, too, because not a minute later, the clock chimed midnight. Whatever tension was left in your body melted away, and you fell asleep against him.
Daniel hoisted your body off him and laid you down on the old mattress. He reached down to his briefcase and cracked it open, withdrawing a needle that had your name on it.
He pulled a notebook from his pocket (shamefully swearing your release over the leather binding, although a dirty part of him didn’t mind) and checked it over.
Your new name—Y/N—suited you well. You were going to be a school teacher. It would be difficult to speak to you, but he’d find a way. He always found a way.
The door opened, and three Strangers of varying sizes came inside. Their eyes glanced over your scantly clad form and back to him with a curious gleam.
Daniel cleared his throat and tucked his notes away, readying the syringe above your head. Maybe this time you’d remember him ... or even fall in love with him, as he had with you.
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captainelliecomb · 2 months ago
Game of Thrones Fic Rec Jaime/Brienne
The Siege by Sophie_of_Tarth Rating: Explicit Creator Chose Not to Use Archive Warnings Tags: Sansa Stark, Jon Snow, Petyr Baelish, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, smut with a bit of context, jaime knows what he wants
Summary: This story is set somewhere beyond season 6 episode 10.    Brienne has returned to Winterfell and Sansa, only to then be joined by the Lannister Army on unspecified business.
Rec: Dry wit, sharp characterisation, excellent dialog, and a wonderful bit of politics and complications of people and their games and their emotions.
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writefightandflightclub · 2 months ago
Disarming (Santi x fem!reader)
Summary: you and Santi - good friends- are Best Man and Maid of Honour at Frankie’s wedding, and guess what? There’s only one bed!
What is this? This is 5/10 one-shots/blurbs for my “friends to lovers” event. The prompt is “We can share a room, right? It’s only for a weekend”, requested by @woakiees​. Another double trope extravaganza! Hadley, I’m so pleased you suggested Santi for this one, as he immediately came to mind when I was writing this prompt :D Thank you so much for requesting! <3
If you’d like to  read/keep track of the other fics, I’m keeping an up-to-date friends to lovers list in my pinned post.
Author’s note: Apparently I get carried away EVERY time I write Santi. WHY AM I LIKE THIS?! :-/
Word count: 7.5k. I’M SO SORRY. PLEASE FORGIVE ME.
Rating: 18+ ONLY (minors out, please, do not read or interact)
Warnings: it gets angsty in the middle. Reader has nightmare- comfort offered. Mentions of reader being “hurt” in the past but vague and unspecified. They have a fight. One or two alcohol mentions- no actual consumption. Food mention. Swearing. Steam leading into smut but not explicit- mentions of masturbation, erections, making-out, one brief allusion to choking kink. Let me know if I missed anything.
Tagging: @isvvc-pvscvl​ @casifer-is-king​ (loads of the tags aren’t working :-/)
GIF: @nathan-bateman​
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From the first moment you met Santi, you had simply fallen into step with him. It was effortless, and so, as soon as you found yourself by his side, you stayed there. What’s more, that’s exactly where he wanted you to be.
Despite the man’s hard, no-nonsense edge -which you also appreciated- he was warm and charming. It was easy to connect with him, in a way it hadn’t often been for you. For him too - or so the boys told you - the way you surpassed his defences was a rare thing. It shouldn’t have worked, perhaps. Usually, he was slow to trust and you were quick to love, but on this occasion none of that seemed to apply, the two of you tumbling squarely into a fast-friendship; one deeper and more intense, perhaps, than its duration might suggest. Still, despite the boys’ inferences that you would quickly become an item, and Santi’s continual attempts to blur the lines between this and… something more, “friends” is what you have remained.
You had felt it immediately with him. Something different. You simply... flowed. You fit. It was immediately evident, even on that first night, in the way you orbited around one another, setting up an impromptu beer pong of all things. You moved together with a fluidity and a precision that seems almost tactical- as though you too had run countless manoeuvres in the field with him. You could read him and understand him as though you had drilled his habits and patterns and idiosyncrasies over and over; learning him. However, he was never that much effort - the two of you came naturally to each other, little learning required. You knew each other with your gut.
At that fateful party, when you each escaped to the back porch steps for some air at a serendipitous moment, the conversation had immediately flowed, and not only as a result of his natural, disarming charm. The silence even came easily rightaway – a comfortable thing, the space between you stuffed with contentment, rather than the feeling of a gaping vacuum, needlessly filled. It turned out his best friend was dating yours (the pair to be wed this very weekend) but that almost seemed like the cherry on top, rather than the thing bringing you to each other.
Safe to say, what was true then is true now. You get on so well. You find him fun and easy and generous and you love the man dearly.
…Most of the time.
Those other times, though? Santiago “Pope” Garcia can be a pain in your ass. But that’s another reason you love him, you guess. Keeps things interesting.
“Please don’t kill me,” Santi says sheepishly, and it’s obvious to you he’s laying on the charm - actively trying to be as disarming as possible as he saunters over from the reception desk. For a moment, despite all his training, he looks as though he believes you could pull it off, too.
Your annoyance is already prepped; locked and loaded, as he pads squarely towards the banquette where you are sat - amidst a sea of luggage. You’ve been observing his attempts to charm the desk clerk with interest (his efforts, you surmise, at least partially effectual), and judging from the slight level of desperation in his efforts, you can already tell he fucked up somehow.
“What did you do?” you say impatiently, even as a smile twitches at the corner of your lips.
“I booked all the rooms we needed, for all of the wedding guests, right? 13 rooms here, and all 10 at the hotel across town. 4 more in guesthouses,” he recaps. “Got Frankie and Mila a great deal too, remember?”
You remember. And yet, you fold your arms across your chest, looking up at him incredulously. Okay then. Rolling with your attitude, the man takes a different tack. He sits next to you. Smiles. Leans in. Pats your thigh. He’s trying to disarm you too, you realise. It’s going to take more than that - you’re not some flimsy desk clerk who will form a puddle and bat your eyes at the first sign of his charm.
“Well, funny story. I may have forgotten to book our rooms,” he blurts.
Oh? Oh, great. Yeah. This is a grand fuck-up. The whole damn town is booked-out. It’s a small town. No longer amused, your nostrils flare in annoyance as you tug in a slow breath, schooling your tone just a little before you speak. “You what?” Okay, you didn’t manage to school it all that much.
“Look, I already sort of fixed it,” he smooths. That explains the flirting with the clerk. Although, you think, glancing back at her. She’s pretty. That partially explains the flirting with the clerk, then, you mentally correct. “There’s just one, teeny-tiny issue.”
You raise your eyebrows and widen your eyes. Well?
“We’re gonna have to share a room.”
You blink at him a few times, in surprise. Well, it’s not ideal. For a number of reasons. But you can think of worse things, truth be told. And he’s not wrong. It is a solution. Still, on his reveal, a succession of emotions and micro-assessments are bounced back and forth between your eyes and his, until you land on resigned annoyance, exhaling a long sigh. That is, until Frankie appears in the lobby, swanning in like he’s walking on air. He probably is, given that he’s getting married this weekend. His face splits with a smile so wide you reckon it should be painful to maintain, and you stand to greet him as he heads over.
You’re glad he’s happy. It means that you and Santi, as Maid of Honour and Best man, respectively, are doing a fantastic job of deflecting all of the stress away from the happy couple. Indeed, that assessment certainly feels true – you do feel stressed. Still, the two of you immediately paint your faces with masking smiles; though, in fairness, it’s hard not to smile while looking at Frankie – his obvious joy is infectious.
Frankie wraps you both in a hug, then rubs his palms together like an excited kid. “I don’t have much time. Just gonna say a quick hello to my parents. Apparently, my mom’s already started crying? Can you two sort some extra tissues for the ceremony or something? Oh, and is everything okay with the rooms?”
