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here4kpopfics · 1 year

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Lose My Mind | Wonwoo

Pairing: Wonwoo x (f)reader

Genre: angst, smut

AU: established relationship, biker!au

Wordcount: 5,722

Summary: you can only deal with your fiancé’s antics for so long before you finally give up.

Warnings: Language, fighting/violence, blood, cleaning of wounds, wonwoo gets slapped, much angst, smut, oral, unprotected sex (wrap it pls), creampie, cum eating.

Rating: M/18+

AN: Happy Birthday to my soulmate @playmetheclassics! I love you so very much, I'm so happy to have met you and can't wait for the day I can hug you for real and I hope you enjoy this lovely pile of angst with a dash of smut. First time writing from someone not reader’s POV so I apologize in advance if it’s eh at all. Trying to improve my skills. Thank you to @the-boy-meets-evil for beta-reading, and @classicscreations for the banner/divider. Enjoy!!! 💜

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“I can’t do this anymore. I can’t live this life with you if this is how you’re going to be, Wonwoo.”

The memory plays back in his mind clear as day as he spins the engagement ring around on the sticky counter.

“I love you so much, I’m sorry.” Your voice breaks as the tears stream down your cheeks. He wants to wipe them away, wants to change your mind. But he can’t. He knows he can’t. So he lets you take his hand in yours, setting the engagement ring he worked so hard to find just for you in his palm and letting go.

How could he have fucked this up so badly?

He met you four years ago at some party he couldn’t remember the host of if he tried. You were in skin tight jeans, a lacy bodysuit leaving very little to the imagination, boots, and a motorcycle jacket on top.

The definition of perfection in Wonwoo’s eyes.

Alcohol brought you two together quickly, and soon after sobering up while talking to you, had you on his motorcycle as he drove through the city to his place where you two had sex into the early hours of the morning. The way you moaned his name, nails scraping down his back as you clenched around him had him seeing stars and finally believing in something, anything, because you existed.

You ghosted him for a month and he was going insane. Just one night with you was addicting enough that he needed more. He needed you around him at all times. He needs you on the back of his bike, your arms tight around his waist as you clung to him for dear life.

He finally found you at another party, cornering you in a room and demanding you explain why you ghosted him.

“Had to see if you were worth it. If you really wanted me or if you were just drunk and horny.”

He cut off any further explanation with his lips against yours, roughly fucking you against the wall when you said the word please.

Two years later, he’s hopelessly in love with you and you are with him. He had introduced you to his biker gang, which you thought was adorable at first, but soon grew to have a love/hate relationship with. You became friends with the other significant others of the gang, all of you often worrying about your men getting into trouble. The others treated it like a joke, but you genuinely worried every day and night for him.

He often came home with bruises or a cut lip. He wouldn’t tell you what happened. He couldn’t. It always led to a fight. Which would then lead to angry makeup sex. He’d promise to lessen the fighting and you’d stupidly believe him. Every. Time.

The third year, he wound up in the hospital you worked at after a car merged into him when he was in their blind spot. You told him to get rid of the bike, to just get a car and be safe. He refused. You were mad, but you loved him enough to stay home with him and help him get better.

The day he proposed, you two were at a bar, surrounded by his crew. Mingyu handed you a shot, saying congratulations, not realizing Wonwoo hadn’t proposed yet. When you looked at him, it made Wonwoo want to tear Mingyu apart for spoiling it. He took you away from the group, taking you outside where it was snowing. He stood you next to his bike, getting down on one knee and showing the ring, asking you to be his forever.

He swore he understood the entire universe when you said yes and put the ring on.

That stupid ring.

That stupid ring he can't stop playing with as he fights the urge to throw it against the wall with the liquor bottles.

“Wonwoo? It’s three in the morning, where have you been?” Your voice is laced with exhaustion, worry, fear, and anger.

He hates that tone. But it’s nothing compared to the tone that always follows next.

“I got sidetracked with the guys.”

“Sidetracked? Are you serious?” There it is.

He tries to sidestep you in the dark living room, hoping you don’t see his face. But you do.

Because you know.

You always know.

You’ve known since the beginning.

He fights. Late at night in the back room of a dirty bar. He fights.

And he wins.

Usually.

Your hand reaches for his forearm as he tries to move past you. You’re smaller than he is, but you have a control over him that he’ll never understand. He puts it down as either you being in the medical field or simply his love for you and the way he’d walk on fire for you.

He winces when you drag him to the bathroom, flicking on the light and making him sit on the edge of the tub while you acquire the first aid kit. He watches you move, you still haven’t looked at him. Your body moves around the bathroom like it’s done this a hundred times before, setting up the counter with everything needed to clean wounds and stitch up the hits he received.

When you finally turn back to him, putting on the disposable gloves, your eyes avoid his, grabbing his hands and assessing the damage. You let go of one of them, keeping his dominant hand in yours as you turn back to the counter to grab what you need.

“Y/n…”

He’s cut off by your perfectly timed and nowhere near gentle application of rubbing alcohol. He takes it as a threat to be quiet, so he does. He watches you work, cleaning his knuckles before adding medication to them and bandaging him up. You quietly repeat the action on the other hand, this time a little gentler with the alcohol.

“Jacket.” You mutter it softly, and he’s quick to obey, shedding the leather jacket that reeks of beer, liquor, and a dirty room, without making much movement. You inspect his arms, seeing only hints of bruises forming, but no blood or dislocations. Not this time at least. As if routine, he removes his shirt too, letting you access the hits he got to the chest and back. Nothing this time.

Your hands delicately hold his face, your eyes continuing to avoid his gaze. His eyes follow yours as you analyze his injuries, preparing in your mind what you need to do. All part of the routine, he thinks.

You turn back to the counter, hesitating.

“Where are your glasses?” You ask, turning back to him, pouring some alcohol on a pad.

“I…I lost them.”

You sigh, dabbing the alcohol harshly against his eyebrow, letting him wince in pain.

“Where are your glasses?” You ask again, with a hint of anger in your voice. He knows he can’t get away with lying.

“They broke.”

“How’d you get home?”

“My bike.”

He wasn’t prepared for the sharp slap across his face.

All the punches he’s received in his fights, all the hits and kicks and cuts and bruises, all felt like nothing in comparison to that slap.

But he doesn’t react. He sits and he waits for whatever’s next because this isn’t part of the routine. When he fights, his glasses are tucked away somewhere safe and he puts in his contacts, tearing them out once he’s done and the glasses go back on when he’s back on the bike so he can see on his way home.

Your eyes finally meet his, and it feels like the earth is about to swallow him whole. The betrayal and the sadness in your eyes just enhance the pain from the slap. You say nothing, and neither does he as you turn back to the counter to quickly put everything together.

You silently get back to work, cleaning up the rest of the injuries, turning back to the counter to open up the little tube of glue he knows you hate using. He’s seen you at work doing this, you’re great at it. But that’s because it’s your job and you’re good at your job. And it’s also in a perfectly clean and sanitary place. But in your bathroom, at three in the morning, patching up the man you love? It’s a complete one-eighty. And he sees the fear in the way your hands shake, the way a single tear falls from your eye as you turn back to him.

He closes his eyes as you take a deep breath, trusting you completely.

His nails dig into his knees the moment the tube makes contact, the glue seeping into the wound, forcing himself not to move or react to the pain of you pinching his skin together to help the adhesive do its job.

When you’re done, applying a gauze pad over the adhesive stitches to keep them safe, his eyes follow you as you put everything away, throwing away your gloves and washing your hands. You don’t spare him a glance as you walk out of the bathroom, turning the light off and leaving him in the dark. He stays seated for a moment, trying to figure out how to fix this until he hears a door close.

He heads to your shared bedroom, only to find the door closed and locked, two pillows and a blanket sitting in a pile on the floor. He leans his pained forehead against the door in defeat, sighing.

“Y/n. Let me in, please?”

Silence.

“I’m sorry, baby. I know I need to end this. And I will. There’s just one more and if I win, we’ll have enough for us, for the wedding, and for our future.”

He thinks he hears a faint sob on the other side of the door and has half a mind to kick the door down to be with you. But he can’t. You have every right to be mad, every right to be hurt and to cry and to lock him out.

He grabs the pillows and blanket and heads for the couch.

The next morning, Wonwoo wakes to the sound of your medical kit being placed on the coffee table. You silently wait for him to sit up, quickly brushing his hand away when he goes to rub his eyes. You turn around, grabbing the required materials to clean up his wounds again.

His hand subconsciously grabs your thigh when you wipe an alcohol wipe across the laceration in his eyebrow. He feels the way your hands still, your body turning into a statue at the contact.

You push through, finishing it up and turning back to your bag, pulling out the things needed for a week of taking care of his wounds.

“You only need to keep the gauze over the stitches for a day or two. It’s the glue kind of stitches so there won’t be anything to remove, just keep it closed or you’ll have to go to urgent care to have them fix it. The rest are all superficial. Just don’t touch them and they should be fine.”

You speak at such a rapid pace, but still manage to sound professional like you do with your patients. But it’s nothing in comparison to how fast Wonwoo’s mind is racing.

“Y/n…?”

“I’ll leave some extra gauze, polysporin, as well as just regular bacitracin. The ice packs are all in the freezer if you feel any soreness. Drink water and electrolytes and you’ll be fine. Your backup pair of glasses are on the kitchen counter.” Your voice fails you and you try to hide the sniffle it causes.

“Fuck, I’m going to be late.” You murmur, grabbing your medical bag and heading to the front door where you have two suitcases. How did he not hear them being brought down?

“Y/n, where are you going?” He slowly moves off the couch as you stuff the bag into the suitcase.

“Ari’s for now. She can only let me stay a few days, though. I’ll figure the next place out when I get there.”

“Why?” His voice cracks and you finally turn to look at him.

“Because I give up.” You shrug, voice breaking at the admission. “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t live this life with you if this is how you’re going to be, Wonwoo.”

All at once, he feels his world crashing around him.

“Baby, please. Don’t…don’t go. Just sit down and we can discuss this.”

“There’s nothing to discuss, Woo. You’re going to stay in that silly biker gang. You’re going to keep going to that bar. You’re going to keep going to that back room. You’re going to keep fighting and coming home battered and bruised with broken promises of stopping and living a better life.”

“I…I’m serious this time, though. It’s just one more fight next month and we’ll be set.”

“We’re already ‘set’! We’re more than set, Wonwoo! I don’t need designer clothing, a nice house, fancy car, or jewelry. I don’t need any of it! You are literally the only thing I need and you can’t give me that while fighting.”

You take a few steps toward him, your fingers playing with the engagement ring that he had to win three fights to be able to afford.

“I love you so much, I’m sorry.” Your voice is broken, you’re crying and he can’t do anything about it as you take his hand in yours, setting the engagement ring in his palm and letting go. You say nothing more as you drag your suitcases out the front door, refusing to look back at him.

Time stops as he sits there, the faint sounds of you getting in a car and driving away in the background as he tries to process.

You left.

You left him.

You gave him the ring back.

The pain from the wounds on his face doesn’t even come close in comparison to the way his heart shatters when he looks at the ring in his hand.

He pockets the ring in his wallet, downing his drink in one go and slamming it down on the counter, almost crushing it.

It’s been a month since you walked out. A month since he last spoke to you. A month since he heard your beautiful voice. You were gone. No longer his and he no longer was yours.

However, you never came by to get your stuff, never sent someone else to do it either. A month and you haven’t set foot in the house you shared with him. Half of that stuff is rightfully yours, so there had to be a reason for you to not come back for it, right?

There has to be.

“Wonwoo? You ready?”

He takes a deep breath, trying to steady his shaking hands before he turns to his best friend, Changkyun.

“Yeah. I just need to put my contacts in. How much time do I have?”

“Eh. You know there’s no real start time. But we’ll say like forty-five minutes? Take your time. Get focused. Seungcheol doesn’t give up easily. He’ll kill you if it’s an option.” Changkyun laughs, but Wonwoo knows his friend is serious. He’s seen the way Seungcheol fights. It’s brutal and one guy he fought was put into a coma and has been for the past eight months.

“‘Kay. I’ll be ready soon.” Wonwoo slowly gets up, walking past his best friend and towards the bathroom. He takes half a second to look around the bar. It’s become a habit the past month he’s been hiding here. Hoping and praying you’ll walk through those grimey doors. But you never did. You never will.