“With this guy? Are you kidding?”, you say before you think, throwing your thumb towards Santi. Immediately, his eyes submit a powerful plea to you to keep schtum- it is written all over his face that he doesn’t want to let Frankie down. Not even in the smallest of ways.
Frankie would find his little error funny, probably. But he can find it funny after the ceremony. “Everything is A-OK! This guy? He has every single detail taken care of.”
Frankie grins, his eyes narrowing proudly at Santi as he slaps him on the back, laying profuse thanks on the two of you; then, he floats away again, as if on a cloud. Santi’s brown eyes are big with gratitude when you look at him again, and you can’t help but weaken. You’ll admit, it’s really not that bad of a fuck-up. Besides, you’re tired. Between the drive out here, the wedding rehearsal, and a never-ending list of errands, the day has been long. You just want to get to the room, and maybe even clock a snooze before the rehearsal dinner tonight.
“Fine,” you agree, albeit through gritted teeth. “We can share a damn room.”
Santi looks visibly relieved, and squeezes your shoulder in thanks. You’d even been nice enough not to bite his head off. “Yeah. We can share a room, right? It’s only for a weekend.” Suddenly, he doesn’t sound quite as certain.
“Sure. I mean, what could possibly go wrong?” you smile nervously.  
He returns your smile and swivels, heading back towards the desk.
“Oh, wait!” you call after him. “Is it a double or a twin?” you ask in horror. Sharing a room is one thing, but sharing a bed?
He turns, looking over his shoulder. “Doesn’t matter!”, he winks. “Whatever it is, we’re gonna have to take it.”
Oh. Oh dear.
You’re inclined to agree -you don’t have many options- but when you catch yourself stealing a glance at the man’s shapely butt as he walks back to the desk, you begin to chew your bottom-lip nervously.
Right. Ha.
What could possibly go wrong?
It turns out, sharing a room with Santi is resoundingly not bad at all. In fact, at first, it’s as easy as everything else is with him - even between your hurried preparations for the evening, unpacking, shuttling items to the relevant members of the wedding party, and calling down to reception several times to check the logistics for the rehearsal dinner. Even getting dressed, you find an easy flow as you each flit in and out of the bathroom, dancing around each other with ease and only a hint of friendly bickering.
Santi’s respectful too- always knocking and announcing himself before entering a space, and averting his gaze when he needs to, given that you’re rushing around and undressing. You even manage to ignore the fact there’s only one bed for the longest time, parking that specific panic for later. Even then, he has already made reception send up extra pillows and blankets, forming a barricade in the middle of the bed so you two can comfortably separate.
Thankfully, you are so busy that the idea of sharing a bed with Santi doesn’t even cross your mind until you’re finally ready, dressed in your finery. When you step out of the bathroom, Santi -sat on the edge of said bed- stands up, thrusting his hands into his suit trousers as he takes the sight of you in, pulling the material taut -in a rather pleasing way- across his hips and thighs. He ends up slightly slack-jawed for a moment as his eyes trail over you, brewing with a gentle, self-conscious heat. “Fuck,” he says softly, his voice gruff. “You look…” a little gulp trails down his throat as you give him a little twirl. “…hot”, he says, his eyebrow ticking up on the last beat.
“Wait until you see my bridesmaid dress,” you smile, and he returns it easily, those gorgeous creases appearing around his eyes.
Unconsciously, you lick your lips. You can’t help but wonder, vaguely, what it would be like to push him down on to the mattress. Maybe straddle him. Fuck, you should have known this would be a bad idea. A heat rising in your face at that thought of that, you distract yourself by lifting his suit jacket from the back of the chair, holding it out for him as he slips it on to his shoulders, and feeling the luxurious texture of it beneath your fingers.
It’s a grey suit, tailored, and it hugs him in all the right places. The cool colour is perfect against his warm-toned brown skin, and brings out the salt in his salt-and-pepper curls, and in the rough rasp of grey flecked through his stubble.
You try desperately not to notice how good he looks, but this may be your greatest challenge yet.
“Come on,” you encourage, nodding towards the door. “We better head down.”
“Yeah,” he agrees, half-heartedly. The way his eyes are subtly roving over you, though, he looks like he has something entirely different in mind for dinner.
“You’re probably going to spend all night being chased by the single bridesmaids,” you add casually as you collect your purse, and apply a final dab of lipstick in front of the mirror. You’ve already clocked a few members of the wedding party eyeing him up, and you don’t exactly blame them for being thirsty. Besides, Santi is a huge flirt; so perhaps he’ll be the one doing the chasing. You wouldn’t be surprised if he ended the night with his tongue thrust deep in someone’s throat, which -you assume- is typical Santi fashion.
“Isn’t it traditional, anyway,” he smirks cheekily, applying a splash of cologne, “for the Best Man to hook-up with one of the bridesmaids?”
Lord, does he have to smell so… edible.
“Got news for you, man. You fucked up. You can’t exactly bring a girl back to your room now, can you?!” you tease, nodding back towards your shared bed, a wall of pillows already arranged down the middle. You mean it to come out in good-humour, but you can’t scrub the hint of jealousy from your tone entirely.
You feel so silly for being jealous of whomever he may hook-up with. After all, Santi is always the one testing the boundaries of friendship with you. It’s not like he’s ever made a secret of the fact he’s attracted to you- and you are the one here will a firm line in the sand. A line you simply won’t cross with him. Can’t cross. You want to - of course you do, but after being hurt in the past, you have simply built-up far too many defences; or, more accurately, just the right amount of defences, you think, to protect you. So, no matter how disarming the man is, you simply have to keep your guard up; because if he breached your walls, you know everything else would come tumbling so easily down.
You had fallen so easily into friendship with him, and you are certain that you would fall just as recklessly in love with him.
You’re not ready for that.
You can’t take being hurt again. Besides; Santi? He’s an incredible friend. He’s tenaciously loyal and dedicated to his squad. But when it comes to love, and sex, you doubt whether serious is even his thing - and you’re too afraid to ask.
“You ready to do this?” he asks, with a wink.
“Yep,” you nod. “Let’s roll,” and with that, you turn, heading for the hallway.
“Princesa- that dress really highlights your ass,” he praises as he tags along behind you.
“Thank you, it’s true,” you smile devilishly, already beginning to let your guard down, just a little. He’s simply so disarming. “Speaking of, Garcia – did you get your trousers a size too small on purpose?”
“Oh, you noticed?” he retorts, smugly, guiding you through the door with a hand on the small of your back.
Okay. Sometimes you flirt back. After all – look at him.
Especially in that damn suit.
The rehearsal dinner goes swell. Frankie and Mila are a picture-perfect, loved-up couple, and they grin their way through the evening as if they slept with coat hangers in their mouths. The speeches are well-received, including Will’s, thus setting a high bar for you and Santi tomorrow. (You may be biased, but Santi’s is ten times funnier, and it’s going to kill, in your opinion.) There are no dramas through the evening- logistical or familial, and thanks to you and Santi overseeing everything with a military precision, it looks as though -so far- it is shaping up to be the perfect wedding weekend.
Finally, once your duties are over for the night, you are able to let your hair down a little, so to speak, and enjoy the food and company on offer. Still, with a big day ahead tomorrow, things wind down relatively early, and -having lost track of Santi at some point- you find yourself back at the shared room a little while before him. You usually burn out more quickly than he does in social situations, but even taking that into consideration, you begin to fret about where he has gotten to. With the way he was flirting his way through the party, though, it doesn’t take a genius to guess what (or who) might be keeping him up.
You try to sleep but you can’t, your mind going to the worst places, so, by the time Santi does return -softly cracking the door, and padding in with his shoes in his hands so as not to wake you- you have stewed in your own thoughts long enough to have become a little cranky. A little… green-eyed.
“Hey,” he greets in surprise when he enters, immediately noticing the soft lamp glow, and seeing you still sitting up in the bed, mindlessly watching the flicker of the tv on mute.
“Hey,” you return, your voice noticeably strained. “Have a fun time?” You find yourself wishing you weren’t sharing a room, then you wouldn’t have to know what he got up to.
“Yeah,” he replies softly, slipping off his jacket and laying it over the back of a chair. “Did you? How come you’re still up? Thought for sure you’d be wiped out by now.”
So, he did think of you, then?
“Couldn’t sleep,” you reply neutrally, fixing your eyes dead ahead as he begins to slip out of his trousers and shirt too, until he’s dressed in only his tight black boxers. Next, he takes off his watch and sets it at the bedside, and you notice that he smells of perfume. A cloying, floral scent that makes you feel a little sick.
“Just gonna have a quick shower and then I’ll slip in with you, okay?” he says, his voice slow and deep and muted, matching the soft light.
You still don’t look at him. You can’t.
“Do what you want. You usually do,” you bite, the words tasting bitter as soon as they have left your lips, and tears of regret pooling as your anger dissolves.
You don’t blame him if he was with someone – you really don’t. You’re simply angry at yourself; because you wish you could be that person, and you can’t for the life of you seem to find a way.
“Okay. What was that for?” he bristles, reacting defensively, turning towards you. And perhaps it’s because it’s late and he’s tired, or because certain demons feel safer coming out under the cover of darkness, but he doesn’t stop there. Especially when all he gets from you is a stony, pointed silence. “You know what? Actually, no. You don’t get to do this”, he hisses, and it is the first time you’ve ever heard him direct any genuine anger at you.
It doesn’t half sting.
“Do what?” you ask, but you already know the answer.
“You don’t get to be mad when I give my attention to someone who actually wants it,” his voice is hushed, but his words rattle through you as if he had yelled them. “I don’t have to explain myself to you. Guess what, I’m not yours.”
“That’s not fair”, you snap back, and then things are quickly escalating.
“Isn’t it?” he asks, rasping a hand over his stubble in distress. “I mean, come on. Shit. You know that I want more but I…” he exhales a disgruntled laugh. “You shoot me down, which is your prerogative, honestly, but you can’t have it both ways. You can’t knock me back all the time and then be pissed off when I look elsewhere.”
You meet his face, the planes of it shadowed and angled harshly with anger, suddenly so unfamiliar to you, and it causes your eyes to bloom with tears. You two look the opposite of Frankie and Mila; of a picture-perfect couple. But you’re not even a couple at all, are you?
You see him try. To blunt the emotion which is bubbling up. To soften. But he has uncorked something he now can’t put back in. “Fuck, I just wish that….” he pinches his lips together and shakes his head, planting his hands on his hips and looking at the floor. “If you don’t want me, just put me out of my fucking misery. Just say it. Just fucking tell me.”
Your heart shatters into a thousand pieces at the thought you make him miserable. At the way his voice breaks. At the way he thinks you don’t want him. Maybe you were wrong, thinking that you could be friends at all. Thinking that could be enough for him.
Your lower lip trembles, and your fingers clutch the edge of the blanket. “I… I can’t tell you that. I can’t tell you that I don’t want you, Santi.”
You can’t because it isn’t true. It could not be further from the truth, in fact.
He puffs out air, an exasperated sound, his hand raising up to tangle in his grizzled curls. Raising his voice a little more. “Let me guess. You can’t tell me the other thing either?”
“I.. I..” You try, but no words will come. You simply shake your head, swallowing a sob, your eyes almost brimming over.
He nods. He nods, his mouth slanted down. “Great. Got it,” he huffs.
You hate this. You hate how much you’re hurting him.
“Santi,” you breathe weakly, but it is too weak to blunt the force of his emotion. To halt his trajectory, and so, resigned, he turns towards the bathroom, grabbing-up a fresh white towel from the counter. Before he closes the door, he turns to you once more, now speaking softly, his eyes as sad as yours. “You know,” he says, his index finger sawing back-and-forth over the stubble at his chin. “For the record, I wasn’t with anyone else. I can’t even fucking think about anyone else but you. I was late back to the room because I couldn’t face it.” His voice becomes small and pained. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to just curl up next to you and act like I don’t care.” His eyebrow ticks up, and he adds, with a final flourish. “Guess I should have taken a lesson from you.”
Oh, how it stings, pain flowering in your chest like a bruise, but you hold yourself together until he’s out of sight. Then, when he’s gone, you immediately cave in on yourself, falling on to your side and screwing your eyes shut, clamping your hand over your mouth so that he can’t hear you crying as wet tears spill onto your pillow.
When he comes back into the room, after a long shower, you simply screw your eyes shut and pretend to be asleep. You hear him sigh heavily, and mumble something to himself under his breath, before dragging a few pillows and a spare blanket down on to the floor.
A few more silent tears roll over the bridge of your nose.
You guess you wouldn’t be sharing a bed with him after all.
You wake panicked in the night, sitting bolt upright in the bed. A cold wash of sweat over your skin chills you, even though you feel like you’re burning-up.
Immediately, you reach for him, for Santi, calling his name even as your fear strangles the sound in your throat. Your heart is thudding, and your breaths are sawing in and out of you, but your grasping hands find nothing to your side but pillows and blanket.
Unfortunately, you are used to this occurrence, and you quickly realise it was “only” a nightmare. Still, the feelings and images it conjured linger in your body, and around you in the shifting, seemingly fluid shadows of the room.
With a release of tension, you whimper, leaning forward and cradling your head in your trembling hands, and you try to ground yourself. To steady your breath and your heartbeat, like you’ve practiced. As you do so, the shadows to your left shift and change, and, even in the pitch-black you can feel him, a safe and warm presence, instantly travelling to your side, his weight dipping the mattress. His soothing, sandy voice filtering through the shadows and cutting back the tendrils of your nightmare like a Disney prince hacking through cursed vines.
You vaguely remember that he’s mad at you - but you can’t help it. Can’t help asking. “Hold me?” you plead, desperately afraid that he won’t.
Still, without questions or hesitation, you feel the wall of remaining pillows coming down, the defences around you quite literally being dismantled – a figurative wall between you shifting away along with it. He shushes you, and you focus on his voice, until he is close enough that the scent of him wraps around you, before his arms follow closely after.
You reach for him in return. You reach for him in every way possible.
“It’s just a nightmare,” he soothes. “I’m here, baby. I’ve got you,” and there is pain in his voice on your behalf, as if he tries to bear the burden of it for you.
“Closer,” you plead, and before you know it, he is shifting you on to your side, slotting his sturdy yet soft body around you, not caring that you feel clammy and hot against his bare skin. He simply loops his arms and draws your back, closer to his chest, becoming your big spoon.  
He calms you, hands enveloping yours and bundling them against your chest, his nose nuzzling into your hair, and his deep steady breaths slowing your breathing as you let his calm and his rhythms overcome you. He holds you, until the feelings pass, not caring how long it takes – and with any anger from before apparently forgotten.
This pain is all too familiar to him, you know. It something that Santi understands. It is your own and it is not the same as his, true, but you know it is familiar enough that he will feel the ache of it echoing in his own chest. You know that he is accustomed enough to bearing his own pain, that when yours is too heavy to carry, he will help you hold it for a while. And so, he holds you, while you are a tender thing, bruised and afraid, and he keeps you safe; with all your walls down, all of your defences collapsed, he becomes your fortress.
You never thought that letting yourself be so vulnerable could allow you to feel quite as safe as this.
As you lie together, Santi continues to usher soft reassurances into your ear, his words like charms and incantations to ward off the ghosts which haunt you. And, after a series of slow, stretched moments, you become more settled, and Santi feels you relax against him.
After a few moments more, he eventually whispers a small question into your hair. In the dark, the question feels safe to come out, perhaps.
“Do you always call for me when you…?” he trails off, thinking better of it. “I’m sorry- forget it, you don’t have to answer that.”