Except he swears he sees you sitting in the back corner with Changkyun’s girlfriend. But before he can confirm if it’s you or not, one of the newer members with the nickname Dino, is drunkenly yelling his name and wishing him good luck. By the time Seungkwan ushers him away, you’re no longer in the back corner. You’re nowhere. Just another illusion there to haunt him.

After spending a good amount of time in the dimly lit bathroom, the blue light flickering in and out. He removes his glasses and puts in his contacts that he hates wearing, he sets his jacket down on the counter, glasses sitting to the side and tucking all his important shit in the pockets, including the wallet with your ring.

Your ring.

“Fuck, why am I still doing this?” He silently questions himself, fist slamming down on the counter in anger. He looks up at his reflection in the mirror and he’s sick of himself immediately. What he’d give to punch himself in the face for driving you to leave him.

The thought to punch the mirror quickly appears and disappears in his mind when there’s a quiet knock on the door.

“I’ll be out in a minute, Changkyun. Just— I need a moment.” He states, trying to mentally prepare himself for this last fight. The knocks return, but louder.

“I said I’ll be out soon!” He shouts, trying to resist the urge to open the door and punch his best friend just for annoying him. He heavily considers it when suddenly the door opens and he feels like he has been punched in the face.

It’s you.

You’re right there.

In that fucking dress he bought you after one of his first wins.

You’re really there.

“Y/n? What…? What are you doing here?”

“I needed to talk to you.” You state calmly, fingers fidgeting with the fabric of your dress.

Did you cut your hair? Color it? It looks nice. He wants to tell you how gorgeous it is. How gorgeous you are.

God, he wants to crush you in a hug, keep your lips against his until either of you can’t breathe, have his hands everywhere on your skin and cause goosebumps. He wants to be close to you, but the growing fear that you’ll run away from him again is too much.

“You love me, right?” You ask quietly, staring at the disgusting ground. You already sound like you’re about to cry and it’s making coming closer to you even more difficult for Wonwoo.

“More than anything.” He breathes out quickly.

“More than fighting?” Your brows knit together as you slowly start to look up. “More than the money and the ‘better life’ you seem to think I need? More than your gang or your bike?” Your eyes find his gaze at the mention of his bike and he wants to scream at the world for the tears building up behind your beautiful eyes.

“Of course, more than any of that, baby. I’d give it all up for you.” He takes a small step forward and you take one back, closer to the door.

“Yet here you are, a month after I walk out, ready to fight someone Changkyun says is actually dangerous and requesting my medical assistance.”

“You’ve been talking to Changkyun?” He’s been talking to you? And Changkyun didn’t tell him he was in contact with you? All while, spending hours at the bar with him drinking himself to sleep, wondering where you were and if you were okay.

Did he tell you about him? About how much he missed you? How it felt like his soul had died without you?

“Of course I’ve been talking to him! I needed to make sure you were okay.”

His mouth opens, but he can’t speak because you’re speaking again.

“We’re supposed to get married, Wonwoo. And live a life together. Have a family some day, get a cat or something, go out and come home early because we’d rather be together than out there socializing.” Your voice falters with a small laugh, the tears silently falling.

“But I can’t marry someone who’s risking their life every night, not just with the fights, but driving a motorcycle without glasses or contacts. I can’t marry someone who causes me to be in a constant state of anxiety every time you leave the house.”

“I’ll get rid of the bike. I’ll leave the gang. Whatever it is, I’ll do it.” He steps towards you again, and you take another step back, back meeting the door.

“I don’t care about the bike, Woo!” You finally yell, throwing your hands up in frustration. “I don’t care about the gang. I don’t even care about the bar! I care about you and your safety and how little you care about it.” You pause to take a breath, hands shaking as you try to reform your thoughts.

Wonwoo’s heart cracks at the sight. He takes two steps back, giving you the space he knows you need. He wants to say something, anything, to make the tears stop falling, but you’re right and he couldn’t defend himself if he tried.

“Do you know how many people I’ve seen come into my emergency room half beaten to death? Do you know how many I’ve seen die from those injuries? Or put into induced comas because the brain injuries are so severe? I don’t want to be there one day and have them roll you in on a cart half alive. My heart would break if I did. I mean, fuck, I wanted to fall apart when you got in that hit and run and brought in.”

He looks down to the floor, memories of how upset you were when you came into the emergency room and found him lying in a bed. With a broken leg and scratches everywhere from being dragged down the road by his bike.

He kept reassuring you it was never going to happen again, as if he could predict the future, but you were still upset and pushed him to sell the bike that was trashed and get a car.

He ended up buying a better bike and you barely reacted when he brought it home. He promised to be safer and fucked you senseless after.

“I… what do you want me to do?” He hesitantly asks, “Do you want me to back out of the fight?” You scoff, crossing your arms.

“We both know you can’t do that. Joon would have your head on a spike if you lost him all that money.” You close your eyes, stepping forward and away from the door. “I want you to do two things for me. Win and never fight again. Keep the bike, hang out in the dirty bar with your friends, drink all you want. But never go in that back room again.”

Your eyes lock onto his and he feels smaller in comparison to you. Your hands reach out for his as you step closer and his gaze falls to the contact.

“I promi—”

“No.” Your hands tighten around his, “your promises mean nothing now. You’ve promised me hundreds of times. Don’t use your words, prove it with your actions.”

He doesn’t hesitate when he pushes forward, pressing you back against the wall as his lips crush into yours. His tongue easily slides past your lips when your mouth parts in shock.

Your arms snake their way around his shoulders and his hands drop to your thighs, lifting you up to wrap them around his waist, pressing you further into the door.

“I’ll do it. I’ll win for you, and I’ll never step foot back there again.” His lips leave yours, quickly finding their way down the space between your neck and shoulder. “I’ll do anything if it means never having to go a month without you again. I miss you so fucking much, y/n.”

You respond with a whimper, hands tangled in his hair as he feels your hips try to roll forward. Wonwoo pins your hips down, stopping them from moving and rolls his hips instead, eliciting another whine from you.

“Woo, baby, please.”

His lips make their way up to just under your ear when he whispers, “what is it, baby? Please what?”

“I need you.”

“Yeah?”

“Missed you. So much. Want you.”

He pulls away from your skin to look at you.

“You have me. Always and forever. Just you and me.” He places a small kiss on your forehead, a small grin forming, “and maybe a small kitten. We can name it Snuggles.”

“I like that.” You sniffle, the tears pooling in your eyes again. “But I need more right now, Woo. Please.”

“I got you, baby.” He kisses your lips once more, standing you back up momentarily to pull his jeans down to his ankles, cock springing free from his underwear. You reach down and give his cock one stroke before his fingers wrap around your wrist, placing it by your head, grinning at your pout.

“We don’t have time.” He chuckles when you’re about to complain, kissing your pout away as he wraps one of your legs around his waist. Your free hand reaches down to pull your underwear to the side while his free hand lines himself up before slowly pressing past your folds.

“So fucking tight.” Wonwoo rasps, watching his cock slowly disappear as he sinks you down on him, grabbing your other leg to wrap around his waist as well. Your ankles lock together and he grunts at the feeling of your heels poking his skin.

Wonwoo shudders when he’s fully inside, cock twitching every time you involuntarily clench around him after almost every breath you take.

His hand sneaks down between you two, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing small and slow circles, watching your face contort into that of pure pleasure.

“My girl. My beautiful baby.” The praise and pet names quietly fly past his lips as he leans forward, lips latching onto your neck, “gonna marry you and make you so damn happy. Gonna love you every fucking day and night.” You don’t respond with anything but whimpers and whines, your hands tangling back into his hair and pulling him up to kiss him.

Everything about this is sloppy and heated and neither of you can last more than a few moments as you’re both coming undone around the same time, his hips stuttering you further into the door as he fills you up.

He keeps you against the door for a minute, but before you can ask to be put down, he’s bringing you to the counter, laying his jacket out enough for you to sit on so you can avoid the grossness of the dirty bathroom. He grabs some paper towels and cleans himself up, bringing his underwear and jeans back.

He catches you just in time when you’re readjusting your underwear, moving to stand up to fix your dress. He stops you, placing his hands on both of your knees, keeping them spread apart.

“Hold on.” He whispers, getting on his knees and scooting you closer to the edge, “let me clean you up.”

“Woo…” you try to speak but he picks that as the perfect moment and licks up between your folds, collecting what he can of both his and your orgasms. His lips latch onto your clit, switching between sucking harshly and softly blowing on it. He can feel how close you are, his actions a little more chaotic until there’s a hard banging on the bathroom door.

“Wonwoo! I know I said there’s no time on this, but there’s a fucking time on it. Let’s go.”

“Two minutes, Changkyun!” Wonwoo snaps back, anger quickly taking over his voice.

“You have one minute before I come in there. Whatever you’re doing with y/n, make it fast.”

You look down at Wonwoo in horror, but that just eggs him on, “you heard the man, baby. I’ve got one minute.”

Your eyes widen at the evil smile he gives you before diving back in. Only this time, he doesn’t hold back; licking, sucking, fucking you with his tongue until your hips are bucking upwards and you’re trying desperately not to scream his name out as you come.

You have to push his face away from your center, much to his dismay, before he causes a third orgasm. He fixes your underwear, helping you stand up as his lips find yours again, hands adjusting your dress. He reaches behind you, grabbing his jacket and opening it for you to slip your arms into.

He pulls away from you, eyes locking on yours as his hand dips into a pocket, grabbing his wallet and pulling the ring out, dropping the wallet back in the pocket.

The ring fidgets in his fingers as he looks down at it before glancing back at you.

“…I give up the fighting, the money, the lack of caring about my safety. I’ll be better, I’ll do better. As long as it means this ring stays on your finger forever.”

The tears form in your eyes again as you slowly reach for the ring, delicately taking it from his fingers. You slowly put it back where it belongs on your ring finger, Wonwoo letting out a dramatically heavy breath that he didn’t think he was holding.

“Deal.” You whisper quietly, pulling him back down for a kiss that’s perfectly interrupted by the door opening.

“I gave you three minutes. Let’s go. Sorry, y/n.” Changkyun shares a look with you that Wonwoo can’t quite read, choosing to ignore it as he reaches for his glasses on the counter, placing them in your hand.

“I’ll win.” He whispers, kissing your forehead and walking out after his best friend, your ring wearing hand in back in his.

The fight is, as expected, brutal and bloody. Seungcheol never holds back, throwing punch after punch like it was his only goal in life to beat Wonwoo down to a pulp the moment the two of you stepped into the back room. Seungcheol gave you both one glance, chuckled, and looked away before the fight began.

Wonwoo was able to dodge a good amount of the punches, but the ones that did land sent him straight to the ground, trying his best to stay conscious.

He can feel the blood dripping down his face from a cut between his eyebrows. His nose feels broken. He's pretty sure his leg is bruised from Seungcheol kicking him down and kicking harder when he’s not responding.

“Get up.” Seungcheol grumbles, circling Wonwoo, “unless you want your girl to watch you get pummeled.” He shrugs, a smug grin across his face as Wonwoo lifts himself onto his hand and knees.

“I don’t mind. Maybe she can tend to my wounds after.” He smirks, watching Wonwoo try to steady himself as he stands up. “She can kiss them better. That what she do with you?”

Wonwoo’s eyes dart to you, in the corner or the room, holding Changkyun’s girlfriend’s hand tight. Your eyes are wide and you’re trying not to react to anything happening, trying to stay neutral in case either of you needs immediate attention. You can’t hear the salacious slander Seungcheol is taunting Wonwoo with, and for that, he’s thankful.

Seungcheol speaks again, but Wonwoo doesn’t bother listening, instead bringing his fist back briefly before punching Seungcheol in the jaw, sending him backwards.

He wastes no time taking advantage of Seungcheol being even slightly disoriented, knocking him to the ground and punching one after the other. It takes you shouting his name to pull him out of his mind and stop punching the man beneath him. He sits back on his feet, mindlessly watching as Changkyun checks on Seungcheol before Wonwoo is declared the winner.

He’s shoved aside by his best friend as you’re brought to the losing participant, checking his wounds and determining what needs to be done, instructing Changkyun how to do it before turning around and doing the same with Wonwoo.