You don’t. You know you don’t. You don’t even truthfully know the answer. It’s likely that you do call for him, though how would you know, when you’re usually alone? But, there is something else you can tell him, while it is safe to come out in the dark. Something you want to tell him, before you build your walls all the way back up.
“Santi,” you begin, timidly, and his fingers skim softly up and down your arms, encouraging you to go on. “I-I’ve been hurt before. And, I want to be with you. I want to let you in but… I’m. I’m not ready. I’m trying so hard but I… I can’t.”
There is a long beat, and you realise he has held in a breath only when he releases it all at once, fanning hot across the back of your neck.
You are afraid. Afraid of what he might say, in response – what he might feel, but you think, maybe, it might be something like relief? And, Santi squeezes you, just a little tighter. A little closer. “Don’t worry about that now, okay?” he soothes, his voice feather soft. “Just… know one thing, okay, Princesa? Whenever you are ready? I’m waiting.”
This time your heart fills with a different emotion, all the spaces in it flooded with contentment, Santi’s words followed by a perfect, happy silence.
A soft smile blooms on your face.
It was not a confession of waiting impatiently, you understand, but an invitation to take your time to arrive at him. He’s not trying to bring down your defences at all, is he? He’s waiting for you to open the door, and invite him in. He’s waiting until you are ready. He simply needed to know that you are on your way, even if your footsteps are getting you there slowly.
For now, though, the thought of it is too much. More than you’re ready for.
So, you simply let him hold you.
To disarm you further.
To walk yourself a little closer toward where you want to be. With him; by his side.
In the morning, you wake up tangled around each other, Santi’s arm wrapped securely around your back and your head settled on his chest. He is still snoring lightly – cutely - when you awake, and so, as the night prior comes flooding back to you, you hastily try to extricate yourself from him; even if his bare skin feels so good against yours that you never want to move. You’re apparently not so subtle- or he’s a helluva light-sleeper – as, just when you pull away, Santi wakes up, quickly rushing to prove his innocence.
“You had a nightmare,” he croaks, still trying to peel his eyes open. “You asked me to- “.
“-I know. I remember,” you reassure, sitting up in bed, the blankets tugged to your chest. Santi shuffles, opting to assume the same position on his own side, mirroring you, rubbing his eyes.
You’re still not sure whether to apologise to him or thank him. Or maybe even to wait for an apology from him? Christ. Maybe all of those things or none of them, who even knows? You mentally spin a wheel and land on a casual “Uh. Thank you, for…. You know.”
“Anytime,” he says, turning his head to the side and looking at you earnestly. As if your bickering -your jealousy and his outburst- is all but forgotten. What’s more, you know that he means it.
Admiringly, your eyes wander over him, enjoying a side of him you’ve never quite seen before. Apparently, he’s even more handsome in the morning, with an even thicker, darkened brush of stubble, his grizzled curls dishevelled, and his swooping eyelids still heavy from sleep. Combined, it gives him a sultry, bedroom look. Feeling an involuntary rush of heat in the pit of you, your gaze drops to his corded neck, where, given the special occasion, he has substituted his dog tags for a silver chain, drawing your gaze down over his smooth, brown chest.
Your skin now cooling in the conditioned air of the room, you long for his body heat again, recalling how it felt to be held by him and wishing you had lingered a little longer while you could. Even with your interrupted sleep last night, you have somehow woken feeling refreshed, as though you had slept unreasonably deeply in his arms, reaching a whole new level of contentment - as though you just fit together, perhaps. As though it comes naturally for you to be held by him, and for him to hold you.
There is a silence and it isn’t awkward exactly; more… pregnant, with possibilities. Possibilities you see brewing with a gentle heat in his eyes. So, tearing yourself abruptly away from that line of thought, you lift your phone up from the nightstand, and note that there isn’t long before your alarms sound anyway.
Operation Wedding Day is go.
That should be enough of a distraction for you, shouldn’t it?
“You ready for this, Best Man?” you ask him, with a gentle quirk of your lips.
“Sure. Are you ready, Maid of Honour?”
Ready. Are you ready?
Thoughts of last night swirl in your head.
Well – as Santi flashes you a tentative, disarming smile, with hooded eyes, you certainly feel like you’re getting there. Like soon you could be ready.
“Sure. Let’s get this show on the road.”
“Atta girl,” he encourages, folding his arms behind his head as you jump out of bed.
You suddenly don’t care that you’re in nothing but your underwear, as you stretch out your body and track towards the bathroom. “I’ll shower first?”
“We’re sharing a bed,” he teases. “Sure you don’t want to share a shower too?”
You scoff, flashing a mischievous smile right back at him. You’ve always had a soft spot for his flirting, but you feel like -after all that transpired last night- you truly see if for what it is now. You realise why it has never felt like he’s pressuring you - not once. He’s simply reminding you, that as soon as you call for him, he’ll be there. That he’s waiting, when you’re ready.
Reminding you, that as soon as your walls drop, he’ll be your fortress.
“I don’t think you’re gonna get quite that lucky this morning, Garcia.”
You do linger in the doorway, just a little longer than necessary though, so that he can get a better look at you. He’d never look without permission – he proved that yesterday, when you were in various states of disarray- but this time, sensing your invitation, his eyes graze over you slowly, keenly. So, when he strategically moves his hands from behind his head to hide the tenting covers, you don’t mind at all.
You smile devilishly as you slip into the bathroom, closing the door behind you. You’re not sure if he will… take care of himself out in the room – how could you know? But, feeling inspired, you certainly do so in the shower, and it’s a pretty great wake-up call before you face the wedding day.
Maybe sharing a room isn’t so bad. Maybe you could even get used to it.
Frankie and Mila get hitched without a hitch.
Santi goes to the ends of the earth to make sure that Frankie has the best day possible- and at some points, he goes even further than that. His speech was moving and flawless, and pretty fucking funny; even if you are a little (or a lot) biased. Not a dry eye in the house, just as you predicted.
The man adores Frankie with his whole heart, and you could barely hold back the glow of admiration as you listened to him, feeling like it might burst from your chest like a beam of gold sunlight. You felt it especially strongly every time his eyes met yours during the course of the speech, and you couldn’t help but smile yourself stupid each time he did so. And, of course, you were overjoyed to see your best friend have the day of her dreams, with the man of her dreams. If you do say so yourself, you think your speech was pretty killer too.
Suffice to say, you ate until your belly was full, loved until your heart hurt, laughed until your sides ached, and danced until your feet ached.
Tonight, unlike last night, you and Santi retire to your shared room at the same time, your arm linked into his, and your shoes carried in your hand to spare your sore feet – there’s a reason you never normally wear shoes like this. Without your heels though, you keep tripping over the hem of your dress almost every few paces, causing you to giggle and Santi to steady you with a warm, rich chuckle, sometimes throwing you an extra hand to assist you.  
You look over at him, furtively, as he recounts some of the more choice moments from the day, immensely enjoying the simple pleasure of hearing him talk and smile and laugh. Seeing him happy. Of course, enjoying how he looks too, you have to admit - even more handsome than he did yesterday (somehow) in midnight blue dress pants, and a white, crisp shirt, now tieless. He’s only grown sexier as the evening drew on too, now with a wide open-collar and rolled up sleeves to accommodate all of the dancing; or, at least, as much dancing as his knees could handle, until he’d simply opted to sit to the side and watch you boogie, his eyes apparently transfixed on you and only you - the advances of the other bridesmaids be damned.
There is something that hits different about the way he looked at you today. His admiration shining deeper than usual. Less like a casual lust, and more like something… serious. You’re not sure why you doubted it before, exactly. Why you have been so inordinately afraid that he might hurt you. You broadly figured him for a smash and dash type of man, which is fine, but you have every reason to believe that he wants more with you.