“Anything feel broken?” You whisper, cradling his face in your hands, analyzing the injuries. He tries not to wince as you gently move his head side to side. The nitrile gloves feeling oddly cool against his sweaty skin. “Tilt your head up for me, baby.” He obeys your murmur, teeth gritting as he does so. His eyes find your sad ones and he finally understands it.

“I won.” He whispers, a battered hand reaching to wrap around the back of your neck, pressing your forehead to his. “Never again.”

You nod, flashing a soft smile as you pull away from him, letting go of his head, checking his hands quickly before grabbing a towel and covering his knuckles. “We should go home. I can treat you better there.”

You stand him up slowly, your name being called by Changkyun as he has someone else sitting Seungcheol up, wiping up any blood. You turn just in time to catch the keys being thrown at you.

“Here. I’ll take Wonwoo’s bike. Take the car.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Don’t let him get on that bike like that.”

Wonwoo doesn’t miss the smile that appears on your face as you nod. You’re not the only one that cares about his safety.

After you say your thanks, you help Wonwoo into the passenger seat of the car and get in the driver’s seat, taking him home.

“I mean it.” His raspy voice pierces the silence in the car after a moment, “No more fighting. No more riding without my glasses. I’ll take better care…I’ll be better…for both of us.” He unwraps his hand from the towel, wincing slightly, and moves his hand over to your thigh, giving a gentle squeeze.

“Good. Because I’ll throw an actual fit if I walk down the aisle to you in a tux with fresh cuts and bruises all over your face.”

“I think you’d kick my ass.” He jokes, but you just smirk.

“Baby, I’m medically trained and have been taking self-defense classes for years. I know how to stop the blood flow to your brain and stop you from breathing with one hit. Don’t fuck with me.”

“I love the image of you in a wedding dress just beating people up.”

“Don’t compare me to the bride in Kill Bill, Woo. Please.” You groan and he laughs.

“It’s hot. That’s all I’m saying.”

“You’re lucky I love you.”

There’s a long pause before Wonwoo finally speaks again.

“That I am…”

492 notes · View notes

deans-queen · 1 month

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Love or Die 💜🔪

Mini Series

Paring: Dean Winchester x Female Reader (Y/N)

Plot: Reader (Y/N) can’t stand Dean Winchester and everything about him, but she has a secret and that is: she’s madly in love with him.

Inspired by the song: Can’t Hold On Forever by Laura Marano

Warnings: SMUT, p in v (wrap it up kids),mature and sexual language.

Part 3 - Reader’s P.O.V (Final Part)

I was laying in my bed with Dean, looking up at him.

He was asleep peacefully, his chest rising up and down slowly.

I couldn’t believe what had happened….. I had been dreaming about this moment for months.

I was in pure bliss.

I was lost in the moment until the alarm on my phone went off. I shut it off and Dean slowly started to wake up.

He was groaning and stretching out his arms, I couldn’t help but giggle.

“Good morning, sleepyhead.” I said to him.

“Morning sweetheart.” He planted a kiss on my cheek.

“What time is it?”

“It’s almost 8:00.” I replied while getting up.

I walked into the bathroom and started to freshen up.

As I approached the sink to brush my teeth, Dean came behind me and snaked his arms around my waist.

He nuzzled his head in my neck and began planting kisses there.

“Keep it up sir and we’ll have to go for round 2.”

“That’s what I was kinda hoping for…” he mumbled into my neck.

“If we spend all day in bed, we will never solve this case.”

“Fine”, he grumbled, as he gave me a peck on the lips. “But you owe me later.”

After we all got dressed and had breakfast, we met at the table in the front room of the bunker. We called it the “meeting room.”

Sam called us and told us some pretty big news.

“So basically to break it down, I know who killed Lillian.”

“Wait, I thought she killed herself, she was murdered?” I said, surprisingly.

“Yeah, but it was made to look like a suicide.”

“But why?” Dean asked.

“Because we know her and Master Turner were not allowed to be together, so someone had to kill her off. And you’ll never guess who.”

“No wait, don’t tell me the butler did it?” Dean said.

“Yup, Mr. Ramsay.” Sam said. “He tried to tell Master Turner it wasn’t a good idea but he didn’t listen. He felt betrayed after all he had done for the master's family. And, check this out: he even wrote a fake letter to make it look like she killed herself.”

“What a bastard.” I said, shaking my head.

“So where can we find his remains?” Dean asked.

“It will be tricky cause he’s buried in the cemetery behind the house.”

Sam pulls out a map out of the house and points to the cemetery.

We came up with a plan to try to sneak by the ghosts, it was going to be tricky but I knew we could pull it off.

After we took care of that bum butler’s ghost and reversed the curse we all headed back to bunker. It was a hell of a fight.

Sam and Dean got a bit banged up, and I got slashed on my side, it hurt like hell.

Once we got there, Dean scooped me up and brought me to the medical room of the bunker.

He set me down softly on the bed and began to wipe the blood off of me.

“Dammit, baby you’re bleeding out!”

“Make it stop Dean!”

“I’m trying…”

Sam rushed into the room and Castiel was with him.

“Dammit Cass you could have showed up awhile ago.” I said, wincing in pain.

“Sorry, but don’t worry I’m here now. I heard Dean's prayer.” He said.

Awe, he prayed for me.

His hand began to glow and he placed it on my side, healing my wound completely.

He then touched Sam and Deans foreheads to heal them too.

“Thanks Cass,” we all said to him.

“My pleasure.” He said, then he disappeared.

I got up and went back to my room, needing a minute to breathe about everything that just happened

Knock knock.

“Baby it’s me.” Dean called out. “You okay?”

“I’m fine Dean, no need to check on me.” I said, calling out.

He opened up the door then closed it behind him, sitting on my bed next to me.

“No I don’t think so, I’m always going to check on my girl when she’s upset, hurt or whatever it is.”

I looked at him and I couldn’t help but smile, touching his cheek.

“My girl?”

“That’s what you are right?”

“Yes, I just have to get used to hearing that. All this time I was secretly crushing on you and now I don’t have to pretend anymore.”

He smirked while biting his lip, looking up and down at my lips.

We both leaned in slowly and our lips touched. Feelings of electricity ran through my body, giving me goosebumps on my skin.

We deepened the kiss, as our tongues collided. I began to lay back on the bed and Dean crawled on top of me. He kissed along my neck and down to my collarbones, all while undoing the buttons on my shirt.

Once my shirt was unbuttoned, he grabbed a hold of my boobs, massaging each one gently.

“Fuck Dean, you’re turning me on already.” I moaned softly

He reached down and undid my jeans and began to stick a hand down my panties and began to rub my pussy, feeling my wet folds.

“You’re so wet for me baby girl, are you ready for me?”

“Yes Dean please! I want all of you. I want your body against mine, I want your thick hard cock inside of me….take me please.”

Once I said that, he really started to heat things up.

Before I knew it all of our clothes were off and the only thing that was on our body’s was the sweat and ecstasy from the moment.

He teased me at first, before I begged for him to put his dick inside me.

I wrapped my legs around his waist as he began to thrust in and out of my pussy, he was so perfect for me.

My nails clawed down his back, leaving marks, I could feel the moment coming….I was gonna cum. I wanted it and I needed it.

He thrusted faster and faster while grabbing my ass and my hips, we were rocking the bed and moans filled up the room.

“Dean I’m so fucking close, make me cum for you.”

“Fuck baby girl, I’m close too, get ready…” he groaned in a husky voice.

And then it happened, we both reached our climax and filled each other up with our sweet juices.

We both breathed heavily and looked into each others’ eyes.

“I….I love you Y/N.” Dean said, softly

Omg….I can’t believe I’m finally hearing these words. I've waited so long to hear them.

“I love you too, Dean.” I said, while kissing his cheek.

And then we both fell asleep, enjoying the romantic moment while it lasted.

Authors Note:

Hope you enjoyed this story!

Feel free to let me know what you think!

Like & follow for more !! Xoxo

Check out my other stories!

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foolishlovers · 4 months

Note

hii could i request some of your favoruite human au fics? nothing specific :))

ahhh always!! i have so many!! 💜

Postcards From Paris by ghostrat (12k, G) Crowley has just moved into his Mayfair apartment and finds a postcard addressed to the previous tenant. With no return address, he's left to collect and read the mysterious A.Z.F.'s adventures across Europe, where he hunts for bizarre bibles and rates ridiculously expensive wine in his free time. The question is: How will A.Z.F. react when Crowley finally gets his return address and writes back? --- It was different, he knew, to accidentally read someone else’s postcard versus intentionally perusing one in place of good newspaper over coffee. Crowley decided he was allowed that indecency, to balance out the good deed of safeguarding the mail in the first place. He kicked his feet up onto his desk, scooped up the takeaway coffee that was brought around by their newest intern, and settled in to read some of the most densely crowded handwriting he’d ever laid eyes on.

London, Libraries & Love by wolftea (13k, E, WIP) Smiling warmly at the huddles of students, Aziraphale made his way over to Crowley, who was leaning against his desk. Crowley was dressed in layers of all black (as per usual), his red hair was tied back in a loose ponytail (not as usual, he often wore it down) and he was twirling Aziraphale’s fountain pen between his fingers. “Mister Fell.” Crowley drawled, but the warmth in his amber eyes and the upward curve of his mouth betrayed any attempt at appearing nonchalant. Aziraphale found himself grinning. How on Earth had he ever disliked this man? “Crowley.” He said, eyes crinkling as he plucked the pen out of Crowley’s hands and put it back by his notebook.

New Approaches by FeralTuxedo (19k, M) Aziraphale Fell, Professor of Creative Writing at Tadfield University, welcomes the attendees of the First Conference on New Approaches to Genre Fiction. Among them is keynote speaker and best-selling thriller author Anthony J. Crowley. Aziraphale has not seen him for twenty-five years. Sometimes, he can still feel the ghost of their parting kiss on his lips. Or: Exes reunite at academic conference. A Human University Professor/Author AU.

muddle through somehow by curtaincall (27k, T) Aziraphale Fell runs a successful food blog, Celestial Comestibles, where he shares mouthwatering recipes and heartwarming stories about his happy domestic life in a cottage with his husband and son. As promotion for his upcoming cookbook, his publishers run a contest: one lucky winner will get to spend Christmas with Aziraphale and his family. What the publishers don't know is that the real Aziraphale Fell is a single city-dweller. And if he wants to keep up his happily married persona, he'll have to acquire a cottage, husband, and son before Christmas. As it happens, his friend and neighbor Anthony Crowley has his nephew staying with him for the holidays. One fake marriage proposal later, and everything seems tickety-boo--as long as Aziraphale can keep from developing inconveniently real feelings for his pretend husband…

First Class (Hons) Christmas, University of Tadfield. by heloluv (41k, M) Dr. A.Z. Fell is a renowned literature tutor at the prestigious University of Tadfield. December is upon the University, and Dr. Fell is leading the Christmas Charity Drive. He needs volunteers. Dr. A.J. Crowley is a skilled plant ecologist who recently began his tenure at UoT. He can't stand Christmas, and nothing at all could ever possibly convince him to partake in "festivities". Until a certain literary expert catches his eye. A Christmas and New Years fic, in which Aziraphale teaches Crowley how to enjoy the most wonderful time of the year.

Fledging by FeralTuxedo (53k, M) Cool Dad was at the school gate again. Clambering out of his ridiculous sports car like a great big spider, all black denim and designer sunglasses. What a prat. He made his way towards the entrance, followed by his equally lanky son. All the mums' eyes were on him. Which was fine. At least they weren't staring at Aziraphale for a change. Cool Dad high-fived his son goodbye, because of course he did, then sauntered back to his car. Making it look so bloody easy. Aziraphale Fell is much too young to be looking after eleven-year old Pepper. He barely has his life together as it is, with his minimum-wage job and a half-baked dream of trading rare books for a living. And as if adopting a recently bereaved pre-teen isn’t enough, there are some rather more adult problems to navigate: playground politics, the shadows of his own childhood, and the growing question of how Crowley, the only other dad at the school gate, feels about him. A human AU/kid fic.