After all, Santi can be deeply and tenaciously loyal. He has dedicated himself to things deeply and unwaveringly several times over in his life. To his country, to his missions, to his morals, to his squad. And there’s something about the way he looked at you today, you think, that suggests he might dedicate himself to you with the same tenacity. Something far deeper than appreciating how you look in this bridesmaid dress (and oh boy do you look hot). It’s more like the way he looks at Frankie. A little different to that, obviously. But you’re realising he looks at you like he’d never let you down. Not even in the smallest of ways. Like he’d rather go to the ends of the earth -or beyond- than do that.
At least… you think so.
You are sure about one thing though. The way he looks at you? It’s thoroughly disarming.
And so, you arrive at your shared room, utterly wiped out from the day (and night), yet still somehow buzzing with an energy. A gentle suffusing heat under your skin as you watch Santi walk inside and kick off his shoes at the end of the bed, before turning back towards you.
You have entered a few paces behind him, after nearly tripping on your gown all over again by the door, but now, you are quite steady on your feet - aside from that slight, nervous tremble in your quaking legs as he looks at you like that. As Santi looks you up and down, eyes skimming over the contours of your dress and hence everywhere it hugs your figure. Evidently, he likes what he sees.
“Wow,” he breathes, his brown eyes shining as if he’s looking at you for the first time that day, even if his gaze has barely left you all night. “I know it’s the bride’s day, but you look fuckin’ smokin’, sweetie.”
“You think so?” you ask humbly, suddenly feeling unreasonably shy. Flustered even.
“Yeah. I think so,” he nods, positively certain. “Shit, you’re so beautiful.”
You look at him. You look at him in a way which suggests an answer in your eyes instead of a question. A clear intention in your body, instead of uncertainty. But he doesn’t push you. He doesn’t assume. He doesn’t make a move. Instead, his mouth tugs up into a lopsided smile, offering you a lazy flash of teeth, and he shoves his thumbs into his belt loops.
“Well, we’re officially off the clock now, so I’m calling it. Well done, Maid of Honour. Think we nailed it? Made a pretty damn good team?”
A smile lights your face. You did. You flowed. You fit. It was easy.
Fuck. It feels so easy. Why had you ever thought this would be hard?
You nibble on your lip, eyeing him with intention, and a hard swallow trails down his throat in response.
“Off the clock, hmm?” you say breathily. “No more titles or duties? Huh. That’s a real shame.”
“How so?” he asks, his eyes devouring you alive, but his body fixed resolutely in place. Transfixed to the spot.
“Because it’s traditional for the Best Man to get with one of the bridesmaids, isn’t it?”
A slow, disbelieving smile inches over his face, and he looks at his feet, a little bashful. “Gross tradition. Kinda sexist,” he says, and your gaze fixates on his full, curving lips. On his hands, poised and broad at his belt.
“So, you don’t want to make out then?” you ask in your most sultry voice, mere breath.
The man huffs out a quick, broken exhale. “Fuck me. You know I do, sweetie. But only if you’re ready.”
Ready. Are you ready?
“Santiago,” you say, with conviction, your eyes dancing between his. “I’m ready.”
Santi searches your face one last time, just to be certain. He’s sure, of course – has been for a long time, but he needs to know that you truly want this. That you want this now. So, he looks at you, and he finds nothing but permission. Even so, after so long, he still can’t quite believe it. He would go to the ends of the earth to keep you safe – or beyond – and, so dammit, he will ask you again.
“C-can I..” he begins, and his voice already sounds choked; hollowed out with need. “Fuck, Princesa, can I kiss you?”
Too long. Too long without moving. Without touching. Too long.
If you were suddenly ready, his kiss becomes even more suddenly overdue.
“You’d better,” you encourage, feeling like vapour. “Unless you want me to do it first.”
With permission granted, you expect him to be on you, with a surge. All at once. But Santi has been patiently waiting for you long enough. He can wait just a little longer, and, when he subtly tips his chin up, ever so slightly, and when he near growls “come here then, honey,” somehow, it is perfect. Somehow, it is a thousand times hotter that he makes you come to him.
You lift the hem of your dress, and you pad delicately towards him, feeling like you are wading through molten honey to get to him, the air thick and sweet.
“That’s it. Come here, baby,” he encourages, with a curl of his index finger beckoning you to him, his voice curling in the pit of you, making you feel weak in the best way possible. Making you feel spent before he’s even done so much as brush you with his hand or his lips.  
You close the remaining distance with your steps, the anticipation too much, and your legs feeling so weak from the reckless lust and the light, liquid softness in his eyes. By this point, you are begging for his arms to reach out and clasp you- to hold you up; make you secure and safe in him. You are begging for his lips to sink down on to yours. But he makes you wait, through a few more slow, stretched moments. Makes you inch your mouth closer and closer until your lips are almost skimming his. He makes you wait until you are moaning his name into the air before he has even touched you.
And, if there’s one thing you know for sure, it’s that when you call for him, he is always there to take care of you.
You know he will take care of you.  
With that, his name a plea, he swoops his broad, large hand up until he is holding you, his fingers closing around your jaw and your throat, trailing down your neck. His touch is painfully gentle, but in a way that makes you want him to squeeze, a little harder. In a way that makes you push yourself ever so subtly into his hand. A way that draws a silken moan from deep in your chest, and Santi is moved to dip the pad of his thumb into your mouth, where it meets your wet and willing warmth. When your tongue skims him, humming as you taste his saltiness, that seems to be the final straw, a wrecked groan sounding from his throat, and finally he surges on to your lips, leading with his tongue, thrusting into your open mouth and drinking down every sound and moan he can draw from you, his stubble rough against you. You don’t care if he leaves you raw.
It’s tender, and it’s gentle, but Santi knows all about control, and you can tell he’s holding back. His hands are lethal, and he knows just how to kill you softly; but, you are certain, that if you want more of his power, he’ll give it to you. That he’ll take care of you however you like.
So, he kisses you more deeply, harder, and you go near limp against him until one of his arms wraps at the back of your head and one at the small of your back, making you feel a feeble thing, waning in his arms as his large hands support you. Except; you’re not feeble though. You’re not by a long shot, and you know exactly what you want.
“Santi,” you suspire, letting him walk you back against the wall, pressing his bulging arousal into you as more wrangled sounds and little grunts slip from his parted lips.
“Yeah, baby?” he asks, already sounding wrecked for you.
“There’s only one shower. Wanna share?!”
Even as he releases an endlessly eager, disbelieving breath, his eyes keenly search your face, checking you are ready. He watches, enraptured, as your lips curl into a deliciously sinful smile.
“You know. We don’t have to rush this,” he insists, even as he shivers with need, closing his eyes and biting his lip when you angle your hips to brush the tenting bulge at his crotch, ever so fleetingly, his hips bucking into you immediately in pursuit of more pressure.
“I know,” you say coolly, your body an undercurrent of frenzy, but your mind calm and sure. You push him back, with your palms to his chest, making room for you to about-turn into the bathroom, shimmying off your dress as you go and letting it waft to the floor like a sigh. Looking at him over your shoulder, with lust-blown eyes, you leave Santi stood there, entirely dumbfounded, as you reveal all of yourself to him.
You retreat, but once the water is running you call out to him, wondering where he has got to. “Take a hint, Garcia. If you’re ready? I’m waiting.”
And, he doesn’t waste another second before joining you.
(BONUS: Outfit inspo, if you wanna imagine him in the suits a lil better 😉)
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reidabookforonce · 2 months ago
fanfic request info
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hello lovely people! here’s a post with everything you need to know about requesting fanfic from me. it’s a bit long but please read! 
1) I will write for most of my fandoms but at the moment i’m most interested in writing about: criminal minds, the umbrella academy, 9-1-1, and stranger things
characters (i might do others as requested, just ask me):
criminal minds: spencer, derek, luke, emily, matt, jj, penelope, tara, hotch
umbrella academy: diego, klaus, ben, vanya, allison
9-1-1: buck, maddie, eddie, marjan, t.k.
stranger things: steve, robin, nancy
i don’t usually write about ships but i will occasionally (once again, i may write about others so just ask)
criminal minds: ralvez, jemily, morcia, penemily, spencelle, tara + penelope, garvez
umbrella academy: ???