Golden Handcuffs by seekwill (70k, E) Far from any city, near the Scottish coast, Tadfield College has a celebrated history, an unrivaled academic reputation, and two departments at war. When the Biology and English departments are forced to share a building, Senior Lecturer and botanist Anthony Crowley finds himself drawn into the orbit of the polite but strange English professor, Dr. Aziraphale Fell. As the new term begins, two academics navigate the politics of both their offices and academia, and try to solve the puzzle of one another.

South Downs by summerofspock (76k, E) Blackballed from the industry ten years ago, Anthony Crowley jumps at the chance to star in a new Regency romance miniseries with well-known gay actor Aziraphale Fell in the hopes that it will help him restart his career. The trouble is, Crowley has played all sorts of characters and for the life of him, he can't figure out why he's struggling to play the romantic lead opposite a man.

Or Be Nice by charlottemadison (151k, E) Crowley and Aziraphale are neighbours. And…it does not go at all well, until it does. A human AU in which Aziraphale is a bookseller, Crowley is a drummer, and they are both petty disasters in the worst/best way. +++ “So what’s your deal?” “My-my-my deal?” Aziraphale stammered. “I’m a bookseller, is my deal.” “Oh,” Crowley replied, sounding as uninterested as it was possible to sound. “It’s just, I couldn’t help overhearing, and --” Aziraphale swallowed hard. “You really are an accomplished musician. But I thought -- for after 11PM -- perhaps we could reach some arrangement?” “Arrangement?” Aziraphale felt his his smile turning forced. “Such as, perhaps, playing the drums before eleven? Instead of after?” Crowley stared blankly at him. In fact he stared for so long that Aziraphale briefly wondered if he'd lapsed into ancient Greek again, which he was known to do in bad dreams or during panic attacks.

#i could probably make another 20 parts but!!#i wanna gush about all these individually ngl sjsjsj #anon #answered #good omens #good omens fic rec #good omens fanfic #good omens human au #aziracrow #aziracrow fic #foolish recs

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mistydeyes · 9 months

Note

can you do ‘morning sun’ with simon and female reader pls? 🌄💜

How could I ever say no to some nice casual morning sex with this handsome soldier ;) Hope you enjoy!

link to the prompt list and 1k celebration!

morning sun (18+) - you have nowhere to go and decide to spend it in bed ;)

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader

warnings: SEXUAL DEPICTIONS (sex pollen mentions so beware its getting X-rated), swearing

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

Having Simon home was a mixed experience. While you loved having your boyfriend safely in your shared flat, you hated that he still maintained a militaristic routine on leave. You would hiss as you felt the warm sheets get ripped off and Simon insisting it was time to wake up. However as you turned and grabbed your phone, you were surprised to see it was already 9 am and Simon was still snoring loudly at your side. You thanked the copious amounts of liquor from the day prior as Johnny drank your boyfriend under the table. You took a moment to take in his peaceful sleeping face before gently trying to wake him up. You touched his shoulder gently and his eyes shot open. "Jesus, do you ever sleep?" you joked as he slightly rubbed his eyes. "What time is it?" he mumbled as he tried to get out of bed. You tugged on his tattooed arm and he turned to you. "It's too late for breakfast and gym, Si," you began to say as he began to grow more alert, "but how about we stay in bed for a little while longer?" He looked at you for a moment as your eyes pleaded with him. "Why would we do that?" he replied curtly. As you started to pull down your underwear, he knew the direction this was going.

He got into bed cautiously and you took the opportunity to sit in between his parted legs and admire the sight in front of you. Even with his disheveled morning hair, he still looked carved from marble. You dragged a finger down his chest as he watched intently. You reached the brim of his briefs before you looked up at him. "Let's take these off, yeah?" you questioned and he nodded as he slid them down. "Have a wet dream or something last night, Riley?" you joked and before he could reply with a snarky comment, you lightly gripped his base. He hissed into the morning air as you guided his hands to your hair and encouraged him to hold it back. You started with long, painstakingly slow licks from the base of his cock to his head as he fell back into the soft mattress. You eventually wrapped your mouth around his head and swirled your tongue as you could feel the grip on your hair get tighter.

"Fuck," he groaned out as you took your hand and began to move it in sync with your head bobbing. At first, you only sucked his tip gently and you could feel him grow more impatient as he tried to direct your actions. You pulled your mouth away as his eyes fluttered open. "I don't need instruction, Lieutenant," you said playfully before returning to his soaked cock and forcing him deep in your throat. He audibly groaned and gripped the sheets with his free hand as you could feel him hit the back of your throat. You hollowed your cheeks as you continued to increase the pace. You occasionally moaned and the vibrations brought him closer to orgasm. As you heard his breath quicken and his grip tighten on your hair, you used your other hand to grip his chest before forcing yourself further down. Your nails dug into his muscles as he held you in that position, letting out a string of swears and groans as he reached his climax. As you rose your eyes to look up at him, you could feel his grip as your saliva mixed with his watery semen. His grip loosened as you swallowed and you removed your mouth before looking at him. He was panting as you got on top of him and dragged a finger along your wet lip. "Fuckin' hell," was all he could say before you prepared for round two and gently descended onto him.

#cod mwii #mw2 imagine #task force 141 #mw2 #simon ghost riley #call of duty #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley angst #madebyizzie #task force 141 x reader #cod x reader #call of duty modern warfare #izzie is drawing #modern warfare 2 #izzie is writing #izzie celebrates 1k

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mrs-ghost-2 · 7 months

Note

Heyyyy!! I’m new to asking for requests but how do you think ghost would react to walking in on his gf wearing like a pore strip or a face mask? Feel free ti ignore but thanks!❤️

Awww, my first request!

I honestly love this, and I hope it’s what you were wanting. And even though it says it, I’m a huge fan of face masks and I think you could get him to wear one, too! 💜

Ghost wasn’t due home for another week, but you were lonely and missing him so you decided to do your self-care routine early to help lighten your mood. It was already dark out and you had just finished dinner-and put the leftovers away in the fridge- so you went to your shared bedroom to grab some comfy clothes and throw your hair up into a bun.

“I know they’re in here somewhere, I just cleaned!” You huffed to yourself, having walked into the bathroom attached to your shared bedroom to try and find the face masks you keep for nights like these.

“That’s such a dumb place to put them.” You muttered as you finally find them shoved under the bathroom sink and off to the side. (You put them there three days ago).

As you start the process of the face mask, you turn on some music to play through the Bluetooth speaker that’s set up in a little cubby by the mirror and start humming and dancing along and giggling as you worked. Face masks always looked kinda silly, but they brought you happiness and your skin was always so smooth and felt feather-light afterwards, so it never bothered you.

“Sweetheart?” You hear someone calling for you over the sound of the speaker, the voice sounding scary-close to Simon’s, but there is no way that he’s home yet so you shrug it off and continue your dance session in peace.

It turns out, it was Simon. A whole week early and a disheveled mess, he pops up beyond the doorframe with his balaclava in hand.

“Si!” Rushing to turn the music off, you barrel into his open arms and bury your face in his neck- face mask be damned. Your arms wrap around his neck and you’re on your tip-toes to come even close to his height, but you don’t care. He’s home. He’s home!

“What’ve you got coverin’ your face, love?” His accented voice husked out, tone thick with exhaustion and confusion as his arms carefully wrap around your body to hold you close.

“S’face mask. Long day.” You try to explain, voice muffled against his tactical vest as you refused to pull away from his embrace.

“Long, indeed. I wan’ a shower, some food, ‘nd a nap, so c’mon.” Simon basically carries you back into the bathroom to help clean off your face before you take over to help him clean off the black paint and dirt around his eyes.

You might be the one sitting on the counter with the 6’4” bulky man between your thighs and arms caging in your shoulders, but he is-most definitely-the one at your beck and call. Heart eyes and everything for his best girl.

😍😴😉

#simon ghost riley smut #simon ghost riley #ghost cod mw2 #ghost cod #ghost cod smut #ghost hc #ghost mw2 #simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon riley x you #ghost call of duty #request

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quietblueriver · 9 days

Note

fingers crossed for your writing! prompt for you: mask

Hi!! Thank you so much for the prompt and the crossed fingers. Very happy to be writing Avatrice again. Here’s a short, soft thing and a play on both mask and masc that’s hopefully not too far off the mark. 💜💜💜

Ava leans against the doorway and watches as Beatrice stares at a black t-shirt that she assumes came from the basket of clean clothes beside the bed, lips pulled down at the corners, a few locks of newly shorn hair falling over her forehead with the angle. Ava wants to tuck it back, run her own thumbs over the buzzed sides in that way that makes Beatrice close her eyes and breathe a little deeper.

“Hey,” she says more quietly than she normally would, smiling gently as Bea’s attention snaps to her, body visibly tightening in the moment it takes for her to assess Ava’s threat level. Once a soldier and all that.

“Sorry to surprise you.” She sticks out a socked foot and wiggles it, thick pink and purple stripes on display. “Got a comfy assist with my stealth game. Camila was not joking with this yarn.”

The tension leaves Bea’s body as she lifts her left leg from where it hangs over the side of the bed to wiggle back with her own pair, a more muted blue and gray sticking out from the bottom of gray sweatpants. She doesn’t say anything, but she puts the shirt down and shifts on the bed, tucking socked feet criss-cross underneath her knees and creating a space that Ava fills happily, crossing her own legs so that their thighs are pressed together.

“You good?”

“Yes,” Beatrice offers quickly before she catches herself, shrugging a shoulder at Ava with a small smile. “Mostly,” she amends, and Ava indulges her earlier impulse and presses Bea’s hair back from her forehead before running her thumb over the clipped hair just above her ear. As she’d hoped, she gets fluttering eyes and a content sigh.

“Wanna talk about it?”

Brown eyes blink open and she runs a hand through her hair before turning her head to face the mirror that hangs from their closet door. Ava’s eyes follow, and they meet in the glass, Ava leaning over to rest her chin on Bea’s shoulder.

“‘Sup, handsome?” Her breath tickles Bea’s cheek and she rolls her eyes even as she smiles that smile she saves for Ava, a little bit of pink in her cheeks.

Her eyes drift and Ava presses a kiss to her cheek before settling back and giving her some space.

“I look like my uncle.”

Ava stops fiddling with their duvet, brings her eyes slowly back to Beatrice in the mirror. She’s waiting for her, lips turned up just slightly and eyes soft, and she dips her head a little to let Ava know it’s okay to keep looking, to keep checking.

And she does, eyes tracking the movement of Bea’s chest and the twitch of her toes where they’re pressed under her knee, a flash of soft blue wool.

“Jacob. His name was Jacob. He was…” The shift in her expression as she searches for the words she needs brings her lips to a pout, but her tone isn’t sad or angry when she finds what she’s looking for. “I wanted very badly to be like him, when I was small. He laughed a lot, and he was very smart but he didn’t…he didn’t use it to make me feel small. He was silly with me, in a very intentional way. Always sought me out and asked me questions and told me jokes that…well, you would have liked them.” Ava sticks her tongue out at her and Bea looks a little proud and a lot fond. “Exactly. I didn’t know what to do with that, but I liked it.” She pulls at the silver chain around her neck, the ghost of a prayer. “He died when I was eight. A car accident. I think…looking back on his funeral and the people who were there, I think maybe he was…like me.” Her jaw clenches, determined, and Ava loves her as she says, voice firm, “Gay. I think he was gay.”

Ava moves a hand to the small of Bea’s back, and Bea puts a hand on her knee, skin warm through the fabric of Ava’s leggings.

“It…as far as I know it was a surprise to my father. Uncle Jacob always brought dates to the big Christmas party and to all of the family events, beautiful women that were funny like he was and talked to me like they cared what I had to say but also like I was still a child, like I was only expected to be a child. One of them snuck me extra cake when my mother wasn’t looking, but when she winked at me, suddenly I couldn’t eat anything else.”

She’s blushing a little, and Ava presses her lips to the cotton covering her shoulder, smiling into it.

“Uh-huh.”

The blush deepens, and Ava smothers the rest of her grin against Bea, grasping and squeezing at her forearm to encourage her to keep talking.

She does, smile dimming a little as she says, “They were there at the service, those women, but so were a lot of other people I’d never seen before, all in a big group together.” Her fingers move against the fabric of her sweats, tug at her black tee, the twin to the one discarded a few minutes ago. “They were in the back of the line to greet us, at the wake, and my father was so…” Fingers run with agitation through already mussed hair. “He was so rude to them, Ava. Gritting his teeth and saying nothing when they offered condolences and shaking hands hard enough that he made people wince. I went to the bathroom and heard two of them talking about how it wasn’t any wonder ‘Jay’ lived like he did. I’d never heard anyone call him Jay before, and I didn’t know what they meant, but I knew better than to ask my parents.”

She swallows and Ava covers the hand on her knee with her own, quiet because she’s not sure if Bea is finished and she is trying her very best these days to give Bea the same space that Bea gives her to say what she wants to say. Even if it makes Ava squirm with the desire to comfort, to fill the silence.

“We left the wake as soon as we could without it being socially unacceptable to the people my parents cared about. My father was so angry on the ride home that my mom was afraid to talk to him, and…” The shaky breath makes Ava so fiercely protective that the halo starts humming under her skin. “After he pulled me into the car, I made myself as small as I could. He went into his study and slammed the door when we got home. They never talked about Uncle Jacob again. It was like he died twice.”

“Bea.” Her hand moves to rest between shoulder blades, presses in in comfort. “I’m so sorry.”

Beatrice smiles at her in the mirror before breaking their connection to turn and kiss her. The angle is a little awkward, their bodies having twisted over the course of the conversation, so she moves to fix it, adjusting so her knees are pressed to Bea’s thigh and making her hands at home on the sides of her neck. When Beatrice pulls back, she backs herself against the headboard and lifts an arm, and Ava’s chest is tight with affection as she moves into the space and settles, hand gripping the front of Bea’s shirt a little possessively. They’ve had this now for months, this bed and this apartment and this time together without world-ending bullshit, but she’s still not used to the luxury of it, of open, unapologetic affection, of Bea’s heartbeat steady under her ear, of time stretching out instead of bearing down.

“It surprised me, when I looked into the mirror and saw him.” Her voice is quieter like this, and Ava feels her words as she says them, cheek pressed against her chest. “In a good way.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.” Fingers run through her hair and Ava lets her eyes close. “I wish I could have known him. I wish he could have known me.”

Ava nods against her. “Me too. He sounds way better than the rest of your family, not that that’s a high bar.” The words slip out thoughtlessly but she doesn’t want to retract them. They’re past pretending Ava wouldn’t halo blast Bea’s parents into the nearest body of water on sight and mostly past Bea feeling guilty for wanting her to. “I’m sorry you didn’t have him for longer.”

“Mmm.” It’s a little absent. A beat. “I used to be a nun.”

Ava opens her eyes at that, pushes up a little to raise an eyebrow at Beatrice.

“Oh yeah? I didn’t know.”

Beatrice pokes her in the ribs and she giggles as she settles back down.

“Yes, thank you.” Her voice softens, quiets. “I understand him. Or I think I do. Why Uncle Jay lived the way that he did.”

Ava splays her hand across Bea’s ribs.

“You used to be a nun.”

“Yes.” Lips touch her hairline. “I am glad that I’m not anymore.”

Ava presses her own lips against the body underneath her. “Me too.” She traces a pattern on Bea’s ribs. “I think he would be proud of you. Of who you are. Of how brave you are.”

Her body moves with Beatrice’s exhale. “I think he would have liked you.”

Ava pulls her chin up to rest against Bea’s sternum and grins her best roguish grin. “Well, I’m very charming.”

Her stomach swoops at the look Bea gives her, adoration undisguised and voice earnest. “Yes. You are. You’re wonderful.”

The kiss is short but sure, leaving Ava a little breathless. Affection thrums in her veins, and she pulls and pushes at Bea’s body until they’re reversed, Bea’s head pillowed on her chest and Ava’s fingers running through short hair, scratching at the nape of her neck. She runs her fingers under the silver chain and turns her head to watch their reflection. Bea’s eyes are closed, her breath slowing, and Ava takes the opportunity to look at her, sees for a moment Sister Beatrice as she was when Ava met her, ashamed and hiding so much of herself, desperately trying to be what everyone wanted and needed her to be.

Her heart breaks a little, for little Beatrice who became Sister Beatrice and for a man she never met. She blinks away the specters in the mirror and sees Bea again, soft and sleepy and brave, and presses a kiss of gratitude to her head.

#avatrice #avatrice fic #wn prompt fic

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lazybutsmexy · 1 year

Note

Hi, how are you ? I hope you are having an excellent day and if not I hope tomorrow will be better :3

Could I request a Ghost headcanon with a chubby reader who hates his own body?

If you don't write these kinds of things, I'm sorry for the inconvenience and thanks for taking the time to read. I wish you a good weekend, take care. 💜💖

Anon, just so you know, chubby reader getting the love, appreciation, and worship they deserve is my fucking jam.

He/his pronouns used - under the cut for length

Simon isn't stranger to body image issues - as he has his own - , so he notices the hints on his s/o very quickly

the baggier clothes, looking away from mirrors, or looking for too long, the constant frown in his face whenever he dressed or undressed

Simon wasn't sure what brought it on, though

because to be quite honest, he thinks his partner looks absolutely delightful everyday

he observes him, however, just like he knows how to

he's trained to observe and form strategies based on intel he gathers, so that will ofc translate into his day-to-day problem solving

sometimes his s/o will catch him staring, but it's not unusual of him to stare

Simon eventually realizes what is the problem, and decides to act

he's not usually vocal about the things he likes or dislikes, but makes it a point to compliment his s/o whenever he looks at him

Simon watched you walk into the living room and very obviously ran his eyes up and down your figure. You were about to shuffle away in shame when you caught the low grumble of his voice shot through you.

"How dare you look so delicious and walk away from me?" You froze and turned to look at him, catching his hungry stare as he got up from the couch and stepping closer to your frozen self, "I must've been a fucking angel in my last life to deserve even having you around me."

this man cannot keep his hands away from his s/o anyday

but when he realizes he needs some reassurance, good luck trying to get away from him

his s/o is laying on the couch? Simon will bury his face in his chest and run his hands up and down his body

his s/o is looking at himself in the mirror with a frown? Simon will press his chest against his back and whisper sweet nothings in his ear until the frown has disappeared and a bright red flush covers his face

his s/o thinks they are too heavy? Simon slaps his own thigh like "these were made for you, now come sit >:( "

he will pull his s/o onto his lap and wrap his thighs around his own hips, and won't let him go until his s/o relaxes against him and enjoys being pampered

he has a special fascination with how his fingers dug into his s/o's soft flesh

he can spend the whole day just watching the skin dip under his fingers and let out a grumble of appreciation

Simon will absolutely worship his s/o's stretch marks, trailing his lips over them until he's a moaning, needy mess

his favorite part of his s/o's body? Lovehandles

Boy, you have no idea

this man's mind first goes blank whenever he catches a glimpse of that extra skin spilling over his s/o's pants when he sits down

then his mind just goes "AWOOGAH-"

his hands just finds his lovehandles like they were trained for that

gentle squeezes, tender massages, or simply letting his hands rest on them

he enjoys to swallow the little whines coming from his s/o's lips when he presses him against a wall and holds his hips to kiss him silly

he will treat his s/o's happiness as his mission, and he will go through hell and back to accomplish it

A/N: am I projecting? maybe. idc.

#ask #anonymous #nonnie ask #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader headcanons #simon ghost riley x reader imagines #ghost x reader #ghost x reader headcanons #ghost x reader imagines #cod mw2 #cod mwii #call of duty headcanons #call of duty x reader #cod x male reader #cod mw2 x reader #cod mwii x reader

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theharrowing · 6 months

Text

Ghost Friend

Yoongi's spirit has stayed in his dilapidating home for decades. One day, Jimin and his friends Taehyung and Jungkook decide to visit the property, and Jimin makes a ghost friend.

Or, the one where Jimin is totally Jean Grey.

👻 Yoongi x Jimin (platonic)

👻 word count: 1.8k

👻 friends who encounter a ghost, haunting au, crack treated seriously, slight hurt/comfort, appropriate for all audiences

👻 warnings: uhhh...honestly, none? Yoongi is a ghost (which implies that he is dead!) but otherwise, this is a very chill, cute little Halloweenie fic. it is not in the slightest bit scary! Yoongi is lonely, and there is a positive ending. i guess my sense of humor could count as a warning!!!

👻 note: since it's a drabble, the descriptions are not as vivid as usual. it's mostly ~vibes~.

👻 request by @park-jimin-isnt-real for my Harrowing Halloween event! thank you so much for requesting!!! 🍉💜 i feel like you wanted it to be a little more of a crack fic but i managed to make it so serious haha. 🤪

👻 beta read by @neoneunnajimin

👻 posted oct. 2023 | read on ao3

“Hey, Chim, think fast!”

The one who reacts to the nickname Chim – who Yoongi surmises is actually named Jimin – glances up in time for an inflatable ball to travel through Yoongi's spectral form and pummel Jimin in the side of the face. The two men Jimin trespasses with stand about ten feet away, and the buffer of the two – who Yoongi thinks is named Jeongguk – is doubled over laughing, dark hair falling in his face.

The one Yoongi thinks is named Jimin is understandably annoyed, picking up the ball, which is painted like a basketball but much smaller, inspecting it before throwing it back with nowhere near as much strength. It nearly hits the one who might be named Taehyung, and falls to the floor, rolling away.

Jimin complains, “Don’t throw haunted toys at me, you fucking creeps,” sounding exasperated.

The toy isn’t haunted, nor does it belong to Yoongi, but he is unwilling to correct them. He thinks some children brought it to the property long ago, before the house had become somewhat of a local legend, and left it behind. Sometime in the early 2000s, he thinks, though he cannot be sure.

“This place isn’t really haunted,” the one who might be named Taehyung says in a low, somewhat whiny voice. He kicks at debris that has fallen from the dilapidated ceiling with a frown.

Of course, this place is haunted. Yoongi standing in the center of their friend group proves as much. Only Yoongi has not made his presence known, just yet.

Although it is somewhat disrespectful the way people always treat his house like a heap of trash, Yoongi rather likes it when folks come to visit. Being a ghost can get quite lonely, especially because Yoongi hesitates to let anyone really perceive him.

He thinks he would like to let Jimin perceive him. Jimin, with his pretty, pouty lips that he nibbles nervously, causing them to redden and become even more pouty. Jimin, with his short ash-brown hair and stunning blend of sharp and soft features, depending on which angle he stands at. There is something gentle and understanding in Jimin's wide, dark eyes that Yoongi wishes he could get lost in.

If only he were still alive.

"Jeongguk," Yoongi hears Taehyung say quietly, leaning in close and pointing to another discarded ball. This one is larger and red, and its surface collects dust better than the inflatable one. "You should throw this at him when his back is turned."

Jeongguk scoffs and shakes his head, muttering, "You are so childish, Tae," despite walking over to the red ball and picking it up anyway. He very quietly tosses the ball into the air and catches it while Jimin meanders in the opposite direction, distracted by some graffiti on Yoongi's busted living room wall.

"Hey, Chim!" Jeongguk shouts.

Yoongi, who has begun slowly gravitating toward Jimin, watches as Jimin sighs and turns, shouting, "What, now?"

Jeongguk chucks the ball, and Jimin recoils this time, lifting his hand in order to deflect it. Except, without thinking, Yoongi reaches up and stops the ball in mid-air. Then, realizing his mistake, he quickly drops it.

If Yoongi could breathe, he would be holding his breath. He feels anxious as his gaze moves between Jimin and his curious friends, whose expressions are frozen with shock. Jimin's hand had lifted just in time for the ball, but Yoongi managed to exert just enough of his spiritual energy to stop it.

"Holy shit!" Jeongguk shouts, breaking the tense silence.

Jimin's hand still hovers in the air, and he glances at it curiously. "What…just happened?" he asks.

"You're fucking Magneto!" Jeongguk shouts. "That's what happened."

Taehyung sighs, stepping closer and picking up the red ball, which had rolled in the direction of his feet. "Magneto can only control metal, Jeongguk. Like a magnet…it's in his name."

Jeongguk shakes his head, mind clearly working on overdrive. "Right, right, right," he mutters under his breath, seemingly searching somewhat frantically for something other than busted concrete and dust to throw at his friend next. "You're like…Jean Grey then."