9-1-1: buddie, maddie + chim, tarlos
stranger things: stancy
i’ll also write about platonic/familial relationships such as steve and robin, reid and hotch, and buck and maddy but it will be clear that it isn’t romantic or sexual in any way. i simply am a sucker for friendship/family fanfics
2) check wip and masterlist before requesting as i may have a similar work already posted/in progress
3) let me know what pronouns you want for the story. my default is she/her cause those are my pronouns so let me know if you want different ones!
4) i write with an unspecified appearance by default so you can imagine the reader how ever you would like, but i might do a specific look as requested
5) specify if you want a full-blown one shot or a drabble/headcannon
6) minors: DO NOT send in nsfw/smut requests. please do not read or interact with the works themselves either. 16+ can request suggestive ones
7) don’t send the same requests to multiple authors. let me know if you would like to use a different author so i can take it off my wip list, i promise i will not be offended :)
8) what i won’t write about:
real people
mlm smut (i’m female and just don’t feel comfortable with it)
cheating (too sad), major character/reader death (also too sad), sad endings in general
non-con/incest/pedophilia/reader or canon non-abusers being abusive
certain kinks/hard bdsm (daddy kink, pet play, knife play, etc)
romanization of trauma, illness, abuse, etc
issues that i haven't dealt with myself (racism, transphobia, etc)
erasure of canon disabled, lgbtq+, etc characters
9) i may deny some requests because i think they’re too violent or i’m uncomfortable writing them or something along those lines. just ask me, i won’t judge/get upset
10) here’s a post with a bunch of prompt lists (none of them are mind so include the link so i can give credit). feel free to combine them also
11) to request dm me or use the ask option. i will try my best to reply to you if i approve it
please be patient <3 thanks for requesting!
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jour-de-printemps · 2 months ago
Garden Within (M)| part 2
Pairing: Zeke x Pieck
Genre: angst, fluff, smut
Rating: M
CW: mentions of death and war, mentions of child soldiers, strong language, eventual smut.
Summary: To keep her mind off of war, Pieck starts gardening. Little did she know that Zeke has a garden blooming inside of him everytime she smiles.
A/N: This is mostly canon-compliant but it is an AU and it takes place in an unspecified time frame.
First of all, I am terribly sorry for the wait. This pandemic has really been hitting me. As you can see, I have been working on some other stuff as well, trying out some new writing styles and just thinking about where I want to take all my stories, this one included. If you thought this story was just going to be about Zeke & Pieck, I'm sorry and I hope you can still enjoy it. I just didn't want to have 14 chapters of the same old sweet talk between them while nothing else happened, but I also didn't want to give anything away too soon. I promise you, this will all come together and make sense soon. Trust me, just trust me!
part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | coming soon
Masterlist | AO3 | Kofi
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The way the golden sunlight shone on the rain droplets resting atop the colourful petals made Zeke smile to himself. Huffing and puffing at his cigarette, he observed the different species of flowers Pieck had been caring for, to distract her from the war, as she had confessed earlier. It was a small garden but the love put into it stretched out into an enormous forest, like in the fairytales he used to read to her when they were younger. The rainfall from the previous night had left a glow in its wake that Zeke could only describe as beautiful, almost as beautiful as Pieck herself.
“You seem to like my flowers,” her calm voice made the man smile to himself before looking up at her. “Aren’t they pretty?”
“Lovely,” he nodded, squishing the remains of his unfinished cigarette on his ashtray as Pieck sat down next to him. “How did you manage to get them all here?”
She sat down her trusted crutch by her feet on the floor before rubbing her small hands on her long skirt, as if straightening it, her tired eyes looking down at the wet flooring, Zeke’s imponent presence feeling like too much. Sometimes, she felt like she could combust by just being near the man, tall and broad as a warrior should.
“I think it started during our mission in Gallen,” she sounded melancholic, her unruly black hair covering her profile. “I took that orchid from a flower shop.”
Pieck went quiet, still fixated on her brown boots and Zeke knew she prefered to not talk about work. He obliged, looking at her quietly, a hand gently brushing the strands of her dark hair behind her ear so he could see her face. A pair of fatigued pewter eyes met his blue ones, followed by a surge of blood to both their cheeks. They lingered in the moment for a while before he cleared his throat and pointed to a flower with large pointy petals, bright red in the edges and fading into white towards the centre. “I like that one a lot,” he said.
The young woman smiled. “That’s an amaryllis,” she explained. “I read that it symbolises love.”
Zeke returned the smile, his eyes warm behind his round glasses. Love, he thought, how appropriate. He remembered reading about some traditions in foreign lands, where people gifted each other flowers on all sorts of different occasions, like weddings, funerals, to celebrate new beginnings and to show love. In Marley, flowers only seemed to be used to embellish homes and gardens, women would carry a bouquet on their wedding day and some children would give flowers to their mothers. But that was an imported tradition and Marleyans didn’t seem to attribute any special meaning to specific plants, instead choosing them based on colour or scent alone.
“I wasn’t aware we had foreign books about flowers in the libraries in Liberio,” the man trailed off, his voice low and contained. He looked up at Pieck to see her tired face adorned with a sly grin. “Oh,” he concluded.
Pieck giggled vivaciously, amused that she had managed to render Warchief Zeke Jaeger speechless, something that didn’t happen often. She took a moment to bask in the glory of taking the words right out of his clever mouth and, although tongue-tied, the man couldn’t consider himself dumbstruck just yet, he wasn’t that easy. He recognised the victorious look she had in her big grey eyes that he used to compare to saucers when he was younger. She didn’t enjoy the comparison at first but, eventually, she warmed up to it.
“Didn’t take you for a criminal, Miss Pieck,” he snickered, his voice returning to him but his cheeks still rosy, though his well-groomed blonde beard, fortunately, hid his blush from her prying eyes. Pieck chuckled, frisk and joyful as always. If only she knew the twists and knots twisting and untwisting in his stomach every time he saw her smile like that…!
“I want to know the world I live in,” she sighed, a slight melancholy in her tone, the tone of someone whose twilights and dawns are limited. “If I have to die fulfilling this duty I despise, I want to at least die with as much knowledge in me as I can possibly gain in my remaining days.”
“Astute as ever, my love.” Flattery came easy to Zeke, he had known the young woman for years and they had fought together, cried together, laughed together. The bond they shared was unlike any other, the bond of two souls who know they are destined to die a cruel death. She didn’t seem to mind the sweet pet names.
The urgent shout interrupted Zeke’s bliss, eyes rolling to the back of his head as he turned to face the source of the scream. “Colt. What is it?”
The young man struggled to catch his breath, hands on his knees as he coughed frantically. Pieck hurried towards him, a hand on his back gently stroking up and down. She shot an urgent look at Zeke, who seemed way too calm, as always.
“What’s the matter, Colt,” Pieck, although collected, seemed much more worried. The Warchief threw his half-smoked cigarette to the ground and stepped on it, slowly approaching his younger counterparts.
“It’s Falco,” Colt uttered, despair in his voice. At the mention of the boy’s name, Zeke’s eyes widened behind his glasses. “He’s sick!”
The cigarette butt was forgotten on the ground as the three of them went back inside the house, Pieck’s hand on Colt’s waist as if securing her distraught comrade.
The little boy’s skin looked almost green, sickly and clammy, his lips chapped and eyes barely able to open. His friend Gabi was sat on a straw chair placed by his bedside, looking worried and mildly confused. Leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his broad chest, stood her cousin.
“He seemed a bit off the last few days but he suddenly just collapsed,” the brown-haired girl explained. “We were just running around and suddenly he just fell down!”
“Maybe the poor kid just strained himself training too hard,” Reiner offered quietly. “Either way, we should call a doctor.”