As Jimin finally begins to lower his hand, the stunned expression remains on his face, and he begins to glance around at eye level as if he suspects there may have been some kind of invisible force that helped him. If Yoongi had a heart, it would sink as Jimin looks right at him – right through him. His eyes are sad and curious, and Yoongi longs so badly to just reach out and touch him.

"You have to do it again!" Jeongguk exclaims.

"Can you do it again?" Taehyung softly asks.

"I…" Jimin mutters, brows knitting as he shakes his head. "No, I—I don't know what happened, but I am definitely not—"

"Think fast!" Taehyung shouts, causing both Jimin and Yoongi to sigh. Jimin reaches his hand up and, without giving it another thought, Yoongi also reaches his hand out, stopping the ball right in front of Jimin's open palm.

This time, when Jimin's eyes search the air right where Yoongi stands, Yoongi fumbles and drops the ball. He had meant to hold it up as a show to Jimin's friends, but even Jimin's unknowingly undivided attention makes him panic. If Yoongi had a heart, it would be going wild right now.

"How the fuck…" Jeongguk mutters, at the same time Jimin – whose eyes have not left the space Yoongi occupies – mutters, "Who the fuck…"

"Pick it back up," Taehyung insists. "With no hands."

"I can't—" Jimin begins but Jeongguk whines, "Just try!"

Jimin sighs and squats in front of the ball, which has been rolled over to Jimin's feet by one of his friends. Yoongi also squats.

All is quiet as Jimin holds his hand out in front of the red ball. He mutters, "This is so stupid," under his breath while chewing on the inside of his mouth. Yoongi wonders if that is a nervous tick of his – wonders what other nervous ticks he may have.

Jimin knits his brow and Yoongi snaps back to what he is meant to focus on: the ball. He reaches out and slowly begins to lift the red ball with both hands, ever so slightly. Jimin gasps softly while his friends begin to shout.

"How—" Jimin mutters as his eyes lift to Yoongi again and glance around the space, searching.

"This is crazy!" Jeongguk shouts.

"How did we never know you could do this?" Taehyung asks.

Jimin clicks his tongue and drops his hands, making Yoongi drop the ball, as well. "I can't do this," Jimin snaps back. "Obviously there is some kind of supernatural force at play."

"There's no such thing as supernatural forces," Jeongguk responds, sounding like an annoyed schoolchild.

This makes Jimin laugh. His eyes become little crescent moons, and Yoongi thinks he has never seen anything so beautiful in his life, nor his afterlife.

"You don't believe in ghosts but you believe in telekinesis?" Jimin argues, amusement shaking through every word. "Even though it was your idea to come through the haunted Min property? Make it make sense!"

Hearing Yoongi's name pass Jimin's lips makes him gasp.

"Pick it up again," Jeongguk insists.

Jimin sighs.

Yoongi smiles.

After a moment of hesitation, Jimin holds his hands out, just as he had done before. The ball only rolled about a foot away when Jimin dropped it, and he leans forward.

Yoongi also leans forward, and when he picks up the ball, Jimin must think twice, because he begins to lower his hands. Before Yoongi has a chance to lower the ball to match Jimin's movement, their energies overlap.

It is so brief and so faint, but Jimin's fingertips fall right into Yoongi's energy, passing through the side of his hand. All of his energy tingles, from his fingertips to his toes, and he drops the ball entirely when he realizes Jimin must have felt something, as well.

This time, when Jimin gazes right in his direction, Yoongi has to fight the urge to materialize on the spot and make his presence known. In the past, when he has been particularly moody about guests in his home, he has materialized just to scare the shit out of them. That is one of the reasons his old home has such a reputation for being haunted, almost a decade later.

Jimin's lips part as if he is about to say something, when Taehyung asks, "Jimin? Are you okay?"

In a blink, Jimin clears his throat and says, "Yeah, sorry. Thought I felt something."

"Okay, well," Jeongguk complains impatiently, "pick it up again."

Jimin sighs but smiles, shaking his head slightly as his gaze passes over Yoongi again and then returns to the ball. He holds his hands out and pretends to concentrate, and Yoongi reaches out and picks up the ball.

A bright flash fills the space, making Yoongi drop the ball while Jimin heavily blinks and frowns, looking up at his friends.

"I got it!" Jeongguk cheers. "Proof that Jimin is Jean Grey!"

"You can hardly tell the ball is even lifted," Taehyung bickers. "From the angle it looks like it could still be on the floor."

While the two of them argue, Jimin continues to search the space. He holds out his hand, palm facing Yoongi, and without giving it any thought, Yoongi returns the gesture by holding his hand up and ever so slightly touching their palms together.

"Heol," Jimin mutters, eyes widening. "I knew it."

The other two continue to bicker while Jimin sits and stares, smile slowly creeping over his face. If Yoongi had a heart, it would be aching. All he wants is to say something back or materialize fully and let Jimin see him. But what kind of a relationship could be had between a human trespasser and a ghost who refuses to leave his own home?

"Jimin-ssi!" Jeongguk shouts, "we have to do it again. I need a better picture."

"We are not taking another picture," Jimin says, rolling his eyes. "I promise you, I am not Jean Grey."

As the three friends argue, Yoongi stays squatted, eyes trailing from Jimin to the ball. He feels a deep, overwhelming sadness that has only compounded in the years since his death. Loneliness. Grief. But he also feels happy. Although he knows it would not be a good idea for Jimin to see him, he thinks that it is okay if he lets Jimin feel him a little more.

"Just do it one more time!" Jeongguk insists.

"No pictures," Jimin responds, to which Jeongguk quickly adds, "My phone is in my pocket!"

Jimin sighs, Yoongi sighs, and they both reach for the ball.

"Are you ready, ghost friend?" Jimin asks so quietly that Yoongi wonders if he may have misheard.

But he knows he has not misheard because Jimin stares right at him – right through him – with a smile. If Yoongi had a heart, it would be soaring.

Ghost friend. Yoongi likes the sound of that.

happy halloweeeen!!! 🎃👻🍂

i hope you enjoy this little drabble! i have a few more on the way. submissions for this event are closed, but i hope to do it again, next year!!!

reblogs and comments keep me writing, and likes make my day bright!!! thank you for reading! i love you!

tag list: @codeinebelle @dasexydevitt13 @fluffybuns69 @giriiboyy @idkjustlovingbts @mgthecat @moonleeai @m1sss1mp @spookyminyunki 👻 wanna be tagged in all my works? dm me!

here is the image that jay sent me in the submission request haha:

Ghost Friend is copyright theharrowing 2023. no translations or reposting allowed!

#jimin x yoongi #yoongi crack #jimin crack #bts crack #yoongi scenarios #jimin scenarios #bts scenarios #fic: ghost friend

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your-local-hollow-lover · 1 year

Text

Instinctual holdback

Summary: Since you started your sex life, Shinji had rejected the idea of doing anything face-to-face. Occasionally, the worst parts of you whispered cruel intrusive ideas regarding him thinking about someone else. The truth, however, was shockingly different.

A/N: Yeah, I have the biggest crush on this man. This is a love letter to him 💜

Warnings: NSFW / sex toy/finger sucking/hair pulling / gag (BDSM device) / slight bondage / slight dom/sub dynamic / praising/clothed sex (Shinji's end, reader's naked) / established relationship / super slight dacryphilia, only if you squint / teasing/cheek (face) clutching/purring/pleasure-dom!Shinji / fem!reader /

18+ content - MDI

There was a ghost story surrounding the walls of the Fifth Division: the ex-captain had died after turning into a half-hollow monster.

Shinji could sense how terrifyingly shocked his subordinates were to have him near when he returned. Despite his comical personality beginning to cushion the weight of suspicious glances, there were still those who did not accept the idea of someone like him in the Gotei Thirteen.

When he started to get close to you, Shinji's gaze lingered over yours a bit longer, searching for any sign of rejection. But never finding anything more than good-natured warmth, he gradually began to let his guard down.

It felt good to be close to someone who saw only him, not what he had been before the accident or what he became afterward. Sometimes, when you were snuggling while listening to some jazz records, Shinji would wonder if happiness was an accurate word to describe the feeling expanding in his chest.

Soon, gentle caresses and sweet kisses were no longer enough. Fortunately, your longing for him matched his own. Now, Shinji could show you other fascinating things he had discovered during his time away from Soul Society.

“These toys I brought from the human world are neat, aren’t they?” he asked, his tone full of the usual bantering.

The red gag in your mouth didn't let you answer. Your arms were tied behind your back, your ass up, showing him the best view. Slick slipped through your inner thighs as Shinji had been teasing you for what felt like ages.

You glanced at him. Shinji had the biggest grin on his face watching as the toy moved inside your cunt, amused at how you were desperately clenching to keep it there.

"Easy there!" He teased. "We don't want it to get stuck."

You were begging for him to touch you, but the gag in your mouth muffled every word. You were on the verge of tears. Shinji only got up when the first puffs left your mouth.

"Aw, was it too much?" He approached, sitting on the bed beside you. Shinji freed your mouth.

"Please," you cried, your voice cracking. Hot tears pooled in your eyes. "Please, I’ll be good.”

Shinji wiped away your tears with his thumbs and grasped your chin to tilt your head before pushing his fingers into your mouth. "Show me how good you can be."

You sucked on them through shaky breaths, rolling your tongue from his fingertips to his knuckles. Shinji hissed, pulling them out. He pulled your hair to lift your head before he kissed you. You could feel the piercing on his tongue as it moved in your mouth. It was so heavenly long that a drool slipped from your lips. The sound of your soft moans delighted his ears.

“You are so hot when you’re desperate,” Shinji panted after letting go. He shut down the toy. You whined. “Will you be good if I untie you?”

"Yes, yes I will!" You couldn't help the eagerness in your voice.

Shinji hummed, pretending to consider before clicking his tongue. He pulled the toy's string, dragging it out. You whimpered at the emptiness. Shinji proceeded to untie the ropes, and the relief you felt when your sore arms fell to your sides almost made you moan. Shinji stared at the marks, tracing them in wonder.

"You look so hot like this," he praised.

In a quick motion, Shinji undid his tie. The dim light of the room framed his neck beautifully. You reached down to spread your folds for him.

"Shit," Shinji breathed. Forget undressing. He untied the front part of the uniform. His predatory look over your body was making you ache.

"Get on your knees," he instructed, helping you up. "Place your hands on the wall."

You obeyed quickly, bending a bit. Shinji panted as he rubbed his cock over your cunt before sliding in. You moaned when you felt him stretching you up. Shinji sighed after bottoming out.

You felt his breath over your ear. He sniffed your hair. You clenched and unclenched around him to ease yourself a bit. “Can you feel what you’re doing to me?”

Shinji groaned as he kissed you again. You moaned into his mouth when he started thrusting inside you. "You're going to feel it too," he managed through an agitated breath, "all that you do to me."

He groped your body greedily with both hands, palming your thighs, your tummy, gripping one of your breasts as he kept fucking you from behind. You threw your head back, gaze full of bliss as you enjoyed his hands on you. The best tickles always roamed your body like static after the trace of his touch. You loved every bit of it.

Shinji bit your ear, and you moved your head to grant him space. He left a trail of open-mouth kisses on your neck, nibbling from time to time. He rolled your nipple between his fingers.

“Baby- You fuck me so good,”

Shinji moaned, squeezing you closer. You felt so pleased, so warm.

You grasped his hair before trying to turn back to meet his eyes, but Shinji roughly clutched your cheeks, digging his nails into them. "N-No, don't look at me. Close your eyes," he licked a stripe over your pulse line. You whimpered. "Enjoy yourself."

Since you started your sex life, Shinji had rejected the idea of doing anything face-to-face. At first, you thought he did not take you seriously. However, after a million failed attempts to have him address the reasons, you had given up. Perhaps, Shinji didn't find those positions hot. Yet, occasionally, the worst parts of you whispered cruel intrusive ideas regarding him thinking about someone else.

After almost one year of dating, you wouldn't tolerate it anymore.

You yanked his hand off and turned.

Shinji froze when your gaze locked his. The pair of yellow irises swimming in a pool of gray made you gape. You held in a gasp.

“It’s okay,” he said quickly, “It happens. We’ll be good as long as I hold it back.”