“I’m not sure a Marleyan doctor would help an Eldian kid, even if he’s a Warrior Candidate,” Colt whimpered, his hands on his temples, elbows propped up on his upper thighs as he sat in the other straw chair by the door of Falco’s bedroom. “Not a Grice kid, definitely.”
Pieck stood next to him, hands on his shoulders as if to soothe him, quietly observing the sick child as if looking for signs others might have missed. She was no doctor but she had access to forbidden books and she was sure of her intelligence. There has to be something in the books about his symptoms…!
Before Gabi could ask why definitely not a Grice kid, she remembered what Falco had said about his father leading some Eldian restorationist group, thus condemning his family name to shame, save for the two boys who agreed to become Warrior Candidates. That's why Colt is about to inherit the Beast from Zeke, she thought to herself.
“What can we do?”
The little girl seemed to be teary-eyed but she was successful at keeping her tears at bay, especially around all the grown-ups. Can’t have them find out I have feelings.
“Gabi, would you mind answering a few questions,” the Warchief looked at the girl with worry in his eyes. She nodded, lazily getting up as she glanced at the boy one last time, also eyeing her cousin on the other side of the room. Reiner nodded at her before Zeke placed a hand on her shoulder and escorted her out of the room. Reading the room, Pieck urged Reiner to go as well, leaving the Grice brothers alone.
“We’ll figure this out, Colt,” the owner of the Cart Titan softly spoke to the eldest brother, a hand gently ruffling his blonde hair affectionately.
“I know that look, Pieck,” Reiner observed, looking at the young woman who lied down on his bed as he sat by his desk. “You’re gonna take matters into your own hands.”
“Well yes, Reiner,” her voice was gentle and mellow as always, but there was a hint of sarcasm in it. “Somebody has to take direct action.”
“I just don’t want you to risk your life, that’s all,” the tall man replied, shrugging his shoulders as he glanced outside at the darkening sky.
“What a gentleman you are.”
Reiner averted his gaze from the sky outside towards the door of his bedroom to see an average-height, light-haired young man closing the door behind himself.
“Do you have any ideas, Braun? I don’t remember you being a doctor.”
Pieck felt the mattress beneath her shift when Galliard took a seat beside her on Reiner’s bed. The Vicechief didn’t seem to care that they were sat on his bed or, if he did, he was too tired to chastise them. The dark circles under his eyes seemed to be a part of him now.
“Porco is right, Reiner. We can’t call a doctor and you know I’m the only one who can do something."
"Just be careful, Pieck."
The silence that fell in the room after this exchange felt slightly awkward, especially when the two men realised that Pieck had fallen asleep in that weird cat-like position on top of Reiner's made bed and he didn't want to wake her. Porco grinned, satisfied that the Vicechief would most likely sleep on the floor because he was too cowardly to wake a girl up. Indeed, a gentleman.
"Maybe if you were more of a gentleman, she would be in love with you and not somebody else." Reiner's words as Porco finally exited the room really stung, like pouring salt in an open wound that just wouldn't close. He didn't sleep very well that night and neither did anybody else at the Warrior Unit Headquarters.
To be continued
© jour-de-printemps 2020/21 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED I do not allow any translations or reposts of my work in any form on any platform.
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silver-handed · 2 months ago
Valentine’s Day
Did I write self indulgent V Day reader/Valentine smut? Yes I did. Do I feel bad about it? Not at all. Ashamed however...yeah also still no
Be aware there is NSFT fic below here about my V, with a reader of unspecified identity!! There is some alley way fun times and flirting and headgiving 
Valentine smiles when he sees you, the soft little thing that he reserves for you alone. The restaurant is quiet right now, soft music playing somewhere in the distance as you slide into the corner booth next to him.
He intertwines his fingers with yours, leaning in for a chaste kiss on the cheek. “You look wonderful tonight, my love.”
You can’t help but preen at the compliment. You had dressed up for tonight--nothing overdone, it was a simple date, but you’re feeling confident. He hasn’t seen you in this outfit yet, but, judging by the way his eyes slide over you appreciatively, he enjoys it.
“And so do you, my Valentine.” You adjust his tie slightly, using it as an excuse to feel his warmth. The suit he’s wearing is well fitted and softer than the one he normally wears, and he’s forgone the sunglasses so you can see his blue eyes.
His smile broadens, but you can see the slight pinkening of his ears, the way his eyes skitter away for a moment. Another thing only you can bring about; this soft shyness and borderline giddiness in a man who usually prided himself on his stoicism. 
Valentine leans in, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips. The sheer amount of affection in his eyes when he pulls back sets butterflies off in your stomach, and you can’t help but lean into his hand as he reaches up to cradle your face.
“I’m so lucky to be yours, you know that?” 
He doesn’t give you a chance to respond before he’s leaning in again and kissing you senseless. 
You try to think of how you got here as Valentine presses you up against the alley wall outside of the restaurant, pressing kisses to your jaw and your throat.
Maybe it was the dirty things you whispered in his ear as you finished dessert. Or perhaps it was the way your hand drifted from his knee to the inside of his thigh and up as he transferred the eddies to the waiter. Or maybe, if you’re being honest, it was the way you kissed a blooming hickey to his pale throat as you pulled him into the alley yourself.
His breath is hot against your throat when he pulls back, the warm line of his body stabilizing you against the alley wall. “You don’t know what you do to me, do you?” He whispers, punctuating the question with a nip at your throat.
He doesn’t give you much of a chance to respond, his hand sliding between your thighs and palming at you with easy familiarity. His hands are warm against you, and you bite your lip at the feeling of him so close to where you need him.
“Can I?”
It takes you a second to process the question as he presses his hand up, rubbing against you in the way he knows makes you weak. Here?, you think, Anyone could walk by...
Your breathy ‘yes’ is all the permission he needs. 
Valentine drops to his knees before you, gazing up at you with reverence and hunger. His hands slide up your thighs, pushing at your clothing and baring you to him. 
He wastes no time after that, hitching your thigh over his shoulder and diving in. He licks at you softly, growing bolder at your swallowed noises. It’s not long before Valentine’s fingers are probing against your entrance. You look back down at him--when had your eyes drifted closed?--and find him looking up at you, waiting for permission. You hand winds into his hair and he sighs as you nod.
“Good,” he growls against you as he presses a finger into you, and you can feel the rumble of it in your very core. “So good for me.” 
You gasp as he moves back in, licking a broad stripe up you as he inserts another finger and curling them just so as he thrusts. Your grip in his hair tightens in response, and his answering moan makes you want to melt. 
Another finger and more teasing swipes from that silver tongue finally pushes you over the edge, and you nearly have to bite down on your hand to keep from calling his name into the night air. He doesn’t pull away from you until you guide him away with a shaky tug at his hair.
The smug smirk he gives you as he stands up nearly makes you scowl--you’re going to need a few minutes before you can even consider getting to the car on your shaky legs--but then he’s kissing you again, and you can taste yourself on his lips. 
“I can’t wait to get you home,” he purrs as he pulls back, pupils blown as he looks you over.
“You don’t think I’m going to let you get away without hearing those pretty noises, do you, my love?”
An, oh, how could you refuse him something like that?
After all, it is his birthday.
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alluvision · 2 months ago
Stuff I write for ig
Here she is y’all hope this helps- 
Shit I will write willingly, so please ask me lol, I’m fresh outta ideas cause I’m a dumb dumb :))
Also I write sfw stuff. I suck at nsfw/smut but will try my best if asked lol, so please be gentle with me-
If I don’t specify in the  I Will Write > section of who I write for then it’s basically anyone you want. If I do specify in that section, I will only write those lol. Love youuu-
This is for like x reader okay lol. Basically what I will/won’t write with as a pairing with the reader. 
Also in order of the fandoms I mostly write for.