“Hold it ba- ?”

It hit you then: the main reason for his reluctance to let you see him was fear of rejection. It made your heart ache.

Shinji avoided your gaze. “Hey, hey, don’t make such an ugly face. It’s just something that comes with the package. I won’t harm-”

“I know that.” Your voice was suddenly too sharp. He eyed back at you. “And you should know I wouldn't be afraid of you,” you wanted to cup his cheek, yet, given the position, you could only aim to run your fingers through the side of his golden hair.

“You aren’t?”

“No,” you assured, tenderly. You grasped his hands to tangle yourself in his arms again. Shinji responded to the embrace, holding you gently. “I love you, every part of you.”

"Geez, don't be gross," he whined, turning his red face aside.

You chuckled. “Now that we cleared that up, when you thrust inside me again, make sure to fuck me like you want to. No holding back.”

Shinji kept your look. “It might hurt.”

“Make it hurt then.”

“Fuck,” Shinji hissed.

He bit your shoulder before resuming his pace, this time rougher. You gasped as he knocked the air off you. “Y-you asked for it. Keep that in mind.”

You whimpered as the tip of his cock grazed that sweet spot inside you, too good for you to respond. All you could do was allow him to keep sucking on the skin of your shoulders.

“Look at me,” Shinji told you in a shaky voice.

You obliged, settling your head on the crook of his shoulder. His eyes projected how much he was burning for you. You reached for his hair to pull him in for a kiss. He nibbled your lips, panting against your mouth. You liked his teeth.

You guided his hand through your front, tracing the path from the center of your chest to your lower belly, and down to your clit. Shinji muffled a moan on your lips at the touch of your slickness. He circled the soft nub dutifully.

“Yes,” you hissed just when his pace matched his hand movements, building the heat so fucking good. Your pussy tightened in response, and his cock twitched with the squeeze.

Shinji broke the kiss to look at you through hooded eyes, his brows furrowed as his moans became louder, like drunk breathings. He was as close and desperate to come as you were.

An inhumane sound poured out from the back of his throat, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Shit, you sound so hot,” you coaxed, “Let me hear you more babe.”

Shinji's moans got mixed up with it. The sound resembled a strange kind of purr. It was the most heavenly sound your ears had ever made out.

You could feel his shaky breath over your mouth as his pace became frantic. You pressed his hand more onto your clit, helping him keep the movement even. That friction sent you over the edge. Your hand went to grip his hair as your back arched. You came loud and long.

Shinji pulled out roughly. The sudden emptiness was almost cruel before the hot loads splattering your back began to ease it. Shinji leaned on you to catch his breath. You placed your forehead on the wall, enjoying the temperature change.

He took off his uniform, and you felt him cleaning you up with it just before you collapsed onto the bed.

The mattress cracked when he lay beside you.

“You were truly holding back before,” you commented, turning to snuggle him, still wrapped in the after bliss.

Shinji pulled you under him so harshly that it made you squeak. His eyes held a glimmer you had never seen before, his grin was wider than ever.

“I’m glad I don’t have to anymore.” He clapped his mouth on yours, and you did your best to keep up with his abusive kiss. He bit your tongue. “I wanna keep fucking you,” he panted over your lips. “so let me,”

Oh, dear, what did you just get yourself into?

#shinji hirako #hirako bleach #hirako shinji #bleach smut #shinji hirako x reader #bleach arrancar #vizards smut #vizards #bleach vizards

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ramblingoak · 1 year

Text

My Husband Is Now Bones, Chapter 5: Zombie Queen

Thank you to @rabidghoul for the zombie!Terzo sketch! I love him.

~ Omega and zombie!Terzo’s story is now complete 💜 ~

Previous Chapters: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4

This is for the Ghost Creative Challenge put on by @petrifyingpapas . The first week’s theme is “Resurrection”. Thank you to @kissingghouls for helping me with this story and for cheering Zerzo on.

Terzo x Omega (major character death, murder, horror themes, decapitation, blood, zombie violence/gore, once more for the people in the back: ZOMBIE VIOLENCE/GORE, ZOMBIES DOING ZOMBIE THINGS, NSFW, 18+ only MDNI)

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

“Hold still or I’ll have to start over.”

Terzo huffed, but obliged, settling back against the wall. They were still in the catacombs but Omega didn’t plan on being there much longer. Terzo was getting antsy being stuck in the dark and Omega didn’t blame him. He belonged upstairs walking the halls of his abbey. He deserved to feel the sun shining on his face.

Omega just needed to finish his damn paint first.

He smoothed the brush along the bridge of Terzo’s nose, laughing when the man’s eyes crossed trying to follow the movement. Terzo reached up and attempted to grab at the brush, clinging to Omega’s hand for a moment before bringing the back of it to his lips and mouthing along the skin there. Omega brought his other hand up and slid his fingers through Terzo’s hair, laughing when Terzo nearly purred as he scratched his nails along his scalp.

It wasn’t that long ago they were doing this very same thing in Terzo’s bed and the thought made his heart ache. He planned on devoting the rest of his life to making sure they could continue to enjoy moments like that, like this. So much had happened since that day, so much had changed. The feel of Terzo’s tongue on his skin brought his thoughts back to the present and he looked down to see a playful smile on Terzo’s face.

Well, not that much had changed.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

“Omega!”

He tensed at the voice, shushing Terzo when he started growling. He had just gotten him calmed down after all the excitement when he got back from upstairs. Terzo had been having a hard time sitting still after eating and Omega needed to get him cleaned up so he could bring him back there.

So he could bring him home.

It had taken longer than he had thought it would for Copia to come find them. Omega had expected some more of his Ghouls at first but there hadn’t been any sign of them. He liked to think that maybe they were scared after seeing what Omega had done to Aether and Swiss. At how he had made sure their blood decorated the walls of Terzo’s room.

Omega hadn’t wanted to kill them, he had considered them his friends at one point. But they had made their choice and Omega couldn’t forgive them. Terzo wouldn’t have wanted them to live anyway. The look of glee on his face when Omega had brought the parts of them he had decided to gift his Papa with had been beautiful, but it was nothing compared to the look on his face when he gave Terzo Imperator’s head.

Terzo had cooed and reached shaking hands out for it, his gloves covered in gore from Mary and the Ghouls. Omega would need to figure out how much Terzo needed to eat to sustain himself, to keep him alive. Right now he didn’t seem to want to slow down, pulling the Sister’s head into his lap and gazing into her face.

“Omega! Omega wh-what’s happening?!”

He ignored the Cardinal and knelt down in front of Terzo, Imperator’s head still in his lap. Terzo had refused to let go of it, snarling at Omega when he had tried to take it. When Terzo didn’t look at him right away he ignored the mess on his chin and gently gripped it so they could look into each other’s eyes. Terzo tried to say something so Omega shushed him and leaned forward so their foreheads met.

“This is all for you, Papa. You know that, right?” He felt Terzo’s head move up and down against him and Omega smiled. When he let go of his chin and moved away Terzo’s head tried to follow him for a moment, his mouth opening and closing like he wanted to say something. “It’ll be ok. I’ll take care of you.”

They both turned when they heard Copia shout again, much closer than before. Omega pressed a quick kiss onto Terzo’s forehead and stood up, accidentally knocking into one of the piles of teeth Terzo had made. Once he had finished eating everyone he had started making piles of bones and such around him. He hissed at Omega and reached a hand out to scrape them back together, the nails of his gloves scratching against the stone. When Terzo pouted up at him Omega gave him a wink and headed towards the door.

“Don’t worry, Papa. I’ll bring you back some more.”

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ EPILOGUE ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

His Papa looked as handsome as ever.

Omega had gotten him into a clean set of papal robes. Ones free of blood and gore, of the smell of death. They sparkled in the moonlight streaming in through the chapel windows. His eyes sparkled too as Papa glanced around the room, but they rarely left Omega.

There weren’t many that stayed after word had gotten out about Imperator and Copia. Omega hadn’t let himself be bothered with it. He had been busy helping Terzo settle back into his room, back into his role as Papa. There had been Ghouls to banish, ones he didn’t trust to be loyal to the church. To the new Church of Emeritus.

(It wasn’t going to be called the Church of Zerzo no matter how much Cowbell begged.)

Obviously he had summoned Cowbell back. Most of the older Ghouls actually, those that were with Primo and Secondo. Special was probably the most important as according to Cowbell he had the most experience with resurrection magic. There had been a few that hadn't wanted to, a few that decided to stay behind but Omega respected their choice. He respected anyone’s choice. The atmosphere in the abbey was definitely different than before and no one needed to stay who didn’t want to be there.

Omega’s next goal was to bring Terzo’s brothers back. Cowbell thankfully seemed to know a number of occult practitioners besides Mary and he had been working to contact them. They hadn’t deserved what Imperator had done to them either and he wanted Terzo to have his family back. Cowbell was confident he’d be able to find someone to get the job done.

The Ghoul had learned not to bring up fixing Terzo though. For Omega there was nothing to fix, despite what he had demanded of Mary at first. As the days had worn on all Omega could see was his Papa, his lover, his husband. Terzo was perfect the way he was and Omega didn’t want anything to change.

Terzo reached a hand out his way, almost like he knew Omega was thinking about him. The bones that he had sewn onto the back of Terzo’s gloves clicked together as his fingers stretched out towards him. He let Papa take a hold of his hand and Omega reached up to smooth some of his hair back behind his ear.

While his white eye was as striking as always the green one had taken on an almost purple hue. Jagged red streaks ran along from the pupil across the rest of his eye. He had seen a few siblings flinch away from it but Omega thought it was beautiful. A purple eye to match his own purple gaze. It was just another sign they were meant to be together.

Terzo‘s hand squeezed his and Omega smiled at him. The necklace of bones that he had made Terzo rattled as he fidgeted in his seat. The bones and teeth of Copia and Imperator seemed like a fitting thing to use for his Papa. Omega reached over and straightened it for him, smiling as the teeth rattled together. Terzo leaned back and purred, always pleased when Omega fussed over him.

Maybe he’d make him a crown of bones next.

The chapel doors swung open then and he helped Terzo stand up to welcome their congregation. He heard Terzo start to sniff the air and growl so he shushed him, ignoring the snarl he got in return.

“You just ate before this, Papa. Remember?”

He was still getting the hang of how much Terzo needed to eat. Too much and he would get irritated easily, snapping at even Omega for the smallest thing. It was worse when he ate too little though and Cowbell was already whining about having to summon more Ghouls so soon.

When Terzo continued to growl and fidget Omega helped Terzo sit back down and then looked over to where Special was waiting and nodded. The Ghoul walked behind the pulpit and brought out what still always seemed to calm his Papa down. Omega ignored the murmurs building in the crowd and just watched as Terzo clutched Imperator’s head to his chest, smoothing a glove covered in her own bones over her hair.

He motioned for Special to get the items for communion and raised his hands towards the rest of the chapel, pleased when they all stood. Terzo’s eyes were on them as they filed into the aisle and prepared to accept His body and blood. Omega could smell the fear in the air, but if any were too scared they were welcome to leave. Cowbell had been worried someone might try to hurt Papa, but that was one thing Omega wasn’t concerned about.

He had promised Terzo that he wouldn’t leave his side. He’d promised him that he would protect him from anything and anyone. Omega meant to keep that promise no matter the cost. His Papa could also hold his own now though, better than before at least. And if anyone did try something and Omega wasn’t close enough…well...

Terzo was always hungry.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Next part in the series: A Gift Of Bones

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esta-elavaris · 7 months

Text

Flufftober Day 3: "You love me?" "I always have." ~ Papa Emeritus IV/OC [2,733 words]

My Flufftober '23 masterpost can be found here 💜✨

Anyway, this one exemplifies "idiots in love", my first foray into writing Ghost!fic, I hope you enjoy.

As the abbey’s resident librarian, it was decidedly rare that Sister Keira had to deal with an emergency. Not the sort that had a ghoul dragging her from her bed in the wee small hours, anyway. The beautiful thing about books was that they tended to keep – so long as they weren’t stored in a decidedly idiotic manner, which she would never allow. Her ardent defence of the abbey’s books and the manner in which they were kept did not help the jokes of her being a waking stereotype, even if the higher ups had begun it by putting their resident Brit in charge of them in the first place. All of this meant that when she was dragged from her bed at two in the morning by a ghoul pounding at her door, she really had no idea what to make of it.

Nor when the ghoul offered a pointy grin and spoke. “Papa desires your presence in the library – urgently.”

When she’d gone to bed only a handful of hours ago, he’d been on tour still. What could have happened so soon after his returning that the library was his first port of call, and not the dining hall, or his bed?

By the time she got to the library, she was wearing yesterday’s crumpled clothes, plucked from her bedroom floor, and her hair looked like it had fallen victim to some artist with a flair for the abstract. But aesthetics weren’t priority in an emergency. Not that she’d ever let Terzo hear her admit that.

Making it to the library to find that nothing was on fire, nor flooded, was a boon – and when she saw Papa Emeritus IV slouched back in the her desk chair, she found herself even happier. By the looks of it, they’d finished up their last ritual and then high-tailed it back here immediately thereafter. His paint was smudged, and he wore his black stage trousers, along with the black poet shirt he often wore beneath the rest of the gear.

How long had this tour gone on for? A fair few months, she knew not how many, but she’d felt his absence keenly all the same. It was surprising, how often his business brought him here, but not unwelcome.

He’d appeared on the verge of falling asleep when she strode in, but straightened and then stood as she entered. Had the chair not been on wheels, he’d have knocked it over in the process. As it was, it rolled back and banged into the bookshelf behind him. Neither of them paid it much mind.

“Papa,” she greeted, breathless from the jog here. “Welcome back.”

Making a faltering sort of wordless noise in the back of his throat, he blinked as he took in her appearance.

“I woke you,” he said.

“They said it was an emergency.”

“I…er…you are usually up at this hour, I thought…”

Of course he would think that – because when he was here, she often was. Not because she was a night owl, as she usually professed when he asked, but because he was, and she was usually reluctant to call it a night if it meant giving up whatever time they could get together one on one.

“I decided to get an early night,” she lied sheepishly.

“Ah…I see…” he nodded slowly, not quite looking at her.

Things hadn’t always been this awkward between them. In fact, things had never been this awkward between them up until very recently. And she had no idea why. It wasn’t just the return from tour – because there was always bound to be a bit of unsurety as they recalled how to be around one another again – because this strange change spanned before he had left. In fact, she’d almost been relieved that he had, because she had no idea what she’d done wrong. No idea what had happened for teasing and jokes and smiles to turn into awkward silences, a refusal to meet her gaze, and one word answers to her attempts at conversation pretty much entirely overnight.

Perhaps her upset over the new way of things showed on her face, for met her gaze and then coughed and looked away quickly, slowly sitting back down again as he spoke.

“Well, the ghoul misspoke – it’s not an emergency, it can wait. I just thought that if you were awake, your expertise could-”

“I’m awake now,” she said with her own affected brightness, folding and then unfolding her arms. “What is it?”

“Sister Monica has had another vision.”

Ah.

“Let me guess – it hit her right as she was on her way to attend to her duties in the gardens in bad weather?”

Papa chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I think you must have a touch of foresight yourself, Sister."

He never used to call her that, either. While English was hardly something that he struggled with, he’d never quite got the knack of pronouncing her name properly – but that had never stopped him from using it. Eventually, Keira decided that she found it charming, and stopped attempting to slip the proper way of saying it into casual conversation. One could only refer to oneself in third person so many times before one seemed unhinged. Although that was considered a good thing around here, mostly.

“All the same, the time we don’t bother to look for matching information in the archives will, knowing my luck, be the time we miss something real,” Papa snorted. “So…here we are.”

“What are we looking for references to this time?” she smoothed her hands over her skirt, ready to go.

“Caves,” he sighed. “Pink caves.”

“Not the sort found in Terzo’s copy of the Karma Sutra, I’m guessing,” she said drily.

The one he kept here as an act of charity, so any who may need inspiration could access it easily. It would be easier to laugh at his goal had it not proven useful to a fair number of those who frequented the library.

That, thank the devil, broke whatever strange and inexplicable ice had grown over their interactions. Papa coughed, there was a second where her words fully registered, and then he laughed, smoothing a hand over his hair as he did. It had grown longer, she noted, while he was gone. She rather liked it.

“No, er…well, I don’t believe so. It would make for more entertaining research, though, eh?”

The joke was weak, but when she laughed at it silence fell again and she realised the brief moment of levity was over. Smoothing her hands over her skirt, she went into research mode. That provided some comfort, at least.

“Well, there are some in Australia. They call them the Cotton Candy Caves – the Munmorah Sea Caves, if we’re being less twee about it. But I don’t see how they’re relevant. None of the texts mention them.”

“I thought that the Maleficarum – the one from sixteen-sixty-six, the er…the fourth edition?” as he spoke, he gestured in roundabout circles with his hand as though that would help him remember. “I thought that mentioned Australia.”

“That’s the third edition, Papa,” she corrected gently. “And it does – but only to discuss the Devil’s Pool, which is in Queensland.”

“You always know something about everything,” he mused quietly, “è una delle tante cose che amo di te…well, I don’t know where we might begin then.”

At first, Keira was certain she’d misheard. But she gave the words a moment to sink in, translating them in her mind over and over again, staring at the top of Papa’s head as he regarded the book before him. When she did not move, and continued to stare, he looked up…and looked very much like the kid with his hand in the biscuit tin.

“What did you just say?” she asked quietly.

“Er…that you, ah…always know something about everything,” he said.

“After that.”

“I just repeated the same thing in Italian.”

“No you didn’t, you said something completely different.”

“You speak Italian now, Sister?” he chuckled as though she was being absurd.

“I’ve been taking classes.”

And he looked really caught then.

“Why?”

“To…to help with the translations of many of the texts here,” she said.

Papa looked sceptical at that, and she couldn’t blame him. Because it was bullshit. As if she couldn’t find another to translate them far more accurately than she could in any given room in the abbey – a native speaker. If that were the case, anyway, she’d be better off learning Latin. He would know that. He did know that, based on how his eyes remained fixed on her. The white one in particular felt like it saw all.

“…and…” she began slowly, “…for the same reason this is the first time you’re seeing me with chipped nail polish, or with messy hair, or…or…with my shirt wrongly buttoned.”

She hadn’t noticed that last bit until she was highlighting it. But her point still stood. Whenever Papa left with the ghouls, she no longer found herself quite so motivated to be so meticulous with her appearance. All right, it wasn’t like she turned up in sweatpants when he was gone, but there was a definite slacking of standards. If questioned on it, she would just say the usual effort was out of deference for Papa Emeritus IV. Not anything to do with wanting to catch the eye of Copia.

None ever did ask…but there were an uncomfortable number of knowing looks.

“I…I do not understand, Sister,” he breathed a laugh.

“Nor do I, because…because it sounds like you just said that you love me, but you can’t, because you’ve barely said a word to me in months.”

For a moment, he seemed amazed that she would even point such a thing out – and she wouldn’t have, ordinarily. Because he wasn’t just Copia anymore, he hadn’t been just Copia for a long time. He was Papa Emeritus IV, he bore a burden and a responsibility greater than she could ever imagine. What sort of nutter would she be if she stamped her feet over not being a priority amidst all of that?

“I’ve been on tour,” he said.

A response that sounded weak, for however valid it would have usually been.

“You didn’t text, you didn’t call, you didn’t…you didn’t email,” she pointed out. “You used to…you used to. Once. I don’t understand why…You didn’t even come to say goodbye!”

Hell, he’d written letters once. There had even been a handful of very cheesy postcards that now lived in a locked box on a shelf in her wardrobe. And Copia? Copia was staring at her, lips parted, like she’d just started speaking not in English, not in Italian, and not even in Latin, but some secret fourth belligerent tongue not yet known to man nor ghoul.

“I didn’t just say anything you did not already know,” he chuckled tiredly. “Forgive me, had I known you would understand, I would have said nothing. I know it makes you uncomfortable.”

“What does?”

“You’re being very cruel, Keira,” he said flatly, “and I don’t deserve it.”

He was pronouncing her name correctly now, but it left her even more at a loss for words.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about! How could I have known that you…that you…”

She couldn’t even say it, because she wasn’t entirely certain she hadn’t misunderstood. Because he was talking about it like it was some great horrendous problem to be swept under the rug, and not something she’d been daydreaming about for far longer than she’d ever admit.

“I told you,” impatience was creeping into his tone, fuelled by months upon months of touring. “A week before I left.”

“You most certainly did not!”

“I did! You were sitting right over there,” he gestured to the table in the far corner, the one she sat at on the few occasions that he took his meetings in the library, rather than in his office. “I…I confessed, and you pretended I had not said a word. Other than to look up and ask if I would like you to fetch me lunch while you took your break.”

That sparked a memory. Not the confession part, but the lunch part. It had been the last time he’d taken his meeting here, and she’d looked up to find him staring at her. Really staring. When he offered no explanation, when he did not break the silence, she’d asked that as a way of breaking the awkwardness.

After tapping the AirPod in her ear so that she’d be able to hear his answer.

“Papa,” she breathed, leaning against the nearest table if only because it allowed her to trust that she wouldn’t topple over. “I don’t suppose you know that when you take your meetings in here, I listen to music so as to give you privacy?”

He gaped at her – like he couldn’t quite decide whether or not to believe her.

“I didn’t see a wire,” he protested.

Keira sighed heavily, unsure as to whether she wanted to laugh, cry, or just plain die. Approaching the desk, she was warmed at least to find that he didn’t go reeling back to as not to be within six feet of her – as had been his habit since his attitude changed to her. For a reason she was now finally aware of.

Sliding open the top drawer to her desk, she took out the case containing her Bluetooth earphones, opened it, and plucked them out. Copia watched the whole process with a face that gradually slackened. When she turned to look at him, he breathed a weak laugh.

“The things they can do these days.”

“I didn’t know,” she dropped the earphones and the case down to the desk unceremoniously.

“I…was hardly subtle.”

“Neither was I!”

“I called you cara more than I ever called you by your name,” humour crept into his voice now.

Keira stared at him in dismay. “I thought you just couldn’t pronounce my name. I thought you were saying Keira.”

She shouldn’t have admitted it. It was just too stupid. It showed a level of selective blindness that none other could ever achieve. But Copia found it funny. He breathed a shocked laugh, and then it turned into proper mirth, painted lips stretching into a grin as he leaned forward, all but wheezing.

“You thought I couldn’t pronounce Keira?”

“It made sense at the time!”

She was protesting, and she was mortified, but above all of that she was relieved. That he was smiling. That he was looking at her. That the awkwardness that had held them hostage even while he was across the world was so quickly evaporating.

“I sing in English. For hours. Every night.”

“Well when you put it like that…”

“My sermons, cara. All in English!”

“It confused me, too! I didn’t want to be rude by asking! I…I thought it was sweet…”

The nay-sayers could say what they liked about Copia – about how he was a little awkward, and perhaps didn’t ooze confidence the same way Terzo did, but they didn’t understand. Primarily, the fact that was lost on them was how he was only awkward (which in itself was endearing to Keira) when he thought he had cause to be. When he didn’t, though? When he was before a crowd of screaming worshippers who had paid to be in his presence for a night? Or when he was standing before a woman who had just very exasperatedly confessed her love for him? There was little bumbling then.

Keira remained where she was, rooted to the spot as he rose and stepped forward, eventually backing her up until the desk pressed against her backside.

“You love me?” she asked again.

He breathed a laugh – like she’d just asked him whether the sky was blue.

“I always have.”

The sound Keira made in response to that was caught between a senseless murmur along with a sigh – and very, very involuntary. Staring up at him with wide eyes, she watched as his own gaze flickered from hers, to her lips, and then back up again.

“And…if you had heard me…back then…your answer would have been different?” he hazarded, his eyes flickering down to her lips and then back up to her eyes.

“I’m not thinking of getting you lunch right now, no,” she replied breathlessly.

Copia chuckled. And then he kissed her.

Links: AO3 -- FF.net -- flufftober masterpost -- dividers by cafekitsune

#esta's flufftober '23 fills #flufftober 2023 #flufftober2023 #ghost fic #ghost fanfic #papa emeritus iv x oc #papa emeritus iv/oc #popia x oc #popia/oc #papa emeritus iv fanfic #idiots in love

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