Starts greatest to least hehe :,))
I Mainly Write >
Dean Winchester
Sam Winchester
Jack Kline
Charlie Bradbury
I Will Write >
Anyone you want, just tell me lol
I Mainly Write >
Bucky Barnes
Peter Parker
Tony Stark
Steve Rogers
Natasha Romanoff
Carol Danvers
I Will Write >
I think this is getting repetitive, but I guess it works.
Anyone you request, darling ♡
I Will Write >
Any of the knights
Harry Potter
I Mainly Write >
Harry Potter
Draco Malfoy
Blaise Zabini
Luna Lovegood
Cedric Diggory
I Will Write >
The Marauders
Other students ig
Not Lucius Malfoy, Snape, Voldemort, that rat.
But like really just ask me lmao
I Mainly Write >
Ushijima Wakatoshi
Tsukishima Kei
Hinata Shoyo
Kuroo Testurou
I Will Write >
Again, literally anyone. I love ‘em all
Other Fandoms, Unspecified
PJO; Percy Jackson & The Olympians
HOO; Hero’s of Olympus
TRC; The Raven Cycle
DBH; Detroit: Become Human
BNHA; Boko No Hero Academia
> Requested ones, that I can do because I will literally give anything a shot.
Try me :)))
. . . . .
Will update as I go
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olliya · 3 months ago
Today on the menu we are having another smut! And a highly-awaited continuation of the prompts no. 1 and 2 it the same time!
I hope you’ll enjoy ;))))
19. Country Mouse
Rating: E
Verse: unspecified, Madara-lives, post 4th War AU. Continuation of prompts number 1 and 2.
Idea: me
Russian translation is provided as usually by @kotoffeya and can be read here! Thank you @kotoffeya for your efforts, they are especially appreciated when dealing with such topics, as I know this isn’t an easy task.
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quizzyisdone · 3 months ago
I Could Kiss You Right Now! | Bell! Reader x Frank Woods
A/N: I saw this super cliché prompt a little while ago and I can’t help but feel like this situation fits everybody’s favorite himbo perfectly. Pronouns are purposefully unspecified. It’s a bit short but I had fun with it! I'll also be posting part IV to Guilty tomorrow!! (1000+ words)
Warnings: Strong language, suggestive actions (No smut, sorry)
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Your brows furrowed and your mouth set into a deep frown, creating the most painfully frustrated, displeased expression Woods had ever seen. Mason, who was meant to be the painfully serious one, also took notice, nudging Woods to do something about it. Woods was glad to accommodate Mason’s unspoken request to break that tension.
“Bell!” His gruff, raspy voice yelled from the opposite side of the safehouse, near the van where he and Mason were sitting. You shot your head behind you from the swivel chair you were sitting in, startled. Your glare was sharp, sharp enough to send shivers down the spine of anyone.
“What?” You huffed with gritted teeth. The initial annoyance you felt had risen to anger, bordering on outright belligerence.
“Stand down. I’m just tryna get you to lighten up.” He raised his hands in defense, a lopsided grin on his face.
“Do I look like I want to be lightened up? I’m doing something.” You bit your lip, shooting an ice cold glare towards Woods. He was unfazed by this. He strided confidently over to the refrigerator behind the evidence board that was stockpiled with leftovers and alcohol and grabbed just what you needed to calm the hell down.
“You need to be lightened up. Have a beer.” Woods placed a bottle of German Lager next to your hand and shook your shoulder in a gesture of friendliness.
“Somehow I don’t think that is going to help me decode this stupid fucking, I don’t know, this thing!” You rubbed your temples, trying to assuage the headache you felt coming on before it even started.
“All that thinking is bad for ya.” Woods joked, and Mason practically leapt at the chance to insult his friend.
“You would know, huh?” Mason smiled as he grabbed a beer for himself. 
“I do think, sometimes. I just see what has to be done and do it. No thinking required for doing the right thing.” Woods defended. You admired his Get-Shit-Done attitude, but it was perhaps a bit woefully uncomplicated.
“If only I lived in your world of such simplicity.”
“You could if you drank that beer.” Woods encouraged.
“Somehow I don’t think Adler would approve.” You were worried about his reaction to see that you were fucking around while decrypting a time-sensitive floppy disk for an op.
“To hell with Adler. You’ve been working on that damn thing all day.” Mason chimed in. “Besides, he’s a lot looser than you think. Drink, maybe it’ll help.” You obliged Mason, and opened the bottle, chugging the alcohol until the bottle was gone. You sighed in contentment, but cringed at the bitter taste.
“Happy?” You jabbed, a smirk appearing on your face as you watched Woods’ impressed reaction.
“Do you feel better?” He chuckled, his hand on his chin.
“No.” You sighed. “I won’t be until I can figure this shit out.”
“Then I’m not happy if you’re not.” Your heart jumped at his simple, but kind statement. “Lemme help you.”
“Woods, you’re not exactly a cryptographer-” You were cut off by him taking one more swig of his beer before slamming it down, pulling a nearby swivel chair to sit awfully close to you. He put his large hand on your shoulder, grabbing the papers you were working with.
“I’m also a bit smarter than you all might think. You might just need some fresh eyes.” 
“Go ahead.” You resigned, leaning back in your chair, turning around to look at Mason who nodded, a non-verbal cue to let Woods do his thing. It couldn’t possibly hurt. His eyebrows were raised while Woods’ face was set in the same intense concentration your own was moments ago. It was a few moments of silence before Woods finally spoke up.
“Got it. Your mark is this dude.” He said, pointing at the picture of one of the suspects on your very long list of suspects. He rose from his seat, walking to the table where Mason was sitting, leaning onto it.
“How-how did you figure that out?” Your mouth was agape, slightly jealous that he could figure it out before you could.
“Well, judging by what you decrypted, I was able to cross-reference it to-” His words were fogged by your boggled mind, you couldn’t recall what he had said. All you remember was that it made perfect sense. 
Quite frankly, you didn’t care what he said. You looked at him in admiration, barely noticing the adoring grin plastered across your face. Maybe you shouldn’t have drunk that beer so quickly. Or maybe you were just a lightweight, but you hardly cared in that moment.
You shot up from the seat. “Woods, I could kiss you right now!”
“No balls.” He egged you on, returning the sweet smile you had as he hoped you would prove him wrong. 
You raised your eyebrows, a mischievous smirk as he nodded.
Apparently, that was all the encouragement you needed as you practically ran towards the man, colliding your lips with his without thinking, wrapping your arms around his neck. All sense of propriety left the both of you as he gripped your waist with one hand and cupped your cheek with the other, returning the gesture with equal passion. You pressed forcefully against him, making him practically sit on the table he was leaning on. Woods groaned into your mouth and grinded ever so slightly against you.
You broke the kiss, leaning your forehead against his as you both smiled. You two barely noticed Mason’s astonished expression, he awkwardly turned away to shield himself from that outburst.
“Apparently you do have balls, Bell.” He chuckled, breathless. Mason cleared his throat to remind you of his presence. “Wow.” Was all Woods could say.
“And I’m sure he’d love to fondle them but uh,” Mason pursed his lips, outwardly appearing unimpressed, but his eyes betrayed him, it was obvious he was amused at that display. “D-Do you guys want me to leave?” Mason rubbed the back of his neck and snickered.
“Get your ass outta here! I got stuff to do!” Woods yelled, waving Mason off as he left the safehouse. Mason shot back an obscene middle finger before closing the door as Woods brought you closer once more.
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olliya · 3 months ago
For today’s installment we have smut. Seriously, no excuses, just total porn. I think it has its place in this collection and today it’s the time for it ;)))
Proceed with caution, as the content is explicit.
9. Mirror, Mirror
Rating: E
Verse: unspecified, Madara-lives, post 4th War AU
Warning: explicit sexual content
Idea/Inspiration: me
Russian translation by @kotoffeya can be found here. Thank you so much @kotoffeya for all the work that went into it!
And, stay tuned, because there is a visual sneak-peek coming! ;)
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